#that. will come later though. i promise. i swear... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 2 months ago

Text

all yours ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

notes: i'm sorry? i want to say i have no words but apparently... i have nearly 15k of them right here!!! i don't know who this is for, i lowkey feel like it will flop because it's long and angsty, but please let me know what you think if you read this!!! i've been working on it on and off for a while, so i am very glad to finally get it posted!

warnings: swearing, angst (but happy ending), pregnancy, a lot of crying, very brief mention of abortion, very brief discussion about the possibility of losing the baby, talk about sex (18+ ONLY PLEASE), a bit of horniness, and just a lot of emotions!!! (please let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: i am not pregnant and have never been pregnant. all this information comes from quick google searches, and things i've read in books. so i'm very if it's wrong or dumb. please don't come for me!

word count: 14818

You’ve known Tyler Owens since you were ten.

You’ve been chasing storms with him for nine years, and hopelessly in love with him for eight.

You’ve laughed as he lost seven cowboy hats to tornados, and helped him replace six shattered windshields.

You’ve loved him through five of his lousy girlfriends and four of your own doomed boyfriends.

You’ve tried—and failed—to tell him how you feel three times.

You’ve kissed him twice.

And you’ve slept with him once.

Once. Exactly three weeks ago.

You were both drunk—though you were probably pretending to be more gone than you really were—and lonely. Sure, you’d kissed before that night—once, years ago, on a dare. But that night, the second kiss happened as you stepped out of the bar. It was misting lightly, streetlights casting a glow, and Tyler looked so damn good as he—drunkenly—told you that you looked beautiful. How were you supposed to resist that?

Back at the motel, you tried to go your separate ways. You even made it to your room alone. You were just about to reach for your vibrator, hoping to ease the ache low in your belly, when there was a knock at the door.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

Tyler.

You let him in—because of course you did—and he was on you in seconds. There was no way you were going to push him off. You’ve been in love with him for the better part of a decade.

It was hot and desperate. All teeth and tongue, and handprints seared into your skin—ones you know you’ll never forget the feeling of. You were both so fucking wrecked there was no stopping it.

Not even when the condom obviously broke while he was putting it on.

Not even when something deep in your chest told you this was a bad idea.

But now? Three weeks later—you wish you’d had more restraint.

Sure, it was awkward the next morning—after Tyler snuck out of your room at three a.m., thinking you hadn’t noticed. It stayed awkward for about a week, with neither of you daring to talk about it. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t bring it up. It was obviously just one night for him. Maybe he was just curious. You’ve been friends for so long. A lot of friends have slept together at least once… right?

But even in that painfully awkward week of trying to relearn how to be friends, you couldn’t quite regret it.

Because eventually, he cracked a joke. Then you said something sarcastic. And although there was still a hint of something more simmering under the surface, things almost felt normal again.

Almost.

It’s only now that you regret it—everything.

Right now, as you stare at the two pink lines on the stick beside the sink, your vision blurred with tears, and your stomach roiling with nausea.

The harsh crack of knuckles against the bathroom door startles you, sending your heart leaping into your throat.

“You alright in there?” Lily calls through the wood. “It’s been like ten minutes—I’m getting worried. Do I need to break down the door?��

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing your voice to come out steady. “Y-Yeah, I’m all good.”

There’s a beat of silence before Lily speaks again, her voice lower this time. “Are you sure? You don’t sound good.”

You shake your head and hastily wipe the wetness from your cheeks. Then you snap a photo of the pregnancy test before tossing it into the trash—this is just a gas station bathroom. No one’s tracing that stick back to you unless they run a DNA test, and that’s not likely.

It’s not like you plan on going missing. Just… away. For a while.

You splash your face with cool water and stare at your reflection in the mirror until you’re convinced you look close enough to normal. Then you square your shoulders, take a deep breath, and open the bathroom door.

It’s only Lily waiting there—thank God—but she’s already watching you with sharp, perceptive eyes.

“You good?”

You nod once, forcing a smile. “Never better. Sorry. Lady stuff.”

Technically not a lie. Still, you cringe at the way it comes out. You’re not someone who shies away from saying things plainly—especially not something as basic as a damn period.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push.

“Alright. Let’s get going. Tyler said we’re only twenty minutes out from a decent-sized town. Should be able to find good food and a motel where we don’t have to share rooms.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to laugh or offer a sarcastic remark. You just walk past her, the fake smile still fixed to your face, and head for the door.

Twenty minutes later, you’re climbing out of the RV in a motel parking lot. Tyler’s truck is parked beside the reception office, his hat on the dashboard and Boone waiting in the front seat. Dani and Dexter walk ahead of you, muttering about something they saw pop up on the radar earlier, and Lily is rummaging around in the back seat of Tyler’s truck—her butt sticking out the passenger door—looking for the headphones she lost yesterday.

Your heart aches at the thought of leaving, throbbing dully behind your sternum. You’re not sure if the nausea swirling in your gut is from the idea of walking away from your friends—your family—or because of your newly discovered… condition. Either way, you feel sick. And you need space. Time to think. To breathe.

Once everyone has a room, you lug your few belongings up to the second floor and collapse onto the bed. You text Lily, telling her you feel sick sick—period pains—and that you’re going to skip dinner. You ask her to tell the others for you, because you can’t stomach lying to their faces.

You spend the next few hours on your laptop, reading everything you can about pregnancy. You scroll through pages about what happens to your body, how your life is going to change. You read about complications, risks, even abortion.

It’s strange, really. You’ve always been practical, logical. And this doesn’t seem like the practical choice. But you knew the second you saw those two lines that you were going to keep it.

Call it maternal instinct. Or just plain insanity. Either way, your mind is made up.

Now you just need a plan.

Most people don’t announce their pregnancy until twelve weeks—you know that much—so you’re giving yourself twelve weeks to sort your shit out.

First, you need to leave. You’ll make up some excuse about a sick family member and tell the crew your mom needs you immediately. Tyler will try to come with you—call it a detour or a bonus road trip—so you’ll have to convince him your mom only wants to see you. No one else.

Then you’ll leave for... an indefinite stretch. You’re not going straight to your mom’s. You’ll hole up in a hotel halfway home, see a doctor, get the blood tests, the shots, the supplements—all the crap you’re supposed to do.

Once your head is on straighter and you’ve got a handle on things, you’ll start looking for an apartment. Something short-term, just in case… well, in case you lose the baby. At least then you’ll have somewhere to crash and recover before deciding what comes next. It feels morbid, sure, but you’re not a total daydreamer. Life can be brutal, and you know better than to think you’ll be spared.

But assuming things go well—assuming you hit that twelve-week mark after moving in—that’s when you’ll start telling people. You’ll tell your mom first, maybe find a therapist and tell them too. And then... Tyler.

The moment his name crosses your mind, your body reacts. You jump up from the motel bed and stumble into the tiny bathroom, hunching over the toilet and gagging like you’re going to throw up. But nothing comes up—your stomach is empty. You know this isn’t the pregnancy making you sick. It’s the thought of telling him.

It feels cruel, waiting three whole months before telling the father. But you can’t bring yourself to do it any sooner. You know this isn’t what Tyler wants. Especially not with you. What happened between you was a one-time thing—a fun night, a way to blow off steam. It wasn’t meant to change everything.

So you’ll wait. Make sure it’s real. Make sure it’s sticking. Plain and simple. Harsh? Maybe. But you need time to figure yourself out before dropping a bomb on him. And by the time you do, it’ll be six months to impact. Give or take.

You have no idea how he’ll react, but you know it won’t be like one of those social media videos where the dad cries and jumps for joy. No—this will be very different. Which is exactly why you’re not telling him for at least a month or two. You’ll figure out exactly how far along you are once you see a doctor.

You take a deep breath and snap your laptop shut. Time to get some sleep. You’ve got a full day of driving tomorrow, and you’re going to need the energy.

“What?” Tyler drops his bacon back onto the plate, staring at you wide-eyed across the diner table. “If you’re going home, then we’re all-”

“No, Tyler,” you interrupt, sighing as you stare down at the table. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “She said just me. I know you want to help, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay. I’ll call as soon as I get there and keep you updated. I just—she sounded really fragile, alright? I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

It doesn’t feel like that much of a lie. You’re not talking about your mom—you’re talking about yourself. At least, that’s how you justify it to your guilty conscience.

“You sure?” Lily asks, leaning forward beside Tyler. “We don’t have to go see her. We can just come to town, hang out nearby. We don’t mind staying a week or so.”

You take a deep breath, eyes locked on your untouched plate of plain toast and fried eggs. “It might not be a week,” you say, bracing yourself. “It could be a couple of months.”

“Months?” Dani echoes, her coffee cup clattering against the table.

Tyler looks stunned, frozen in place. His expression is unreadable—shock, maybe disbelief, etched into every line of his face. His lips are slightly parted—lips you haven’t stopped thinking about, hot on your skin—and his brows pinch together. His cheeks are flushed, but not with embarrassment. He looks... unsure. Concerned.

“What are we going to do without you for a couple months?” Lily asks, her eyes wide.

You wave a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’ll be fine. I’ll only be a phone call away. If I can come back earlier, I will. But right now, I really need to be there for... for my mom.”

God, you’re a terrible liar this morning.

“When do you need to leave?” Tyler asks, his voice low and flat.

You swallow hard, still staring at your toast. “Today.”

A wave of protests, questions, and complaints breaks out—everyone but Tyler. He stays silent, still watching you like he’s trying to piece something together. Like you’re a puzzle he didn’t realise needed solving.

He looks at you like he sees straight through the lie. His green eyes don’t blink, and it makes your stomach churn.

For the next half hour, you lie and deflect as best you can. You keep your head down, your answers short. No promises, no explanations. Breakfast turns into a full-blown protest, your friends more upset than you expected by your sudden departure. But no matter how hard they try, nothing could convince you to stay.

You can’t.

Back at the motel, you pack your things. You’d already asked Dexter to drive you to the nearest car rental place—he grumbled but agreed. Now comes the part you’re dreading.

The goodbyes.

To them, this is temporary—a month or two, maybe. But you know better. This is something else. Something longer. More permanent.

Moisture stings your eyes as you zip your duffel shut. Your nose burns, and this time, you don’t stop the tears from falling.

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice startles you, and you realize in your rush to get into the room, you hadn’t fully shut the door.

You sniff and wipe your cheeks, keeping your back to him. “Hey.” You clear your throat. “What’s up?”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

You don’t respond. You just keep your head down and continue stuffing the last of your things into your backpack.

He sighs as the door clicks shut behind him. A few steps bring him closer, and you can almost feel his warmth hovering just a few feet behind you.

“Look,” he says gently, “I’m not going to press you about what’s really going on. But it’s obvious something’s got you rattled. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are. Whatever it is.”

You close your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m worried,” he continues. “This isn’t you. Cutting and running like this? I know you. I know your family. This is something else. And I’m really damn worried.”

“It’s fine, Ty,” you say, your voice catching in your throat, the words barely a whisper.

“No, it’s not.” He steps closer, and now his warmth is unmistakable—his presence pressing in, impossible to ignore. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need you to promise me you’ll be okay. That you’ll come back.”

You drop the sweater you’ve been folding and refolding, letting it fall from your hands. He reaches out, his fingers wrapping gently around your bicep, coaxing you to turn toward him. Then he lifts your chin with one curled finger, forcing you to meet his eyes.

You can barely make out his face through the tears—hot and heavy, falling faster than you can blink them away.

His voice cracks. “It’s not the same out there without you. You know that.”

A sob breaks from your chest, and you fall forward. He catches you easily, arms strong and sure around your trembling frame. Pressed against him, for a moment it all feels like it might be okay. Like maybe this whole life-altering thing won’t change everything after all. Tyler makes you feel like you can handle anything. Like you’re more than human. Invincible, even.

Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him in the first place.

But you can’t stay in his arms forever. You’re not even sure he’d be holding you if he knew the truth—if he knew you were the one holding the pin to the grenade that could blow his whole life to pieces.

“You’re scaring the shit out of me, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair.

You sniffle against his shirt, steadying your voice. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”

He slowly lets you go, giving you space to stand on your own again.

“I promise you’ll see me again,” you say, trying to sound certain. “I promise I’ll be back once everything’s... sorted.”

His brows draw together like he wants to believe you but can’t quite manage it. Still, he nods, swallowing whatever emotion is caught in his throat. Then he pulls you into one last hug, holding you tighter than before, like he’s afraid to let go.

You inhale deeply—maybe too deeply—committing his scent to memory, as if you hadn’t already. You memorise the way he holds you, the way your bodies fit together, and the quick, steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

You know you’ll see Tyler again. One way or another.

But it won’t be the same. Nothing is the same anymore.

“You’re both doing really well,” the doctor says, eyes scanning the computer screen. “Your baby is perfectly healthy, and everything about you is exactly where it should be for fourteen weeks.”

You nod and give her a tight-lipped smile, gripping the ultrasound picture like a lifeline.

“And the bump isn’t... too big?” you ask, trying not to sound completely clueless.

The doctor smiles warmly. “It’s perfect,” she assures you. “You’re showing a little more than some women might at this stage, but everyone’s different.”

You nod again. “Okay, good.”

“Any other concerns?” she asks after a moment.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.” She pushes up from her chair and heads for the door. “I’ll see you in four weeks.”

You smile and nod once more. “Thanks, doctor.”

“No worries. And—” she pauses, brows pulling together slightly. “You know you can bring the father to these appointments, right? Regardless of your relationship, he’s welcome. It might help ease some of the anxiety.”

You blink quickly at the sudden sting in your eyes—fucking hormones—and offer a watery smile. “Thanks. I’ll... talk to him.”

She gives you one last kind smile before shutting the door, leaving you alone in the pale-yellow hallway with nothing but spiralling thoughts.

Okay, so you haven’t told Tyler... yet. But you plan to. As soon as you stop crying at everything and start acting like a functional adult. These hormones have wrecked you—just like the internet said they would.

One minute, you’re sobbing over nothing. The next, you’re halfway to committing a felony. And then suddenly, you’re numb. Emotionally whiplashed. And the thought of telling Tyler—of seeing him again—drags every human emotion you have straight to the surface.

You’ve talked to him a few times. The rest of the crew, too. You’ve spun some lies and danced around their questions. You spoke to your mom and made her promise to keep your secret—because you know Tyler’s tried calling her since you left. But you haven’t yet mustered the courage to tell anyone else.

It’s been exactly eight weeks since you left. You're running on borrowed time. You know they’ll come looking soon, and you can’t let that happen. You need to go to them. To Tyler. You need to tell him the truth—your way—before it all blows up.

But first... you need a really big bowl of croutons. Just croutons. And if you don’t get them soon, you’re going to kill someone.

Pregnancy is wild.

A few hours later, you’re back in your studio apartment, curled up on the lounge you bought last week, your laptop propped on your belly and a second bowl of croutons at your side. Your résumé is open, and you’re tweaking it for a few job applications—hoping to land something at a desk for at least a few months. You could use the extra money.

On the small TV across the room—still sitting on the floor because you don’t have a table yet—YouTube is playing. More specifically, the live stream of a storm chaser you used to know. Someone who follows storms and interviews other chasers. Her name is Corey—you’ve met her a few times, but she’s never interviewed you. She’s always wanted Tyler, though. Everyone does. The man has... an effect on people.

Today’s the day, apparently. She finally convinced him to do an interview. And to say you’re jealous of how close she’s standing to him would be a laughable understatement.

Think pregnancy crying is bad? Try the horniness.

Ugh.

You can barely glance at a photo of Tyler without creaming your jeans. Just thinking about him twists your stomach into a knot—equal parts guilt and raw, desperate lust. You’ve thought about him way more than you should while touching yourself, and honestly? You don’t even care.

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s the father of the baby growing inside you or just because you’ve been in love with him for years. Either way, everything is louder now. Sharper. Half the reason you haven’t seen him again is because you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself from tearing him apart—devouring him the second he’s in front of you.

“Fuck,” you sigh out loud, feeling that familiar ache low in your belly.

You need to calm down.

You shift your focus back to the Word doc on your laptop, trying to let Corey’s high-pitched voice blur into the background as she asks Tyler about the storm they just chased. It’s hard though—because then he speaks. And the second he does, his voice draws your attention like a magnet, sending shivers racing down your spine.

You’d think after all these years of friendship, you’d be used to him by now.

“So, Tyler,” Corey says, her bright blue eyes sparkling above a megawatt smile, “now that we’ve completely and totally hashed out that EF2, I think it’s time to move on to some live questions. Mind answering a few from the fans?”

Tyler nods, the usual charming smirk tugging at his lips. “Bring it on.”

“Amazing.” Corey flips her auburn hair over her shoulder and holds up her phone. “First question: which tornado wrangler would be most likely to survive a horror movie?”

Tyler chuckles—low and rich, the kind of sound that somehow wraps around you even through the TV speakers. “Definitely Boone, but not because he’s outsmarted anyone. Just pure dumb luck.”

Corey giggles, and the sound literally makes you gag. Because pregnancy nausea? Not just limited to tastes and smells. Nope—it’s upgraded to all five senses.

“Okay, next up,” she says, eyes dropping to her phone screen. “What’s your go-to road trip snack?”

Tyler starts rubbing his hands together as he answers, but you don’t register the words. You already know his favourite snacks. You’ve been buying them for him for years. Instead, you find yourself watching his hands—his long fingers, the way he laces them together in front of his body. Those fingers you know can find magic inside you.

Your pulse thrums in your ears—and between your legs. Hot and heavy, making your breath catch in your throat.

Corey’s pitchy laugh pulls you back. “Noted. I’ll be sure to bring sour worms to our next interview,” she says with a wink.

Tyler laughs politely and pretends to adjust his belt—something you know he only does when he’s uncomfortable.

Sucked in, Corey. He doesn’t like you.

“Alright, I’ve got a slightly more serious one,” she says, tone shifting as she angles herself toward him. “This one’s come in from quite a few people, so I can’t not ask it.”

Tyler’s brows furrow and he nods once.

“Obviously, the Tornado Wranglers have welcomed two new members recently—Kate and Javi,” she says, referring to the two you met via video call a couple weeks ago. “But fans have also noticed the absence of one particular chaser. Your partner in crime…” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Will she be back?”

Your heart crawls into your throat. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes—so routine by now, you don’t even bother blinking them back.

Tyler shifts uncomfortably and glances at the ground. Then he mutters something the mic doesn’t quite catch. His shoulders go rigid, his jaw clenched as he struggles to find an answer.

It makes your chest ache.

“Well—uh,” he clears his throat, “we don’t usually get into personal stuff. We try to keep things focused on the storms. But, um...” His eyes are everywhere but the camera. “We all have personal lives, and sometimes things come up. Unexpected things. But in short… yes. She’ll be back. We’re not sure when, but she will be.”

The confidence in his voice rips a sob from your chest. You push your laptop off your stomach and sit up, arms wrapping protectively around the little bump low in your belly. To say you feel guilty about this whole thing is a gross understatement. You feel wretched. Each day you wake up knowing you’ll find another excuse not to call Tyler, and each day you inch closer to hating yourself for it.

You need to stop being such a coward and just do it. He has every right to know what’s going on—not just because he’s the father, but because he’s your best friend. These last two months have been the longest you’ve ever gone without seeing him since you joined the chasers nearly a decade ago. And the distance—physical and emotional—is chipping away at both of you.

You swipe the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes and reach for your phone. Opening your chat with Tyler, you scroll through the brief exchange from a couple days ago about an EF3 they’d been chasing. You start typing a message—trying to ask when you can see him without sounding too obvious.

But then Corey’s voice cuts through the room, snagging your attention again. “So, the fans want to know,” she says, “what’s next? What comes after storm chasing? Do you see yourself going back to school to become a qualified meteorologist—or maybe settling down? Starting a family?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your chest tightening until your lungs ache.

Tyler scoffs. “There’s an after chasing?” he says, the words stabbing into you like pins into a voodoo doll. “Chasing is it for me. I’ve worked too hard to get here, doing what I love. Nothing’s going to stop me—at least not until I’m too old to drive my truck. And even then,” he laughs, “I’ll find someone else to drive me into the eye of the storm.”

Corey giggles and tips her head, teasing. “So no dreams of settling down? No wife and kids someday?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Heat and nausea roll over you in waves.

“No,” Tyler says. “I just don’t see that for myself. Nothing feels as important to me as this—the storms, the research. Especially now, with Kate—she’s incredible—and Javi on the team, we’re doing real work in the name of science. I never want to stop. A family just doesn’t fit into that. It’s not what I want.”

The words hit like a gut punch, knocking the breath clean out of you.

“That’s not to say I won’t have a wife one day,” he adds. “If I find someone who loves this as much as I do, then maybe. But kids? No. I know myself too well—I’d resent anyone who took me away from what I really love. Which is chasing.”

You bolt from the couch and rush into the bathroom, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet just in time to hurl up an unsettling amount of croutons. Tears blur your vision, and all you can hear is the pounding of your own pulse in your ears—and Tyler’s voice echoing in your head.

It’s not what I want.

Your hands shake as you slide the mouse across the screen, clicking the answer button on the Skype call request. When Lily’s grinning face pops up—just Lily—you let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh my goodness, hi,” she says, leaning toward the camera. “You look... different. Like, good, but different. How do you look different from last week?”

You let out a soft laugh and roll your eyes, one arm resting on the kitchen counter where the laptop is propped, the other hung protectively across your stomach below the counter. You’re perched on the single barstool you picked up from a second-hand store last weekend, specifically for your weekly video calls with Lily. The couch wasn’t cutting it anymore, and you can’t exactly lie on your belly on the bed these days.

“Maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens and what you’re seeing now is just a bad clone,” you tease, deflecting.

She snorts. “Well, that would make sense, since that’s the only thing I can think of that would keep the girl I know away from chasing. Like, seriously. It’s been three months. Please tell me you’re coming back soon.”

You sigh, eyes darting to the notepad where you’ve scribbled your pre-planned excuses—not trusting yourself to think clearly on the fly.

“I’m sorry, Lils. I thought I’d be back by now too, but with everything going on with the family—it’s just been so stressful. And... I went to the doctor the other day. They think I could have a stress-induced stomach ulcer. I’m on meds, and I feel okay, but it needs to be monitored.”

Until you give birth to it…

Lily’s brow creases. “What? Seriously?”

You nod slowly, avoiding her big brown eyes on the screen. “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s not too serious—it’s manageable. I just need to, uh... stay here and keep things steady for a while.”

“Can we visit, then?” she asks. “Everyone misses you so much.”

“And I miss you guys too,” you say quickly. “But don’t come all this way for me. Keep chasing—it’s the season. Besides, it’s kind of boring over here. I’m just resting and helping out with family stuff. If you could actually help, I’d say get over here, but there’s really nothing to do except mope around.”

She nods slowly, still looking a little unconvinced, but mostly reassured.

“Besides, I need you to keep sending me updates so I can live vicariously,” you add, trying to lift the mood. “How was yesterday’s chase?”

Her face lights up, and she launches into a detailed rundown of what they got up to. You try to stay focused, to really listen, but she keeps mentioning Kate’s name beside Tyler’s, and your thoughts start spiralling.

You’ve met Kate and Javi—the new wranglers—a couple of times now via video call. They seem lovely and super smart. You hadn’t thought much of it. Until last night.

You’d stupidly decided to watch one of Boone’s Instagram live videos—one where he and Tyler recapped the day over beers in a motel parking lot. You thought it might help ease the ache in your chest from missing them, but instead it twisted something sharp and jealous low in your gut.

Kate had been there too, sitting beside Tyler, who wore a dopey grin and kept glancing at her like she was magnetic. They were clearly comfortable with each other—she even rested her hand on his knee once or twice as she answered some of Boone’s questions about the science side of things. Tyler didn’t adjust his belt. He didn’t shift awkwardly or look away.

He looked at her like she belonged there.

The jealousy that coursed through you had been instant and overwhelming. You’ve dealt with your fair share of Tyler’s girlfriends and hookups, but you’ve never seen him look at someone like that. Never once worried that maybe he’d find someone who didn’t just make him forget you—but replace you entirely.

It’s your biggest insecurity, one you hate even admitting to yourself... Tyler doesn’t need you as much as you need him.

“But anyway,” Lily says, her voice dragging you back to reality, “we were thinking of taking a break for a week or so. Maybe head somewhere quiet, less full of chasers. I think Tyler needs it—he’s been super stressed lately.”

“At least he has Kate,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I—I mean, she sounds really great and helpful. Just what Tyler needs.”

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Yeah... she’s cool, but...” She tips her head and sighs. “You know he misses you like crazy? I’m pretty sure he’s not sleeping, and he’s always talking about coming to find you. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep him at bay.”

You roll your eyes, trying to sound casual while swallowing down another wave of emotion. “I’m sure Tyler’s doing just fine. He always said I was a liability, so technically he should be way less stressed without me around.”

She gives you a flat, unimpressed look. “You better be joking, because I’ve never seen Tyler this wound up before.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest—small and fragile, but impossible to ignore. Maybe... just maybe... this whole fucked-up situation is still salvageable.

“Speak of the devil,” Lily says before you can respond.

You watch as she shuffles off the motel bed she’d been lying on and disappears out of frame. Your pulse quickens at the sound of a deep, muffled voice and approaching footsteps. For a split second, you consider ending the call—blaming it on bad reception or something—but it’s already too late.

The video shakes as Lily picks up her laptop and spins it toward Tyler. “Look who it is!” she announces.

He looks pale, the lines in his face more defined than you remember, but his eyes still sparkle the same. “Hey,” he says, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “You look... different.”

You blink quickly to stop the moisture welling in your eyes—internally cursing the hormones, even though you know they’re not the only ones to blame.

You haven’t actually spoken to Tyler in almost two weeks. You mostly text, dodge his calls with excuses, and only agree to video chats with Lily or Dani. Tyler knows you too well—and you’re starting to look different. He’ll know something is off.

“She’s sick,” Lily says before you can answer.

“Sick?” Tyler repeats, his smile fading. “Sick how?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the emotion rising in your throat. “I’m fine, really. Might be a stomach ulcer, but it’s mild and I’m already on meds. I just need a bit of rest.”

“We can come visit,” Tyler offers quickly, his green eyes full of concern that makes your stomach turn. “We were planning to take some time off soon, and we could-”

“No,” you cut in, your voice cracking. “Seriously, don’t. I’m okay. And there’s still stuff going on with the family. I just told Lily—if there were anything you could do, I’d say come help. But there’s not.”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, then hesitates. His eyes flick across the screen, studying your face, your posture, the way you’re nervously chewing your lip. He’s probably already clocked that the background behind you isn’t your mom’s house.

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” Lily says with a smile, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be back soon. She can’t stay away much longer—the chase is calling.” She looks at you with a playful grin. “Or we’ll come kidnap you.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I know you will.”

“How’s your mom?” Tyler asks suddenly, leaning closer to the camera.

Yeah. He’s definitely trying to figure out where you are. He’s been in every room of your mom’s place—he knows this background doesn’t match.

“She’s alright,” you say, shifting closer to the laptop to fill more of the frame. “Still a little fragile, so it’s good I’m here. But she’s doing well.”

He opens his mouth again, eyes narrowing slightly—keen and searching.

“Anyway,” you cut in quickly, “I should go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Lily nods, oblivious to Tyler’s suspicion. “Love you,” she says.

“Love you too, Lils,” you reply, before your gaze flicks toward Tyler’s frowning face. “You too, Ty. Stay safe out there.”

Then you move the mouse and hit the red button, sighing out a breath of relief as the call drops.

The next four weeks are brutal—worse than the twelve before them combined. You’re creeping up on the six-month mark, which means the third trimester isn’t far off. Your belly has officially popped—there’s no hiding it now unless you borrow your mom’s retro maternity parka—and you’re out of breath more often than not. All you want to do is sleep, eat, and cry over the fact that your closest grocery store just stopped stocking your favourite juice flavour.

But that’s not the hardest part.

The hardest part is Tyler—he’s relentless, and you’re pretty sure he’s rallying the rest of the crew too. The messages haven’t let up, and now he’s started calling at random times during the day. He asks about your mom, your family, your ‘stomach ulcer’. And everyone else is pestering you to come back to chasing, even just for a week, because they miss you like hell.

You feel like a total piece of shit.

You’re running out of excuses, and you’ve deflected for as long as you can. You’ve tried over and over to come up with a version of the truth that doesn’t make you sound like the villain. But no matter how you spin it, you’re still the asshole who kept a massive secret from the people who are practically your family. They’re going to find out soon—you’re already on borrowed time—and you know you have to tell them before Tyler shows up pounding on your mom’s front door.

The only thing you’re still absolutely certain about is this: you’re not telling Tyler he’s the father.

On the surface, it makes you look like a terrible person, but every time you imagine telling him... you hear his words again. And you know you just can’t.

It’s not what he wants. It would ruin everything. He’d resent you.

You can’t do that to him. You don’t expect anything from him, and you’re more than ready to do this on your own. In fact, at this point, you’d prefer it. You made the decision to keep the baby—this is on you. All Tyler did was break a condom and fuck you more thoroughly than anyone else ever has. He didn’t sign up for consequences. And for him... there doesn’t have to be any.

So you’ll tell them it was a one-night stand—technically true. That the father travels for work, and you gave him an out—also true.

Now you just have to hope the baby doesn’t come out looking like a carbon copy of Tyler Owens.

Not that you’re even sure the crew will be around to see much of the baby. You’re doing this solo for a reason—you don’t want to weigh anyone down. No matter how they react when you tell them, you’re not letting them give up chasing. That’s their life, and this choice? This was yours.

So, yeah, you’re going to tell them. But after that... you have no clue. You might never see them again, now that you’re settling down. Or maybe they’ll pop in once or twice a year. You don’t know.

The only thing you’re sure of right now is that you’re having this baby—and surprisingly, that’s more than enough.

“She’s perfect,” the doctor says, handing you the sonogram. “What made you want to find out the sex?”

You stare down at the little black and white image. Twenty-two weeks exactly. You’re more than halfway there.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “Thought maybe I should get to know my new roommate a little better.”

The doctor laughs softly but doesn’t press further. She types something into the computer, then jots a note on a scrap piece of paper—her recommendation for the heartburn you mentioned earlier. After a few more routine questions, she offers a kind smile and a dismissive nod. You thank her and step out.

Her office is just around the block from your apartment, so you chose to walk today. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and—for the first time in a while—you’re feeling a little less weighed down.

You’ve also decided that today’s the day you’ll message Tyler to ask where they are and see if you can meet up soon. You’ve practiced your story in the mirror more times than you can count, and you’ve run it past both your mom and your therapist—the latter was less thrilled about the lying, but you’re ignoring that part. All that’s left now is to show up and break the news gently. Although, your belly will probably do that for you the moment they see you.

Strangely, you feel at peace today—despite the whirlwind of the past few weeks. You woke up clear-headed, even a little hopeful. Like if you can grow an entire human, you can handle anything.

You try not to overanalyse the sudden shift—your moods have been a rollercoaster lately—and you’re especially trying not to compare it to the weather before a storm. But that’s exactly what it feels like.

Everything is calm. Still. The sun is out, and there’s no wind. But you know better than to trust this kind of stillness.

It’s the calm before the storm.

You shake your head and take a deep breath, refocusing on your route from the doctor’s office to the grocery store. It’s still early—barely nine a.m.—and you’ve got a craving for the sugary cereal you ran out of days ago.

The sun is warm enough that you have to shrug off your sweater the moment you step inside the store. It’s blissfully quiet—no crowded aisles, no screaming kids, and no one crashing their cart like it’s a demolition derby.

You sling your sweater over one shoulder and head toward the breakfast aisle, one hand resting on your belly as the baby wriggles—still too small for proper kicks, but very much there. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you scan the shelves, eyes flitting across the bright, colourful cereal boxes.

You really should start thinking of names. You haven’t even made a list.

You grab the box you came for and continue toward the end of the aisle, already thinking about swinging past the bakery section. But just as you round the corner, a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Holy shit.”

You know that voice. You know it too well.

You almost don’t want to look—but your head turns before you can stop it. And sure enough, there’s Tyler, looking downright sinful in a tight white T-shirt and faded Wrangler jeans. He’s wearing a cap, backwards, and it’s making your hormones riot. You could devour him right here in the middle of the store. But not only would that be wildly inappropriate... you’re pretty sure he’s gone into shock.

He looks pale—too pale. Frozen. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out. He looks like a fish out of water. And judging by the expression on his face, he probably feels like one too.

“Oh my God,” you say, instinctively shifting the cereal box in front of your belly. “Tyler.”

You want to launch yourself at him, to throw your arms around his neck. You want to hug him, kiss him, get lost in him the way you’ve been craving for months. But the way he’s staring... you’re not even sure he recognises you.

“W-What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice shaky and weirdly high-pitched. “Are the others here too?”

Panic overtakes you now, shoving the longing and hormones down into your gut and replacing them with a fresh wave of anxiety.

“I—uh,” he clears his throat, blinking hard. “We were just... just passing through.”

You can feel your heartbeat thumping in your throat.

Tyler shifts on his feet and clears his throat again. “We got in late last night. I was going to—uh, call you. See where you were, but...” His eyes drop to the cereal box in your hands, like he can see right through it.

“Wow,” you say, because it’s the only word your brain can summon. “That’s... great. I’d love to see them. Are they-”

“They’re back at the motel,” he cuts in.

Slowly, his expression twists—shock giving way to confusion, then something sharper. Anger, maybe.

There’s a long pause, thick and heavy, before you clear your throat. “Well, maybe we could all catch up? I’m not doing anything this after-”

“No,” he says, cutting you off again. He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I mean, yes. They want to see you. But I think I’d like to catch up now.” His tone is harder now, his expression unreadable. “Do you want to grab a coffee—” he hesitates, “or... tea?”

You rock back on your heels like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Tea still has caffeine in it,” you mumble.

He doesn’t even flinch—just pins you with a look. There’s no room to argue.

“But I could definitely go for a smoothie!” you say too brightly. “There’s a café around the corner, and my apartment’s just the next block over. If you don’t mind... can we go back there? I’ve got ultrasound jelly in my underwear and I really need to pee.”

His brows draw together. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt. “You have an apartment?”

You didn’t expect that to hit hardest, but you see why. As far as Tyler was concerned, you were coming back. You’d only ever been on a break. But hearing you have an apartment here... it tells him something else entirely.

That you’re not coming back.

You nod, tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah... I do.”

The walk out of the store and around the corner is one of the most painful things you’ve ever endured. You’re already planning to compare it to childbirth when the time comes—but honestly, you’re pretty sure this will still win.

Tyler’s movements are stiff and deliberate. He keeps a cautious distance, like you’re contagious, and it takes everything in you not to cry right there on the sidewalk.

Neither of you speaks. You just lead the way, and he follows. At the café, you order a smoothie—nothing else. You feel so nauseous, you're worried you might throw up your baby. Tyler orders a coffee, then steps back to type something on his phone. For a moment, panic grips you—is he telling the others? But no. Tyler’s not like that. He’s probably just letting them know that he got caught up.

Once your drinks are ready, you head down the street toward your apartment. You don’t bother making conversation, you don’t even point out the ridiculous-looking dog in the window across the street. You just let yourself into the lobby and ride up to the fourth floor.

Down the hall, you unlock your door and step inside, holding it open for him.

The look on his face as he enters your space is what finally breaks you. The tears spill over before you can stop them. He looks wrong here—too big for the tiny apartment you’ve made your own. And he looks like you’ve just ripped his heart out and stomped on it.

You make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping your untouched smoothie on the counter and diving for the tissue box. A sniffle escapes as you swipe at your eyes and nose, followed by a soft, rattling sob.

“Hey,” Tyler says gently, suddenly at your side, a hand landing on your back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Of course he’s not. He’s too good. Too decent to treat you the way you probably should be treated—without kindness.

You clear your throat and look up at him, close enough now that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne. “You should be,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks. “It’d be easier if you were mad at me.”

He lets out a humourless chuckle. “I mean, I’m not exactly happy. But why would I be mad?”

You feel small. Pathetic. Like if the floor cracked open right now, you’d gladly let it swallow you whole. But it doesn’t.

You force down another sob, blinking hard as you reach for your smoothie and carry it into the living room. You flop down into your favourite corner of the couch and nod for him to follow.

Then you clear your throat, summoning every ounce of confidence you have left.

“Okay,” you say. “Here’s the story.”

You don’t say the truth or what really happened. Because that’s not what you’re about to give him.

You’ve got a story. And that’s what you’re sticking to.

“A few weeks after I got back, I went out with some old friends,” you begin, technically not lying. “It was supposed to be a way to blow off some steam after everything with my family... and I missed you guys so much, I thought it would take my mind off things. But I got a little too drunk, and I ended up going home with some guy my friend knew.” There's the lie. “It was stupid and reckless, but... that’s what happened.”

He winces at your words, his expression unreadable. It looks like hurt, but why would he be hurt by that? Maybe it’s just disappointment.

You clear your throat and continue, slipping into the rhythm of the story you’ve practiced a thousand times in front of the mirror. “About three weeks later, I found out. I contacted the guy, but he travels for work, so... I gave him an out. I made the decision to keep it, told him I didn’t expect anything from him. So... here we are.”

The silence hangs thick and heavy between you, suffocating you as you try to breathe through the storm of emotions clawing at your chest.

“I was going to tell you,” you add, your voice steadier than you feel. “I just couldn’t find the right time. It all felt so messy and rushed, and time kept slipping by. You guys were so busy, and with Kate and Javi... I didn’t want to ruin the high you were on.”

He doesn’t react at first. Just stares at you—his eyes flicking between your face and your belly.

Then it hits him. A thousand emotions all at once. Confusion. Hurt. A flicker of anger. Sadness. And finally, he lands back on hurt.

“You’re going to do it alone?” he asks, tension threading through his words.

You nod once, steady. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’ll be amazing. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Your heart squeezes. Would he still be saying that if he knew who the guy really was?

“I won’t be alone,” you say, resting a hand on your stomach.

His eyes fall to your hand and linger there. You think his bottom lip might wobble, just for a second. But then he looks back up, brow creased.

“You know we’re all here for you,” he says, voice strained. “We’re not going to let you do this on your own. I know you’re strong, but-”

“It’s not your problem, Ty,” you cut in quickly, desperate to stop him before the tears start again. “It’s not anyone’s burden but mine—not that it’s a burden. But I was scared to tell you for a reason. I didn’t want you to freak out. I made this choice knowing it would change my life, and mine alone. I know I have support if I need it, but wait for me to ask. Not that I could ask any of you to stop your lives—stop doing what you love. I’d never do that. I’d never ask for more than you’re willing to give. So please believe me when I say... I’m happy about the choice I made. I’m excited to do this by myself. You need to live your life, Ty. Chase those storms. Chase your dreams. I’m good. I’ll be fine.”

His expression is unreadable—somewhere between pain and disbelief. He just stares at you, silent, like he doesn’t recognize what he’s looking at. Not scared. Just... bewildered.

The silence stretches, the only sound your uneven, too-loud breathing.

Then, finally, he whispers, “But it’s not the same without you.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep it light. “Don’t be silly, Tyler. You’ve got Kate and Javi now. You probably didn’t even notice I was gone.” You pause. “And Kate seems great. I’m happy for you.”

No, you’re not. But you’re getting better at lying.

His gaze snaps from your belly back to your face, eyebrows drawn tight. “Happy for me?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I really need a shower. That ultrasound goo gets everywhere. Want to catch up later? With the crew?”

You need him gone. Now. Before you fall apart.

“I—uh...” He glances around the room, like he’s trying to find an excuse to stay. “Yeah. They’ll want to see you.”

You nod and head to the kitchen for your bag. “Could you do me a favour?” The guilt is immediate and sharp. How dare you ask anything of him right now?

He nods.

“Could you... tell them? Warn them?” You can’t meet his eyes, so you focus on the tear in the knee of his jeans as he approaches.

“You want me to tell them?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s just... been a lot. And the way you reacted—I don’t think I can take five more of those. If you could just warn them before we meet up... it would help.”

Straight to hell. That’s where you’re headed. You’ve spent months trying not to burden him—and now this?

He swallows hard and nods, eyes drifting to something on the counter. “Yeah... okay. I can do that.”

You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Thanks, Ty.”

He picks up the sonogram. “Is this the one from today?”

“Oh.” As if she knows her dad is seeing her for the first time, your little girl wriggles. “Y-Yeah. That’s today.”

His mouth twitches into a watery smile. “Can I take a photo? Then I can show the crew.”

You nod, speechless, watching the way he looks at the picture. If he doesn’t leave soon, you’re going to cry and throw up all over him.

He snaps the photo and tucks his phone away, gently placing the sonogram back on the counter.

“You said you weren’t busy this afternoon?” he asks.

You nod, throat tight.

“Good. I’m sure they’ll want to see you soon. Maybe dinner? I’ll text you after I talk to them. I bet you know all the good places around here.”

He’s speaking too fast, his eyes everywhere but your face. He wants out just as badly as you want him out.

You walk him to the door, trying to smile. It’s pitiful. It feels like everything around you has stopped moving. His eyes are wide, glassy, full of something unfamiliar. But then again, do you even know him anymore? Four months is a long time.

Before you can say goodbye, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you. Holds you like he means it. Like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

Tears stream down your face, your shoulders shaking. The baby kicks—harder than ever—and you want to blame the pressure of Tyler’s hug. But then you wonder... does she know it’s him?

The thoughts keep coming, hot and heavy, as your tears soak into the shoulder of his white shirt.

After what feels like both forever and not long enough, he pulls away. His eyes rimmed with red.

“I’ll text you,” he says hoarsely, then turns and walks down the hall.

You shut the door—and collapse to the floor. You stay there for almost an hour. Crying. Thinking. And for the first time, wishing you’d just told him the truth from the start. Back at the gas station. Would it really have been that bad?

You’re not so sure anymore. Because this? This doesn’t feel like the right thing.

- Tyler -

Tyler doesn’t remember how he got back to his truck in the grocery store parking lot. All he knows is that he’s in it now—but he doesn’t have the courage to drive. He doesn’t trust himself. His hands won’t stop shaking, his eyes are burning with tears, and his throat aches. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you: your soft smile, your wide, tearful eyes, and that intrinsic glow—granted by your pregnancy, despite how clearly distressed you’d been.

He can’t believe you’re pregnant.

He tried so hard to be understanding, to not blow through you with every emotion that crashed down the moment he saw you. But it was so hard. He wanted to be angry that you didn’t tell him—but he knew he had no right. He didn’t have the right to be upset at all. You were clearly stressed about him finding out—about the crew finding out.

But why?

That’s what he can’t figure out.

Sure, it might not have been planned. It’s going to turn your life upside down. But why wouldn’t you want your friends to know? He knows you’ve rationalised it—told yourself you didn’t want to burden them. But he also knows that you know better than that. Your friends wouldn’t feel burdened. They’d just want to be there for you.

He just wants to be there for you.

And as complicated as this whole thing is, it’s confusion that lingers the loudest. He’s confused about how he should feel, and confused about what he does feel. He thought he knew you—but right now, he’s not so sure. You’re still familiar... but different.

The sharp chime of Tyler’s phone cuts through the silence of the truck cabin. He glances at where he tossed it on the passenger seat, just able to make out the text from Boone: ‘You good?’

No.

He exhales slowly and turns the key, the truck rumbling to life around him. Then he grabs the phone and fires off a quick reply: ‘Be back in 10. Get everyone together for breakfast.’

Then he pulls out of the grocery store parking lot and starts rehearsing how he’s going to break the news to the crew.

An hour later, in a quiet café on the other side of town with two small tables pulled together, Dani leans toward Tyler and blurts, “She’s what?!”

Dexter chokes on his coffee, spluttering into his napkin, while Lily’s jaw drops mid-chew, revealing a messy mouthful of pancake.

“She’s pregnant?” Boone asks, his voice calmer than Dani’s, though his eyes are still wide as saucers.

Kate and Javi exchange a quick, uncertain glance, both clearly unsure how to react to the news that’s left half the crew reeling over their breakfast.

“I can’t believe she didn’t say anything,” Dani says, her voice tight with offense.

Lily finally swallows. “So that’s why she’s been avoiding us?”

Dexter tips his head, eyes narrowing on Tyler. “How far along is she?”

Tyler shrugs, his stomach twisting with nausea—though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s not like this is his big news. “She said she met the guy a few weeks after getting home. So... she’s probably around four months.”

“Four months,” Dani echoes. “And she didn’t tell any of us?”

Kate’s quiet laugh draws every eye to her. She quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbles, wide-eyed. “I just—” She glances at Tyler, then looks around the table. “I mean, can you blame her? Look at how you’re all reacting.”

Tyler frowns. “What do you mean?”

Kate sighs and leans back in her chair. “No offense, but you’re all acting like this is about you. If this wasn’t planned—and it doesn’t sound like it was—then she’s probably just scared. Of course she was nervous to tell you guys. She probably knew how you’d react.”

The group goes quiet then, effectively chastised. And Kate isn’t wrong—Tyler knows that. As someone less emotionally entangled in your situation than the rest of the crew, she can probably see it more clearly. Understand why you did what you did.

But that doesn’t make Tyler feel any less conflicted. He still feels off. His palms are damp and his stomach won't stop twisting itself into nauseating knots. His heart is beating too fast, sitting high in his throat. And he can’t stop seeing your face—those tearful eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips the moment you saw him again.

For a fleeting moment, he’d been taken back to that night. The night where everything else blurred except for you. Your flushed face, kiss-bruised mouth, lips parted for him, breathless beneath him. The way you’d whispered his name like a secret, the sounds he drew from you with his hands and mouth, the feel of your skin against his.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that night… a lot. At first, he tried not to. He couldn’t believe the lines he’d crossed, waking up with you in his arms at three a.m., your bare body pressed to his. He wasn’t even that drunk—just drunk on you. And God, he wanted nothing more than to pull you closer and fall back asleep. But panic had crept in. He had to get out. Had to breathe.

The next day was awkward—mostly because he couldn’t stop seeing you the way he’d seen you the night before. He wanted to talk, to say something. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk burning down years of friendship for one selfish desire. So after about a week, he cracked a joke. You shot back with something sarcastic, and things felt… almost normal again.

Until you left.

And when you did, you took a piece of him with you. A big piece. One he doesn’t know how to get back—or if he even wants it back.

“Hey.” Kate nudges her knee against Tyler’s. “You good?”

The rest of the group has slipped into quiet conversation, murmuring among themselves about you and the baby.

Tyler nods once, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he fishes his phone from his back pocket. He opens it, pulls up the sonogram picture, and slides it across the table.

“She had an ultrasound today,” he says, the words tasting like lead on his tongue.

Lily’s eyes light up as she snatches the phone, gazing at the black-and-white photo. Dani leans over one shoulder, Dexter over the other, and it’s not hard to catch the soft smiles spreading across their faces.

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be upset,” Kate says, her voice lowered just for him. “I just think... maybe consider how she’s feeling before you take too much of that out on her.”

Tyler sighs and scrubs both hands over his face. “I tried to be calm. But it was so fucking hard. She kept crying.”

Kate exhales a half-laugh. “Yeah, she’s pregnant. Whatever you think you’re feeling, multiply it by a thousand. That’s probably where she’s at.”

The memory of your tear-streaked face hits him square in the chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. He’d felt so useless, even as he held you close. All he wants is to make things better. To go back, find you sooner, and give you everything you’ve needed but never asked for.

“I just want to help,” Tyler mutters, his voice rough. “She said she’s happy to do it on her own, but... I want to be there.”

“Then be there,” Kate says, brows furrowed like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “You don’t have to overstep or force your way back in. Just be her friend. Isn’t that what you’ve always been? Just because she thinks things have to change doesn’t mean they do. Show her that.”

Tyler’s eyes flick to Dani, who now has his phone and is zooming in on the sonogram with an awed expression.

“But things have changed,” he says, turning back to Kate.

On her other side, Javi has his phone in front of his nose, but Tyler can tell from his posture that he’s still listening.

“For her, yeah,” Kate replies. “Her whole world’s flipped. But for you? Not really. So be something that hasn’t changed. Something stable. Something she can still count on.”

Tyler’s brows draw together, eyes starting to burn again from the now-familiar sting of tears. He knows Kate’s smart—but wise too? Suddenly, he feels like a kid who threw a tantrum he didn’t fully understand.

“I mean,” Javi chimes in, the straw of his milkshake still at the corner of his mouth, “it’s not like you’re the father.”

The words hit Tyler harder than they should. They sink into his skin and burn as they draw blood, the pain spreading through his chest. His skin prickles, heat rushes to his face, and his head goes a little light—like the floor’s been yanked out from under him.

He’s not just angry that you didn’t tell him. Not just upset that you left, that you ran away from the crew with a half-assed excuse. He’s confused, yes—but underneath it all, he’s heartbroken.

Because it’s not just about you being pregnant. It’s not about the distance, or how much everything suddenly feels so different. It’s the fact that you’re pregnant with someone else’s baby.

Not his.

And for the first time, the weight of it truly hits him—

He wants it to be his.

“Ouch!” Javi hisses as Kate smacks him on the back of the head. “What was that for?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not reading the room.”

“Shit,” Javi mutters, leaning forward past Kate to see Tyler—a very shocked-looking Tyler. “Sorry, man.”

Tyler tries to shake his head, but it’s slow, almost robotic. “It’s fine,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper.

Kate rests a hand on his knee and leans toward him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He opens his mouth, but hesitates. He was going to say yes—but that would be a lie. He’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay since you left.

Kate’s brows draw together, her head tilting slightly. “You’re not, like... just realizing you’re totally in love with her, are you?”

Tyler’s green gaze snaps to her face, a jolt of electricity running down his spine at hearing those words said out loud.

“Oh, Tyler...” she sighs, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Wake up.”

He’s always known he loves you—of course he does. But in love with you? Maybe it should’ve been obvious. He hasn’t felt fully human without you by his side. There’s been a gaping hole in his chest since the day you left—because you took his heart with you.

It always has been yours. He just never really thought about it that hard. He’s just always known, deep down, from the very beginning, that he belongs to you.

And he’s always thought of you as his. Never questioned it, even through your crappy boyfriends and his meaningless hookups. Some part of him was sure you’d always come back. That at the end of the day—after the storm—you’d be his again.

But now? Now some other guy has a claim on you. And he knows it’s selfish. He knows it’s primal. But God, he fucking hates it.

After breakfast, the crew heads back to the motel. They try to work—and try even harder to pull Tyler out of whatever existential wormhole he’s fallen into—but it’s not easy. He spends most of the day staring into space, half-listening (at best) to anyone who speaks. Eventually, they give up and leave him to it.

Lily ends up messaging you about dinner, since Tyler’s too dazed to even type a text. You agree to meet at a restaurant downtown, halfway between your place and the crew’s motel.

“Okay, pal,” Kate sighs as she drops into the lawn chair beside Tyler’s. “You’re starting to worry us.”

Lily drops into the chair on his other side, braced like she might have to chase him if he bolts.

“Are you going to be alright tonight?” Kate asks gently.

Tyler nods—slow, uncertain. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been a damn zombie all day,” Lily snaps. “You think acting like this is going to make her feel loved and supported?”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her tone sharp. “The answer is no. So get your shit together.”

Tyler turns to Kate, frowning. “Why is she being mean to me?”

Kate rolls her eyes for what feels like the thousandth time today. “Because you’re being a child. So what, you’re in love with your best friend who’s now pregnant with some random guy’s baby? Suck it up. Start acting normal—or you’ll just make her feel worse.”

Tyler lets out a long, dramatic sigh and tips his head back. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Lily says. “Come on—practice talking about baby stuff with us.”

Kate perks up. “Good idea. Ask us about being pregnant.”

Tyler slowly lowers his head and gives Kate a flat stare. “This is dumb. I’m not going to make things awkward. I’ll be fine.”

“Then why have you walked away from every conversation about babies today?” Lily fires back.

“Just try,” Kate pleads. “Let’s just talk about her, okay? And no deflecting.”

Tyler groans but doesn’t argue, silently accepting the assignment.

Kate folds her hands in her lap and leans in like an interviewer. “So, you said she’s got an apartment here—did you see the nursery?”

“No,” Tyler replies, nausea twisting in his gut. Just thinking about that visit makes him uneasy. “Wasn’t exactly a show-and-tell kind of vibe.”

Kate sighs. “I get that. But just work with us.”

“I’ve got one,” Lily chimes in. “Did she say she’s having any weird cravings?”

Tyler shakes his head. “No.” Then, at her expectant look, he adds, “But she was buying some sugary cereal when I ran into her. I think she told the cashier it was the baby’s favourite breakfast.”

Lily nods, satisfied.

Kate clears her throat. “Did she say how far along she is?”

“Not exactly,” Tyler says. “But from what she did say, I’m guessing around eighteen weeks.” He did the math—counting from the day you left the crew, assuming you met ‘the guy’ maybe three or four weeks later.

“Nuh-uh,” Lily says, brows pinched as she shakes her head. “She’s twenty-two weeks.”

Tyler’s heart skips. “What? How do you know?”

“It’s on the sonogram, stupid.”

His pulse kicks up, head spinning, hands suddenly numb as he fumbles for his phone. He yanks it from his back pocket and pulls up the image, squinting at the screen.

Lily sighs and takes it from him, zooming in on the small print in the corner. “See? Twenty-two weeks.”

Kate says something, but Tyler doesn’t hear her. All he hears is the blood pounding in his ears. Loud. Fast. Deafening.

Twenty-two weeks. That’s five and a half months. You’ve only been gone four months and three weeks.

That leaves three weeks.

Three weeks you were still with the crew. Still with him.

Somewhere in those three weeks… you got pregnant.

The world tilts. He blinks, once—twice—but everything stays blurry. The thought barrels through him like a freight train. It doesn’t make sense—shouldn’t make sense—but it does. The timeline. The things you said. The look on your face when you saw him. His stomach drops as the pieces slam into place, sharp and undeniable.

Holy shit.

“Tyler,” Kate says, her hand closing over his shoulder.

Lily frowns again. “You’re supposed to be acting normal, dude. You can’t keep freezing like that.”

“I have to go,” he mutters, shooting to his feet.

Kate blinks. “Where?”

“I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant.” He’s gone before they can respond, feet already pounding the pavement.

He throws himself into the truck and jams the key in the ignition, peeling out of the motel lot fast enough to make the tires squeal.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as the truck barrels down the street, heart pounding like a war drum. The shock is still there, curling cold and sharp in his chest, but the panic has started to harden. Settle. Sharpen. He’s not going to lose it. Not now. If this really adds up—if the impossible is true—then he needs answers. Not anger. He sucks in a breath through his nose, jaw locked tight.

He’s not going there to yell. He’s going there to hear it. To look you in the eye and make you say it—

The truth.

- You -

You stand in front of your closet with your hands on your hips, trying to figure out what still fits and also looks decent enough for a nice restaurant. You picked a nice place on purpose—you haven’t been out in months. Literally. Most of your friends have been too busy chasing tornadoes while you’ve been stuck in this town, growing a baby. And while you’re not angry about the choices you’ve made, you’re more than a little excited to be getting out for the first time in what feels like forever.

You’re feeling a lot better than you did a few hours ago. After a solid hour of crying on the floor, you dragged yourself into the shower and stayed there until your fingers pruned. Then you wrapped yourself in two towels, curled up on your bed, and passed out. When you woke up, your phone was full of messages—hearts, check-ins, a few sweet “can’t wait to see you” texts—and you decided that maybe you’d been overreacting.

Sure, seeing Tyler had been the emotional peak of the last five and a half months, but that’s over now. And yeah, things might still be awkward. A little tense. But the secret’s out, and your story had him convinced—hook, line, and sinker. He was just emotional because he missed you. Because you’re best friends, and this is the longest you’ve ever gone without each other.

You’d thought about telling him the truth earlier, while curled up on the floor. But once the initial wreckage settled, you remembered why you hadn’t. Just to be sure, you went back and rewatched Corey’s YouTube interview. It still stung—maybe even more than the first time—but it did what it was supposed to: reminded you to stay strong. Because when it comes to Tyler Owens, strength is not your strong suit.

A knock echoes through the apartment and jolts you into motion. You yank a pair of thick black leggings from the drawer and wrestle into them while shuffling toward your bedroom door, grabbing an oversized knit sweater on the way.

“Coming!” you call, your voice muffled as you pull the sweater over your head.

Random visitors aren’t exactly uncommon. Your neighbour Marge likes to accuse you of stealing her newspapers, and you’ve definitely forgotten about more than a few online orders until the delivery driver comes knocking

You reach the door and tug the sweater down over your bump before pulling it open.

“Tyler,” you breathe, startled, taking an automatic step back. “You’re—uh—you’re like an hour early.”

Lily had mentioned he’d be picking you up—something about saving you the cab fare. You hadn’t objected, for obvious reasons, but you’d hoped for at least enough time to do your hair and makeup.

Still, he looks infuriatingly good. He’s swapped his white tee for a red plaid flannel, the top few buttons undone down to his sternum. His hair’s a tousled mess, like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and he’s holding his cowboy hat in one hand.

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathless. “Figured we could catch up some more.”

Did he drive here? Or run?

“Um, okay. Sure,” you say, stepping back further.

He nods as he walks in, kicking off his boots by the door before heading toward the lounge. But he doesn’t sit—he just stands there, stiff and distant, eyes scanning the room like he’s searching for something specific.

“I was just getting ready,” you say, slipping into the kitchen. “Mind if I do the quick version before we... catch up?”

He shakes his head and sets his hat on the coffee table, still glancing around like he’s casing the place.

“Want a drink?” you ask, watching him carefully.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Okay,” you mutter, and retreat toward your room. So much for taking your time and enjoying getting ready.

Maybe he’s just trying to be nice after this morning. Or maybe the others sent him here to smooth things over before they all see you for the first time in over four months—baby bump and all.

“How far along did you say you were?” Tyler calls, poking his head into your room.

You jump, dropping the sock you were trying to pull on. “Oh... um, about four-ish months.”

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t press, just leans in the doorway, quietly taking in the space.

This can’t be good.

“When are you due?” he asks.

“Five-ish months,” you shoot back with a smirk.

His lip twitches, almost smiling—and it still gets you. That little flicker of him is enough to stir your heart.

Then he asks, “What did you say the dad’s name was again?”

You freeze mid-step toward the ensuite. “I didn’t.”

“Oh...” His nod is slow, satisfied, like he was waiting for that.

“It’s Todd,” you blurt, turning quickly and disappearing into the bathroom.

Behind you, he scoffs. “Todd.”

Yeah, this isn’t good. Tyler’s onto something. What, you don’t know. But you can feel it—he’s circling like a shark, toying with you before he bites.

“So, when exactly did you find out you were pregnant?” he asks, stepping into view in the mirror behind you.

The hairs on your neck rise. “About three weeks after I slept with him.”

His eyes lock on yours in the mirror, steady and sharp as you try to run a comb through your damp hair.

“What did he say when you told him?”

You shrug, trying to appear unaffected. “Not much. He was shocked. Asked if I was keeping it, and I said yes. Told him it was fine if he wanted out. He took it.”

Tyler shifts, raising one arm to lean against the doorframe. He’s filling the small bathroom doorway with his body—and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad his shoulders are, how strong his arms are, remembering the way he’d thrown you around that night...

The memory slams into you, heat creeping between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together.

He notices. That tiny smirk returning as he leans in a little more, boxing you in.

“Bit strange, don’t you think?” he says, voice low. “Knowing you’re having a kid and not wanting anything to do with it. Sounds like a dirtbag move.”

Anger slices through your chest. “Yeah, well. Some people just don’t see themselves settling down.”

The words are out before you realise—they're his words, from the interview.

His eyes narrow. “Who said anything about settling down? Kids don’t ruin lives.”

You scoff, avoiding his gaze. “No, they just stop you from pursuing your dreams.”

Another quote. Damn that interview. Damn you for watching it again. But the way he’s interrogating you is pissing you off. What right does he have? He’s the one who told the world he’d resent anyone who gave him a kid.

And here he is, acting like he cares.

A heavy breath hangs in the air as you trade your hairbrush for a makeup brush, leaning closer to the mirror. Tyler’s eyes stay locked on you—intense, unwavering, a little too focused.

Then his voice slices clean through the silence.

“Why didn’t you use birth control?”

White-hot fury flares up your spine, lighting your cheeks on fire as you spin to face him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t recoil. He just stands there with that same infuriating glint in his eye—smug, steady, unreadable. His posture is so relaxed it makes your skin crawl, like he didn’t just drop a live grenade into the middle of your lie.

“You know I’m not on birth control,” you snap, your voice low and trembling with rage. “And the condom. Fucking. Broke.”

The second it’s out of your mouth, you want to drag it back in. You could’ve said anything else—something careless, something wild, something stupid. But instead, you gave him truth wrapped in a lie—and now the whole thing is starting to crack.

“That so?” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Crazy how that happened... twice in a row.”

Your jaw clenches. “Clearly I need to buy a new box of condoms.”

He lets out a dry, humourless laugh and leans in closer, eyes glittering. “That was my condom that broke.”

Your breath comes faster now, chest tight, nerves sparking under your skin like live wires. You can’t even remember the lie you rehearsed. Your heart’s thundering, the baby is moving restlessly in your belly—like she feels your panic. Like she knows.

“Maybe you and Todd use the same damn brand,” you mutter, spinning back toward the vanity and gripping the edge like it might hold you steady.

“You just said you need to buy a new box,” he presses, relentless. “Does Todd leave his condoms here?”

You grit your teeth, drop your chin, and breathe in through your nose. “Jesus, Tyler. I’m sorry I don’t remember every single detail.”

You hear him shift. Feel the heat of him behind you. Too close.

“You wanna know what I think?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

You turn, slowly, heart in your throat. He’s so close now your belly nearly brushes his belt and you have to press against the vanity for space.

You meet his eyes. “What do you think, Tyler?”

He tilts his head, just slightly. “I think you remember the night you got pregnant like it just happened. I think it’s carved into your brain. And I think you’re tripping over your story right now because you can’t forget what it felt like. Because it was so damn good, you don’t want to forget it.”

Panic coils in your chest like a gathering storm—rising fast, twisting tight, pushing a tangled mess of guilt and frustration up your throat. Your breath catches on it, your lungs stuck somewhere between inhale and breakdown. And then it spills over. Tears blur your vision before you can even try to blink them back, heavy and hot as they streak down your cheeks—weighted with remorse and something close to desperation.

Tyler is frozen in place, wide-eyed and still, his lips parted like he’s trying to speak but the words won’t come. You can see the regret flicker there—he hadn’t meant to be cruel, not like that. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever version of the truth he’s starting to piece together... he’s probably right.

And still, you can’t say it. Not yet.

Instead, you swipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater and slip past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you squeeze out of the bathroom. You cross the room on shaky legs and drop onto the bed, curling in on yourself as a raw sob breaks free and rattles from your chest. You bury your face in your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Tyler doesn’t move at first. The silence stretches and settles around you, thick and stifling. But then comes the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet as he steps closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s choking on his own emotion. “That was too harsh.”

You don’t look up. Not yet. You can’t.

“I didn’t mean to come at you like that,” he continues, voice gentler now. “I got caught up—and I guess I’ve been walking around with all this shit in my chest. Then I saw you again, and it just... it all hit me. I’ve been pretending I’m fine, like it didn’t gut me when you left. But it did. You took more of me with you than I ever realised.”

Your fingers shift, just enough to peek through them—and there he is, kneeling beside the bed, one hand resting near your thigh but not quite touching. His eyes search yours, glassy with emotion he’s clearly trying to hold back.

“I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I did before all of this—before you left, before... the baby. I’ve always loved you. That night wasn’t a mistake. And honestly? I wasn’t even that drunk. I just—needed you. I still do. I need you more than anything.”

You swallow hard.

“But not more than you need the chase,” you mutter, tears spilling again. “Right? Because that’s it for you. That’s the dream, and you’ve worked too damn hard to give it up.”

He blinks. Confused. Then his brows furrow as recognition dawns. You can see it hit him—he remembers.

You let out a shaky breath and slide your hand over his. “I don’t want you to resent me, Ty. I don’t want you to give up what you love. You’ve got an out.”

His eyes widen, locking onto yours like he’s just now realising what you’re trying to say.

“You can still walk away,” you whisper.

He stares at you, frozen—like your words knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. His brows knit tighter, his hand shifting beneath yours.

Then, after a beat, he whispers, “Are you serious?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just look at him, eyes brimming, heart thundering in your chest like it’s trying to burst out and reach for him itself.

His throat works around a swallow. Then he says it—low and broken and burning.

“Didn’t you hear me?” His voice cracks. “I fucking love you. More than anything. More than storms and chasing and everything I’ve ever been stupid enough to think mattered more. That interview... it was bullshit. I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking about you. Because with you, I want all of it.”

Then he moves.

There’s no breath between the words and the moment he surges forward—like he’s been holding himself back for years and finally snapped. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and searing, all teeth and desperation and need. One hand tangles in your hair, the other pulls you toward him with a grip that says he’s never letting go again.

It steals your breath. Steals your thoughts. Your hands fist in his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely, matching the fire with one that’s been simmering in your chest since the day you left.

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s raw and reckless and messy, and it tastes like every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every broken piece finally slamming back into place.

It feels like the truth.

Between frantic kisses, you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

You feel his mouth curve into a smile before he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

The kisses slow, soften—his tongue sweeping against yours with aching intention, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you, every breath. The hand tangled in your hair slides down to cradle your neck, while the other one drifts to your waist, settling gently against the curve of your swollen belly.

Then the baby kicks—hard. Harder than she ever has. You both jolt.

“Shit,” you whisper, hands flying to your stomach. “Sorry.”

Tyler stares, completely still. He looks unfairly beautiful like this—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, wide, glassy eyes locked on your belly. He looks like he’s just witnessed something holy. Something impossible.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours.

You shrug, brushing your damp cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater. “She doesn’t usually kick that hard. I guess she’s getting stronger.”

His eyes shimmer. “She?”

You nod, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “Yeah. We’re having a baby girl.”

His bottom lip trembles, a small, stunned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We?”

A shaky laugh bubbles up as fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “Yes, Tyler. She’s yours.”

His tears fall freely now, trailing down his flushed cheeks, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He just looks at you like you’ve hung the moon—just for him.

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We’re all yours.”

Then he’s kissing you again—wet and messy and full of everything you’ve both been carrying for months. You’re crying, he’s crying, but neither of you care. You just hold on—breathing hard, laughing softly—lips meeting again and again as you both sink into the familiar shape of each other… into home.

END.

#tyler owens #twisters #glen powell #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x reader #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #glen x reader #twisters 2024

1K notes · View notes

marvelwitchergilmore · 7 months ago

Text

Small Touches and Simple Gestures

Summary: Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> For years you've pretended to be married to avoid unwanted attention. But what happens when the lie you've been living, suddenly becomes true. Well, at least a part of it.

Disclaimer: Swearing, fluff, one of the agents making a move on Reader though nothing happens (Javi stops it). Fake dating, falling in love, embarrassing mothers, office romance. Heavy smut towards the end, so 18+. Happy ending. A lot of smaller intimate moments between Javi and Reader away from the smut, too. Kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you that three years into working with Agent Javier Peña you’d be wearing a wedding band, marrying you to him for at the very least, the foreseeable future…you wouldn’t have believed them.

And you would be right not to. Because that, technically, wasn’t what it was for.

And it had all started with a question that Peña asked you one day as you sat at your desk.

“Was he real?”

You slowly tore your attention away from the case file in front of you. “What?”

“Your husband.”

For a moment you forgot all about how you’d first come to interact with Peña. He had asked you out. Well, flirted heavily then asked you out.

“What husband?”

Javi stood as he talked, walking towards your desk and sitting down on the edge of it closest to you. “One day you’re wearing a wedding ring telling me you’re married, the next it’s gone.”

You looked at your hand. “Oh. Yeah.” You decided to admit the truth. “I made him up.”

Despite his constant theories, he was still shocked. “What?”

“I made him up.”

You said it as if you were asking him how his day was. Like it was nothing new.

“You made him up?”

“You try and be a single woman in this office who doesn’t like getting hit on by every guy who thinks with his dick,” you told him. “See how quickly you make up a fake family.”

He had to laugh. “But I hit on you.”

You looked at him, suppressing an already knowing smirk on your face. “My point exactly.”

“Think I got something.” From the door, Steve came sweeping inside and threw a couple of files down on Javi’s desk. The previous topic was dropped for now but you took a moment to revel in the shock graced on Peña’s face.

However, a few hours later, it was brought back up again.

You’d been standing in the evidence locker, looking for yet another misplaced case file. Could people not read in this office? Had they lost all sense of the alphabet? You sighed heavily.

“How long have you been doing it?”

You jumped and found Peña standing behind you. “Jesus, Peña. Make a noise or something. Fuck.” You turned back to the messy shelf in front of you.

“So?”

You sighed. “Doing what? This? Feels like hours.”

He shook his head and rounded you before leaning against the side of the shelves. “Not the files. You being married.”

“Oh, uh…” You pulled a few hefty files and handed them over to him before reaching down onto the lower shelf and pulling those files up. “Couple years, I guess. Since before the Academy.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier, or do I need to repeat myself, Peña?”

He shook his head again and put the files down. “No, I heard you. But that’s here. Why did it start?”

You sighed and stopped what you were doing to look at him. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

He let out a small chuckle. “What? Come on, you’re one of the first Agents here to reject me not once, but three different times.”

You raised a subtle eyebrow. “I was married when you did that.”

“The first time, yes.” Javi corrected. “But that was an honest mistake. The second and third time, there was no ring on your finger. And, after this morning, you technically weren’t married at all. Look, just answer my questions and then I’ll drop it forever.”

“You promise?”

He held up his hand. “Scouts honour.”

You gave a questioned hum. “It’s difficult to imagine you as a Scout.”

“Y/l/n.”

You groaned. “Fine. It started because I got asked out a couple of times by this guy. He seemed nice and all but I wasn’t interested. So, when he asked why I kept saying no, I told him I was married. Swapped my rings over under the bar top before showing it to him. He took it well, apologised and said my husband was a lucky fella.”

Peña continued to listen.

“Then I moved away. The second time I was with someone but this guy just kept hitting on my friend. She went to the bathroom and then he started on me. Told him I was with someone. He didn’t believe me. So, I showed him my wedding band. Said my friend was married, too. He,” you sighed. “Eventually backed-off. After that it just kinda became my go-to. People I interviewed preferred to see a married woman than a single woman being a cop. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t start out my job as married. But the minute the compliments, and the touching and the dates being pre-arranged because they expected me to say yes…once they all started, I started wearing my wedding ring.”

“So why take it off?”

You shrugged. “Guess I must have forgotten. Besides, nobody has tried anything in the last couple of years. We’ve all been too busy.”

For a moment, Peña’s demeanour seemed to shift. “But I’ve flirted with you.”

You smiled a tired smile and stepped back from the files for a moment. “I work with you, Peña. I like you but I think I’m immune.”

“That hurts.” He deadpanned before placing a hand over his heart. “That…wow.”

You laughed. “I think you’ll bounce back.”

And he did. That night he walked out telling Murphy he had a date with the stall girl he’d met a few days ago.

The following weeks were hectic as different cases made their way across your desk, all with connections to Peña and Murphy’s biggest case; Pablo Escobar.

From interviewing victim’s families, to interrogations, to the crappy coffee in the break room. Your days and nights were spent looking over files and dealing with your case loads. Until one afternoon in the breakroom led to something you never had expected.

There was another Agent working at the Embassy. You’d seen him around a few times, shared a conversation or two. But most importantly, he had seen your wedding ring. You hadn’t missed his behaviour over the last couple of days. It started with smiles in the hallway – innocent enough. Then you found him in your breakroom more. Apparently the coffee was better. Then he was sitting at your table during lunch – apparently his partner was out for the day and he felt like some company. You didn’t miss his eyes clocking your hand.

“Your wedding band. It’s gone.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but the lie fell from your lips. “Oh, yeah, It’s in for a cleaning. It had a couple dark patches and scuffs on it.”

More things started creeping up. Like how he always stood just that little bit closer and not in a comforting way, when you were both talking. Or how his eyes looked you up and down before you got to speaking distance from each other.

Then in the breakroom, the ‘compliments’ started. How your hair looked – how it always looked. How you always made ‘women’s clothes look so much better’. How he enjoyed spending time with you because you actually talked to him.

“You know,” he trailed a finger up your arm and you were three seconds away from breaking it and running to take a scalding hot shower. “I was thinking we could get away for a while. After all, we both deserve a break. Maybe take these lunches outside of the office.”

You stepped back. “I’m married.”

“Oh, come on, we both know that’s a sham.” He told you, taking a step closer as you took another one back. “You never bring him to office parties, there’s no pictures on your desk-”

“I don’t need to prove to you or to anyone else that I’m married.”

He laughed. He actually laughed. “You’re not about to tell me he lives in Canada are you?”

“No. He-”

“He’s right here.”

It was safe to say you were shocked, but the agent didn’t seem to notice as he turned round and found Javi standing in the hallway.

“Peña. I was just-”

“Scaring my wife?”

The guy was turning paler by the second and yet somehow his ego carried him through. “You mean work-wife, because I have to say Javi, that doesn’t really count.”

“How about a marriage certificate? Does that count for you?” Peña finally found you by his side before he whispered to you.

“You okay, cariño?” All you could do was nod, the shock of him pretending to be your husband still settling over you.

He looked back to the agent who had been hitting on you. “I’m gonna tell you this once and only once. Hit on my wife or scare her again, and I’ll kill you.”

“Javi-”

“I don’t think Messina would be happy to learn one of her best Agents was being sexually harassed.”

He nodded, backing away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Javi shook his head. “Not to me. To her.”

Awkwardly, the guy looked from Javi, around the room, back to Javi and then to you. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. Peña’s your husband?

“You can go.”

Taking Javi’s instructions, he left. Peña then waited a minute before turning towards you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” He asked, holding the coffee pot in one hand and your mug in the other.

“Javi…” You looked around the room before looking back at him. “This is gonna spread around the office. You and I -- married.”

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Now you’ve got a physical person to pretend to be your husband.”

“Javi.” He handed you your cup of coffee before pouring his own. “Please tell me you are aware of your own reputation? And the fact that we are colleagues? And the fact that I have been making a husband up for god knows how long? People are going to know this is fake and then I’ll be judged – heavily – for it.”

“Why would you be judged?”

You rested a hand on your hip. “This is gonna look like I’ve used you to be my pretend husband and everyone will just feel sorry for me and make a big joke about it with you.”

“Except I’m the one that told him.” Peña pointed out. “If anything, that’s what’s going to spread around the office.”

“Ah yes, I can see the headlines now; ‘Agent Javier ‘slut’ Peña finally ties himself down with a female colleague.’.”

He shrugged. “We don’t have to be tied down if you don’t want to.”

You hit him on the arm. “Be serious.”

“Look,” he set his coffee cup down and took you by the shoulders. “If it becomes anything then we just fake it. We already spend most of our time together anyway, and who hasn’t had an office romance once in their life?”

“I haven’t.”

Peña paused for a second before nodding. “Congratulations. You’ve just lost your office romance virginity.”

“Peña.”

He shook it off. “All I’m saying is, if it becomes a thing, we just…roll with it.”

“Roll with it?”

He nodded. “Roll with it.”

“There’s a chance our careers hang in the balance because I’m pretty sure this breaks at least three rules in HR. And your grand solution is to…’roll…with it.’.”

Javi nodded once more. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was not fine. Neither of you were fine. Especially considering two days later you were both forced into Messina’s office where, before you could spit out the truth, Messina interrupted and said she didn’t want to know. Just that you both had to remain completely professional and that if someone ever caught either of you, you’d both be suspended.

So, things remained somewhat neutral. You both received a couple of looks from other co-workers. Murphy teased both of you relentlessly, despite being the only one to know the truth since you stopped the elevator when all three of you were inside to tell him as much.

But then the loud rumours started and people didn’t even try to hide them.

Whilst pouring you and Peña a cup of coffee each – something you had done almost everyday for three years, you could hear people gossiping.

“Maybe he knocked her up. Shotgun wedding, you know?”

“I don’t think they’re even a couple. I mean, they never show any kind of affection to each other.”

One disagreed with that statement. “No, I’ve seen him with her a few times. Little touches here and there. Must be their love language. Small touches and simple gestures.”

“That’s cute, I guess. But I kinda expected more from Javi. He was always so…you know.”

The woman beside her sighed, “Yeah.”

You walked away more confused about life than you had been since before you started highschool.

It was clear the rest of the office ‘knew’ about ‘you and Javi’. And that they each had a different opinion on the matter. And some of them you didn’t even know about, but Javi did.

He’d heard everything from your marriage to him being a sham because he got you pregnant, to both male and female staff asking him “why y/n?”. Except, it was never in a friendly manner. To the men, it was either because they thought “Javi could have any choice he wanted, and he went for her?”, or because he’d gone for one of the women they had wanted “a shot at” themselves. And to the women it was…much of the same thing, with an added jealous streak wondering why he went for “the one woman who didn’t want” him, when most of the other women who’d worked with him “actually wanted” him.

Javi’s eyes trailed your every move from the coffee station, back to your desk and then towards him. “You okay?”

You zoned back into reality and handed him his coffee. “Yeah. Fine. What have you got?”

Turning the case file around, he told you.

Around a month or so later, not much had changed. People were still gossiping about your marriage to Peña, the case was gathering little evidence so the constant reviewing of previous case loads was underway. Between keeping up the lie of your marriage to Javi – despite neither of you having to do much out of your normal routine – and the case work and the constant heart attack you got when Messina would stop walking when stood directly between your desk and Peña’s before humming and moving along, you were running out of energy.

“Come to mine after work.”

You looked around. People were looking but they were too far out of earshot to hear.

You took the paper from Javi.

“Why?”

“You’re tired, and I’m tired watching you eat that shitty stuff from the cafeteria. I’m cooking dinner.”

You looked up at him, shocked. “You can cook?”

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. After work. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

Javi tapped your desk twice before walking away and looking around the office. Everyone who had been looking quickly looked away before looking back at you. Once they found you looking, they turned back to their work.

For a moment, you looked at the half stale coffee on your desk. It would be nice to have a decent meal considering you’d been eating left-overs for about a week and half.

And he kept his promise.

Javi had left work an hour before you were supposed to. He’d grabbed his jacked off the hook behind your desk, bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your body too tired to fight off leaning into him when he did so. You had meant to clock out of work an hour later but staring at words, losing concentration and trying to focus back in meant when you finally looked at the clock, you were getting close to being forty minutes late.

“Shit.”

Not bothering to drop your stuff off in your apartment two floors up, you found Javi’s door unlocked like he’d said and you walked inside.

It smelt like heaven. Good, hot food. And Javi.

It was quiet as you walked down his hallway and eventually found him relaxing on the sofa, his legs thrown across the rest of it. He was watching reruns.

“Relax,” you could hear the smile in his voice despite not being able to see his face. “Figured you’d be late. Food’ll be ready soon.”

With a relieved sigh, you dropped your bag by the steps and walked around. He moved his legs for you to sit down and he watched you for a moment as you pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes and leaned back.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you admitted.

“Come ‘ere.” His voice was soft and quiet as he reached out for you by the shoulder. Looking at him for a moment before silently agreeing, you let him pull you down until eventually you were laying beside him, your head on his chest, his legs tangled with yours.

It took him a moment, but Javi removed your hair-tie letting your hair loose before running his fingers through it. You relaxed almost immediately, feeling the once growing headache slowly melt away with each touch of his hand.

You could have fallen asleep but he didn’t let you. “You’ve gotta eat. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for nothing.”

You groaned a little and buried yourself deeper into his side. “How are you this calming?”

“It’s my natural touch.” Javi told you before kissing the top of your head and sitting up. “Come on. Dinner’s ready. Then I promise, you can fall asleep.”

“Hallelujah.”

It took you a moment but your head eventually stopped spinning long enough for you to sit up and walk over to the table where Javi had set down both of your meals. And it was one of the best you’d ever had; either because he was a great cook, or you were starving enough that any food that wasn’t cafeteria left-overs would taste like heaven at that moment. Though, you had a feeling it was the first one.

In silence, you both washed and dried. Until you spoke out the pressing question on your mind.

“What happens if we meet ‘the one’?”

“What ‘one’?” Javi handed you another freshly washed plate.

“I mean,” you spun it through the dish towel. “To everyone else, we’re married. But what if we end up meeting the person we actually want to date and marry? What do we do then?”

Javi shrugged. “Guess we get divorced.”

“But we’re not actually married.”

“Then we play it by ear. They say when you know you know…maybe when we know, we just…tell them the truth. But I doubt that’s gonna happen.” Javi nearly crapped himself. “For me, not you. I doubt that’ll happen for me.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

For a moment, he was quiet. Thinking. Deliberating. “Back in Texas, I was gonna get married. Lorraine. She was a wonderful woman but…I don't know. I was driving to the church and I just stopped.”

“You left her at the altar?”

“I never made it to the church,” he admitted. “I don’t know. I suppose at some point I’d settle down but…” Javi shrugged. “I can see it happening for you though, so, whenever you do meet him, I can be there to help explain this whole…situation we’ve got going on.”

You laughed a little at that. “Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, you were half asleep before Javi pulled you over to him once more. The last thing you could remember was you taking a deep breath in, the scent of him, his home and his cooking fill your senses.

When you woke up, you found yourself still on the sofa, the news playing on the TV and Javi cooking in the kitchen. It took you a while before your brain registered you weren’t still dreaming and you’d fallen asleep not only at Peña’s, but also on him.

“Hey,” Peña shook you back awake. “Breakfast is ready.”

You placed your hand over his and nodded. “Okay.”

Neither of you said anything when you ate, just listened to the news that passed over the speakers of the TV.

“Who taught you to cook?” You asked, turning to look at him as he drove you both to work.

“My dad. My mom helped, but dad was the one who burnt less stuff.”

After eating, you’d run to your apartment to get a fresh change of clothes and run a brush through your hair, only to be greeted by your husband at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll drive us to work.”

So, now you were driving to work with Javi before hopping out of his car and being led with a warm hand at the bottom of your back through the hallways of work before you both finally reached your desks.

And for the first time in weeks, you finally had the energy to get through your work day. And so did Javi.

Although things started to change when you got a surprise visit from your mother.

You’d been working for weeks on the same case and in between all of the case work, the fake marriage and the few months that followed, you’d forgotten to write to your mother.

It was her one agreement with you moving to Columbia. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop you – it was your job and you were good at it, plus, despite all of the gear grinding you had to do every now and again, you loved it. But knowing she didn’t accept your decision to work as DEA in Columbia would have slowly killed you – and her, too.

Any time she called, you’d either been dead asleep – either at yours or Javi’s – or at work. So, she took the notion to come and see you.

So when you walked down the hall towards your office and heard your mother’s voice ask you a question, you felt your entire body crash to a screaming halt before realising what and why she was asking.

“You’re married?”

“Mom.”

Your mom called your full name and walked towards you. “What this lovely woman just told me better not be true, or else that means I’ve missed my daughter’s wedding.”

You tried your best to remain calm and relaxed. Two emotions you were desperately clinging onto for dear life. “She tells me his name is Javier Pen…”

For a moment, she looked back to the secretary who nodded and whispered his name again for your mother to repeat with full confidence to you. “Javier Peña.”

“Mom, maybe it’s best we-”

Then the secretary spoke up in excitement. “Oh, there he is. Javi!”

Looking up from his own case file, about to turn down the hallway, he found who was calling him before seeing who was standing in front of them. You and, from what he could guess, your mother.

Shit. Your mother? No. She was back in the States. Maybe he’d remembered her face wrong from the picture behind your desk.

Walking over, Javi’s hand came to your lower back before he quickly brushed a kiss against your cheek. “Cariño, you okay?”

You tried to remain calm as you said the next sentence. “Javi, this is my mother. Mom, this is my..husband..Javi.”

Then something you hadn’t expected to happen, happened.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Y/l/n. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” But she still shook his hand and allowed him to press a light kiss to the back of it.

Carefully, Javi stepped back and pulled you closer towards him, your mother’s eyes never once stopping to not examine the couple that stood in front of her.

Javi nodded. “We are sorry about that. But, maybe we can make it up to you.”

You looked at Javi a little panicked. But your mother was already interested. “Oh?”

“I’m guessing you’re staying here for a few days? Come and stay with us. I can make us dinner and we can all get to know each other.”

Then your mom smiled. Apparently Javi already had her approval. “Well…I think that would be lovely. But don’t think either of you are getting off lightly. I missed my daughter’s wedding that I didn’t even know about.”

“Honey, give your mother our address, I’ll ask-”

She shook her head. “No, no. You all seem busy. I can take myself there. And I’d like to see what’s around the market stalls. Is there anything I can bring for dinner?”

Javi shook his head. “No, not at all.”

You smiled. “He’s got it covered, mom. Just bring yourself.”

“Alright then. Well, I look forward to seeing you both for dinner.”

In the space of five minutes you’d all said your goodbye’s and you had ever so sweetly pulled your husband towards your office before closing the door and blinds and turning back to your partner.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Javi shrugged. “She’s come down here to see you. We might as well make the effort.”

“We? Javi. We don’t live together. She’s gonna take one look around my apartment and realise I still live there. She’s gonna take one more look at my face and realise everything that’s happened is a complete sham and then she’s gonna parade it around town that I’m still single. She won’t mean it harshly, but she will.”

“So, we don’t tell her and just say we haven’t had a chance to move things since getting married. We’ll be okay.”

You let out a panicked laugh before you started pacing. “I knew this was a bad idea. It’s bad enough we’re lying to people here.”

“You’re the one that started it before I got roped in.”

“Hey! You roped yourself into this. You were the one that said you were my husband.”

“Would you have preferred for Agent Dickbag to keep pushing?!”

You took a breath. “Javi…I don’t know if I can lie to her. What…what do I tell my family when they find out? This was just meant to keep people like Agent Dickbag away…”

Reading the panic all over your body, Javi stood and walked towards you until you were wrapped in his arms. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll keep the secret up long enough to make sure nobody else finds out the truth, and then you can just say we rushed into things. We got a quick divorce and moved on, civilly.”

“I think you missed your calling in Acting.” You told him. “I think my mom already has your seal of approval.”

“Really?” He pulled back a little and smiled. “That’s a first.”

“We’ll be okay?”

He nodded. “We’ll be okay.”

And you believed him.

Because it was true.

In the space of about fifteen minutes, you and Javi managed to move some things from your apartment, into his to make it seem more…homely. Like two people actually lived there. Especially since your mom would be living in your apartment for the next couple of days until she flew back home to the rest of your family.

“Will she really check the bedroom?” Javi called from the kitchen.

You’d moved some things to the second bedside table. One or two books, a couple of hair-ties, plasters, “stray” pens. You tried your best to make it look believable as possible.

“You don’t know her like I do. This woman is Jessica Fletcher. Unsuspecting to the world, but in fact sees everything. Trust me, you do not want to end up in interrogation with my mother. Happened to a perp once. She came in to visit my dad but he was wrangling a couple of the officers so she walked around, found the perp sitting in holding and she actually got a confession out of him. Cops had been trying all day and nothing. A five minute conversation with my mother and they got a full written confession out of him.”

Javi gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah. So, trust me, what I’m doing? It’s gonna, hopefully, save us some grief.”

Javi was still cooking by the time your mom knocked on his door and you brought her inside. Immediately her eyes scanned the place picking up on the pictures, books and music.

“It smells delicious.”

“He’s a good cook.”

And for the first couple of minutes everything ran smoothly. Your mother did everything you’d expected her to do. She even passed Javi in the kitchen to look into your bedroom.

“She really did it.” Javi mouthed.

“Told you so,” you mouthed back.

“Mom, do you wanna come and sit down? I can get you a drink.”

“I’ll have a soda if you have it, please.”

You got your mom a soda and poured it into a glass with ice, handing it to her as she stood still examining your home.

“So, how is he in bed?” She whispered a little too loud to you.

You felt yourself go bright red. Redder still when you heard Javi chuckle from the kitchen. “Mom!”

“What? I’m allowed to ask my daughter these questions. I need to know you’re being satisfied in every aspect of your marriage.”

You groaned and covered your eyes. “Mom.”

“You’re being careful? Using condoms? You know pulling out doesn’t work as birth control.”

You could have died. “Mom, please. Stop.”

Javi let out a small laugh as he walked from the kitchen and handed you a drink. “Mrs Y/l/n, if you really want to know-”

“Oh no. No, Javi, please. Please don’t encourage her.”

“We’re being safe. Having a family right now probably wouldn’t be the best move for either of us.”

Your mother just graced him with a soft smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m not,” you groaned a little. “Can we please change the conversation?”

“You know, she’s always been like this.” Your mom told Javi who only seemed to revel in your terror.

“Really? This isn’t a new thing?”

“No,” you mom told him. “She went just as red when I gave her the birds and the bees talk.”

“That’s because you decided to tell me in the middle of my middle school hallway during a Parent’s Evening.”

“And when I took her to the doctors to get her on the pill.”

You covered your face. “I’m in hell.”

Javi’s hand reached for your shoulder and shook you lightly as he sat on the arm of the chair beside you. You leaned into him.

“I’d finally got it out of her that she’d had sex and next-”

“And next thing I’m being wrangled into an office chair with the doctor having my mother shout from the rooftops her daughter was no longer a virgin.”

Your mom gasped. “It wasn’t like that,”

You leaned into your husband who’d just let out a small laugh. “Please make it stop.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m glad to know you’re being satisfied. Your face tells me more than you think.”

“Okay!” You stood up quickly and tried to run away, only to feel Javi’s hand reach out and pull you back, spinning you to stand by him. From the light red in his cheeks, he felt a little embarrassed, too, but he seemed to handle it a lot better than you.

He was chuckling. “Don’t think you’re able to run from this. I wanna know more about you from your mom.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be here for it.” You tried to make a break for it again, but Javi caught you and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to slowly disappear from sight as you found yourself trapped in his hands and arms, and his gaze on you, just as yours was on his. And for a moment, you wondered what it would be like if you kissed him.

Little did you know, he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Then a timer went off.

“That’ll be the food.” Javi kissed a quick peck to your temple before standing and walking towards the kitchen, leaving your gaze to trail after him.

“You really do love each other,” your mom pointed out from her spot on the sofa. “I can see why you got married. You both need to tell me what your wedding was like!”

And so you did over dinner. With the added linger of whatever had happened when he’d pulled you closer to him.

You caught Javi looking at you a few times, and subsequently, he’d caught you, too. And, without rehearsal, you’d both managed to bullshit your way through explaining why you’d both decided to get married so quickly.

From you and Javi, your mother had learned you’d both met when you started in Columbia and you were both ‘friends’ for a while. Not much had to be lied about in that department. Javi’s reputation. Your “ability” to make every man that asked you out believe you were taken. How you’d worked together for a long time before becoming actual friends. Then the lies started…right?

About how you and Javi made a true friendship of sorts over the late nights working, swapping smaller stories until something changed.

“It was like…my heart had stopped and rebooted itself. Suddenly, everything felt like it had shifted and changed somehow.” Peña explained to your mom. “Nothing had ever been more…clearer and more daunting than ever.”

Then Javi looked at you, and you found a mirrored expression. Sadness? Confusion? Desperation? Fear? Realisation? You didn’t know what to call it, but whatever it was, you felt it. For some unknown reason, everything he’d just said rang true in your ears, your head and even your heart.

Nothing had ever been more clearer and more daunting than ever.

By the time your mom decided she was ready for bed, you were already fast asleep against Javi. At some point in the evening when he’d sat beside you, he’d slung his arm behind you and between the warmth and familiarity of him, you’d let yourself truly relax.

“I’ll walk you up.”

Your mom shook her head as Javi led her towards the door. “I know my way and you’re both tired. I’ll be okay. Get her to bed.”

Javi looked back at you for a moment and smiled.

“You really do love her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Your mom smiled at her supposed son-in-law. “I understand why she fell for you, but I hope you know, just because you’re the first one of her boyfriends, well, husband now. But just because you’re the first I approve of, doesn’t mean I won’t be judging you. You look after her, and you look after her well. Love her everyday. It’s not every day someone gets to spend the rest of their lives with my daughter. I hope you see that as a privilege.”

Javi nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Javi was telling the truth and your mom nodded. “Good. And thank you for dinner. Sleep well.”

“You, too, Mrs Y/l/n.”

Javi waited until he heard your apartment door lock before he shut his own, locked it and kicked off his shoes.

His socks padding his footsteps as he walked back to you, he was careful to pick you up before carrying you to bed and covering you up. You were still fast asleep by the time he climbed into bed beside you, but either way, you naturally rolled towards the slight dip in the bed before reaching out for him like you did almost every time he’d carried you to his bed because you’d fallen asleep in his apartment.

The only times he didn’t was when he fell asleep with you and woke up as the sun peeked through his blinds in his living room.

With a contented sigh, you slipped into a dreamless sleep beside him and for a few minutes, he laid awake, listening to your breathing. Then he let his mind slip back through the evening. If the funny feeling in his stomach and chest wasn’t what he hoped it was, but rather was what he suspected it to be, then he would have to soak up your actions as a married couple over the next couple of days before everything went back to semi-normal.

Because if he was right, and he was growing feelings for you, then these days would have to be enough. Your marriage with him and his marriage to you was meant to be for appearances, only. Nothing real was meant to come out of it, was it?

Because the feeling in his chest as he looked down at you, asleep by his side and in his arms…that feeling sure felt real.

Waking up in the morning, you felt more comfortable than usual. No creaky mattress spring giving you a sneak attack from beneath your sofa and into your back, no blinding light coming through curtains you’d forgotten to shut, no cold side to your bed as you turned over.

Instead, you felt warm. You found warmth.

Asleep on his front but his arm still across you, you found Javi. Fast asleep, seeming as though not even a gunshot would wake him.

And rather than jump out of bed or rollaway like you usually would when you found yourself in this position with any man, or even him going off the last couple of months.

You’d found yourself falling asleep countless times at Javi’s and the majority of the time, you woke up in his bed.

But waking that morning, especially after the night before, had something feeling different. So you took your time.

For the first time you…studied him.

You’d found yourself doing it more and more in recent months. How he sat in a chair, the look on his face when he was annoyed, amused, sometimes even scared.

And for the first time, maybe ever. He looked…

Peaceful.

As if it was a Sunday morning and neither of you had to get up for work. Like when he’d wake, you’d both spend the morning in bed before relaxing in your home.

And for a moment, you let yourself dream about that life. A life where there was no fear of maybe never coming home. A life where you could both…be peaceful. Happy.

Together, maybe?

After a few moments, you felt a gentle touch against your cheek, and slowly opening your eyes, you found Javi’s hand cupping your cheek, his fingers brushing soft patterns into your skin.

“Cariño…”

You smiled, finding comfort in the common nickname. “Hey.”

“You been awake long?”

You shook your head, softly. “Not long.”

“Good.” Javi then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here.”

Granting yourself permission to do as he said, Javi rolled over onto his back and pulled you into his side before he decided to ultimately face you.

Down your back, he traced a singular line back and forth as you both synced calming breaths and listened to the comfortable silence of the room.

“We could call in sick.” Javi said after ten minutes. “We’ve built up enough time to take the day off. You could show your mom ‘round.”

“We can’t,” you pointed out. “What about the case?”

“The case will still be there tomorrow. And besides, if something changes, they’ll call us in-”

Then you both heard the front door lock open.

“Javi-”

Pressing a finger to his lips, he sat up and so did you. Quietly, he moved over towards his bedside table and pulled out his gun before checking the bullets.

You both heard the door open and just as Javi was about to leap out of bed, you both heard your mother’s voice.

“Y/n? Javier? You two sleepy heads awake yet?!”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and sat back against Javi’s headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“Your mom has a key?” Javi put his gun back and closed the draw as he looked back at you.

“I told you. Jessica Fletcher.” Then you called out to her. “Mom! We’re in here.”

Letting out a breath, Javi sat himself back beside you just as your mom walked into your bedroom. “Mom, you can’t just break in,” you told her, tiredly.

“I didn’t break in. I had a key.”

“Both of us could have shot you.”

Your mom looked over both of you and gave a coy smile. “Then it’s a good thing I called out then. You both look…well rested.”

It was too early to even pretend what she thought had happened, had happened. So, tearing your eyes from Javi, you looked to your mom. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have made breakfast for both of you since Javi cooked us such a wonderful dinner last night.”

“Mrs Y/l/n, you really didn’t-”

“Hush now. I was happy to do it. Now, chop chop.” Your mom clapped her hands. “There’s plenty of time for this,” she gestured to you, Javi and the bed, “later. Come on. Before the day is gone.”

And as she walked out, you felt yourself collapse into Javi’s sheets, already feeling your face go hot.

“She really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled through the sheets.

Ultimately, Javi convinced you to take the day off with him and after a homemade breakfast, yet another awkward conversation surrounding love-making in the shower – to which Javi nearly choked on his toast. Both you and Javi had showered (separately) before getting changed and deciding to show your mom around the different places in town.

And despite the stories shared by your mother; thankfully not all of them made you want a hole in the ground to open up the floor.

You also found spending the day with Javi, outside of work talk, to be more than pleasurable. With his hand in yours, or his arm around you, holding your own across your stomach, you’d both walked side by side for most of the day. He told your mom some things about Columbia even you didn’t know before, easily sharing some stories of his own childhood when your mom asked.

And you felt…glad, maybe? Like for the first time since moving to Columbia you were home. And it wasn’t just because your mom was there, but rather because of the person who stuck by your side all day, letting you see behind the personal walls he had up at work. The ones that, if you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t know were even there.

Yet, despite the entire day feeling like one giant butterfly in your stomach at every touch, look and graze you felt from Javi, nothing made it feel like the tornado it was when your mom asked if she could film your ‘first dance’.

Dinner had been long over and the TV had shut down. In the background, a few different records played until one came on and your mother gasped.

“Oh, please. Please let me see your first dance. I love this song, and I’ve always imagined seeing you dance to it the way me and your dad do.”

From your side, Javi lifted his hand. It was up to you.

Looking at your mom’s face, you couldn’t say no. So, you nodded and both stood. Javi started the song from the beginning and turned back to face you. In a matter of moments, you were in his arms, your hand in his whilst your other lay on his arm. You could feel his firm hand at the bottom of your back, holding you up steadily.

Finally, leaning into each other, you could feel his moustache at the shell of your ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

That was when you found out Javi could dance. At the very least, much better than you could. He led you around the small section of the floor, your temple’s still touching and for a small moment, you closed your eyes.

You’d also both forgotten anybody else was in the room other than you two. Breathing, heartbeats, pulse, chemistry. It all became one.

And just as the song slowed, Javi lifted his head to look at you. It was like there was a new light to you in the fading sunlight. New features he’d never noticed before. The small freckles dotted across your face, probably having surfaced after a day in the sun. The soft streaks of baby hairs framing your face. The arch and bow of your cupid’s bow and lips. The light flush in your cheeks as for a moment, he caught your eyes doing the same thing he was.

Looking. Gazing. Studying. All to commit it to memory.

Javier Peña, for as best as he’d known, he’d never been so scared in all of his life. But there was one final thing he wanted to commit to memory, whether it be good or bad. And if he didn’t do it then, he was afraid he never would. So, for the first time with you, he did what he wanted to do because, and he hoped, by the look on your face, you wanted it, too.

With the final few notes of the song, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was firm, steady, strong and then softer. The kind of kiss that you feel long after it’s over. Silence washed over the room as the record came to an end and you and Javi found yourselves looking at each other, only realising you weren’t alone when your mom gasped.

“Oh, that was just beautiful.” She stopped the recording. “Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

You and Javi seemed to step away from each other despite it being the last thing either of you wanted to do in that moment. It wasn’t long after that your mom decided to go upstairs to bed. And once Javi heard the door lock upstairs, he locked his own and took a moment before turning back around to find you.

But you were already trying to avoid the conversation that came next.

Javi took his time. You both needed a moment to find clarity. After the faucet had been running for a few minutes, only to be switched off by you as you washed the plates in the bowl of soapy water, Javi stood at the kitchen door.

He watched you for a moment, wondering what to say. What just happened? I’m sorry? He didn’t mean for it to…be that way? Did you feel it, too? Did you want it, too? Did he cross a line?

Then he realised he didn’t have to say anything at all.

You felt him before you heard him walk slowly across the kitchen floor and stand by your side. With a gentle hand guiding your arm, he spun you to face him and in the silence, your faces shared a thousand words between each other.

Javi brushed your hair from your face before gently cupping your face. It took enough time between each of his movements to let you object if you wanted to. You stepped closer into him.

Then he kissed you.

Having dropped the sponge into the sink, you felt yourself tumble against him as your own hands came to pull him closer towards you. Things seemed to move slightly quicker than before. His hands moving down your body to eventually lift you up and move you onto the counter top, his fingers pushing their way through your hair as your own pulled him in by his collar to kiss you once more.

With your legs wrapping around his waist, securing him against you, you let out a small sigh behind your kiss. Javi only chased those small noises more after you made your first one.

“J-Javi.” You managed to find your voice in between his kisses. “Wait.”

He stopped, forcing himself to pull his lips from yours. And for a moment, all you could hear was his breathing and your heartbeat. Both rapid. Both unsteady.

“We…we shouldn’t…”

His hands still tangled in your hair and his forehead against yours, he shook his head in agreement. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

All either of you could do was breathe. Slowly. Trying to catch some form of air that was at least a close equivalent to the others.

Kissing you was like a lifeline, and without you he was dying.

His eyes finally gazing into yours, he found your own tracing his face, already reminiscing on the kiss, wanting more.

Kissing him was like life was finally being pushed back into your lungs, letting you breathe clearly for the first time and without him, nothing was in focus.

“Fuck it.”

His lips on yours again, he began to devour you and your taste. He could feel your hands pulling him closer to you, like if you’d let go of him, you’d drown.

He needed you more than he wanted to admit.

But you didn’t want him to hold back. So leaning away from his kiss for a moment, you made sure he focused on you.

“Bedroom.”

He was still drunk on your kiss. “Javi, I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter. Bedroom.”

His lips curved onto a smirk as he pulled you towards the edge and lifted you up.

“Didn’t anyone tell you we’re married? Cariño, it’s called making love.”

You laughed and so did he before it was muffled out by another kiss.

By the time morning rolled around, you found yourself wrapped in Javi’s arms, his scent swirling around your senses, locking it into a memory you’d never forget. Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t. From the arms wrapped around you, to the soreness in your legs, your body was too happily exhausted to move.

For the next few moments, you watched as he slept peacefully. His mouth parted slightly, simply looking at his mustache made you blush at the memories from barely a few hours previous. Tracing the curves of his face, you leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

His arms twitched around you. “Javi, I need to use the bathroom.”

Still half asleep, he returned the next kiss you pressed to his lips before mumbling; “Come back.”

“I will,” you kissed him once more before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

Whilst in the bathroom, you picked up the long forgotten towels on the floor and picked up the tossed body washes and shampoo bottles from Javi and your haphazard entry into the bathroom after the first two orgasms before the third.

However, you must have taken too long because as you stood at the bathroom skin, a newly familiar pair of arms made their way from holding your hips, to cradling around your waist.

You could feel the hair from his moustache as he kissed your bare shoulder, making his way towards your neck where you leaned back against his chest and placed a hand behind his own neck to hold you steady.

“Javi.”

One of his hands slowly made its way under your top before running his fingers from the top of your chest, across your breast and down below the waistband of your shorts.

“I missed you.” His tongue dampened the graze of his teeth against your neck.

“Javi.”

“Is this okay, baby?”

You bit your lip, your hips bucking against his fingers, chasing the pressure he was beginning to swirl around your clit. You hummed a response.

“I need your words, baby. Is this okay? Do you want this? Because I can stop.”

You shook your head quickly and wrapped your hand around his wrist before he pulled away any further. “No. Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

With his fingers circling your clit and his mouth having free range of your neck, you felt your knees grow weak. “Want me to stop?”

Again, you shook your head. “I need…I need more, Javi.”

“How many, baby?”

“Two, ohh…” Your mouth opened and you threw your head back against his shoulder, reveling in his fingers slipping inside your cunt and his thumb applied pressure to your clit. Then you heard him chuckle.

“Asshole.”

“You fucking love it, baby.”

You did. You really did. It wasn’t long before Javi could feel your walls pulsing against his fingers, growing tighter for him. And his dick hadn’t even left his pants yet.

“You’re so fucking wet, cariño. This for me?”

You found the strength to nod. “Just for you, Javi baby.”

But whatever strength or control you had left disappeared as the wave began to crash over you and you chased Javi’s fingers as they pumped deeper and faster inside of you. “Ride ‘em, baby. Take what you want.”

You moaned his name, almost chanting it as you came over his fingers. “Fuck,” Javi growled. “You’re so fucking hot when you come.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you felt the ache in your legs, still leaning against Javi.

“Then maybe you should do it again.”

Sharing a look with Javi, he smirked before biting down on your bottom lip, then kissing it better. Pulling his fingers from inside of you, he slowly spun you around by your hips until you faced him. Once he’d tasted everything he could from your mouth, he teasingly made his way across your jaw, down the length of your neck, under your clothing before pulling your soaked shorts down your legs, leaving your glistening and sensitive cunt for him to see.

Then he tasted the rest of you.

Pushing you onto the edge of the sink counter, you white-knuckled the edges in fear of gripping his hair too tight to pull him closer to where you needed him.

You could feel the burn of his moustache against your inner thighs, panty-line before finally his tongue circled your already sensitive clit.

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, “Fuck. Yeah.”

“Want more?”

“Y…yes. Javi, please.” Your hips bucked as you chased the feeling of his tongue licking your pussy. “Fuck, Javi.” You let out a gasp as his tongue dipped inside of you for a moment. “Fuck, right…right there.” With one of your hands tangled in his hair, you pushed him closer in order to taste all of you.

And just as you leaned back to grant him more access, he pulled back. You whimpered, wanting him back. “Touch yourself.”

“Javi-”

“I want to see how long you can hold it before I fuck you. Touch yourself.”

So you did. All the while watching him take his sweet time watching you as he pulled down his own underwear and pulled a condom on, pumping himself a couple of times before finally settling closer to you.

“I want to watch you cum again.” And so he did.

Filling you with his dick, inch by inch, he felt you stretch around him, swearing as you took him in. And then he took his time with you. Reveling in every needy buck of your hips, chasing his dick before he couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed you just as much as you were begging for him.

Moaning his name over and over as your orgasm hit you, Javi watched as you came over his dick, him finishing not long after you did.

Sweaty and covered in sex, Javi pushed the fallen hair from your face and kissed your lips after the silence had settled away from heavy breathing and racing hearts. “We should get cleaned up.”

Pulling his cock from inside of you, he disposed of the condom before walking towards the shower and turning it on. And over the next forty minutes, Javi’s hands were all over your naked body before his fingers tugged at your hair as the tiles of the floor made indents in your knees. By the time you’d both finished, gotten washed and finally dressed, Javi was changing the sheets as you placed the ones from the night before inside his washer.

For the rest of the day, Javi rarely left your side.

Going back out to the markets with your mom, his hands were constantly finding ways to touch you. His hand pinching onto the skirt of your summer dress, his fingers grazing against your hip and lower back as he changed from standing on one side of you to the other. Holding your hand around you, his arm across your shoulders, his lips in your hair, on the shell of your ear as he talked to you. And when you’d stopped inside a cafe, he sat next to you, his arm across the back of your chair which practically was sitting in between his legs as his body was constantly turned towards you.

And when you’d both finally gotten home, your mom saying she was going for a nap, the moment Javi’s door shut, the bags were dropped and your back was against the wall of his hallway, his lips on yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“So have I.”

Then a question fell from your lips. “How are we going to keep this up? At work, I mean.”

“They already think we’re married.” He kissed your neck.

“I’m being serious, Javi.”

“So am I.”

“Javi, Messina already warned us what would happen if she ever caught us. And that was before we were even…” A couple? Fucking? Dating? Married?

Javi smiled. “So we keep it a secret.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his hands off me for more than two seconds. You’ll never be able to keep it a secret.”

“Says the woman whose been eye-fucking me all day. Are you sure you can keep a secret?”

“I can keep a secret.” Then Javi noticed your coy smile. “In fact, I’ve been keeping one all day.”

Taking his hand in yours, you pressed his hand to the dip of your hips. He couldn’t feel anything but fabric. Then it hit him. With his chest flaring and his dick hardening, he stepped closer towards you.

“Mrs Peña…have you been naked under that dress all day?”

You bit your lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

His eyes flicking to the hem of your dress, he looked back up at you before slowly dragging the fabric of its skirt up and bunching it in his hand until he could slip his hand under it. And when he was met with bare skin, he swore.

“Fuck.”

“I’ve been hoping you’d fuck me all day,” you admitted. “I wanted to be ready.”

“Since you walked out of that fucking bedroom in this dress…I’ve wanted to fuck you in it.”

Pulling him closer to you, your voice turned into a low whisper. “Then you better get on with it, Agent Peña. Before I do it myself.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Capturing your lips on his, his finger coaxed at your pussy, already feeling your wetness build for him. As his fingers began to curl inside of you, you let out a moan before your fingers deftly unbuckled his belt and jeans. Javi let out a small whimper as your fingers stroked down his cock, wiping the pre-cum away with your thumb before finally pumping him a few times.

“Take it easy, baby. Otherwise I’m not gonna- fuck.”

With one hand, Javi picked you up where you stood, his fingers digging into your ass before he guided his tip in. Letting out a moan by his ear, you told him to start moving.

“Fill me up, baby.”

And he did.

Fucking you against the wall in his hallway, Javi pulled the top of your summer dress down and began leaving his mark across your collarbone and down the bow of your breast, all the while his cock pumped in and out of you before filling you up with him cum.

“That’s it baby,” Javi told you as you screamed his name as you rode his dick. Then he watched you come. He’d never get sick of that sight. It seemed to get hotter each time. You begging him for more, your moans, his name falling from your lips as he makes you unravel completely.

But he wasn’t done with you yet. Pulling out from you, he moved you both down the hallway and towards the sofa where he made you come again before moving into the kitchen where he finally fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter.

Both of you wished it could have continued like that forever, but sadly after your shower, both you and Javi were interrupted by the jingle of keys in the door as your mom let herself in before you and Javi could continue your heavy make-out session on the sofa.

But that was something you both had to get used to.

Interruptions.

From people banging on the copier room door thinking it was jammed, to people walking back into the office after their lunch breaks. But despite the ever growing need to constantly be touching him, or him touching you, you’d both found subtler ways to show how much you not only wanted each other, but also needed each other.

From the smaller touches when he always found an excuse to stand beside you, to the ever longing looks you both gave to each other as the other one walked away from the desks. There were crappy cups of coffee always being poured, lunches being made and shared, blankets being used to cover up the one that fell asleep first, the knowing looks when a case load became too much, the soft moments spent after a long day of work just laying together on the sofa watching crappy TV and falling asleep, dancing to slower records on down-days, quick kisses goodbye during lunch or during a stakeout for cases, jealous and warning glares being given to those who tried to flirt with the other, and finally slow Sunday mornings that were spent inside the apartment, neither of you leaving unless for a dire emergency.

And somewhere between all of that, you and Javi had taken a flight to your home where your family and his watched as you both swore actual wedding vows to each other; your wedding party not realising it was the first time for both of you.

Maybe it had taken a while for you both to come together, and maybe it wasn’t the most conventional of get-togethers. But it was yours and Javi’s story. One that, the more you thought about it, started off with those softer moments. One that always had, and always would, contain those smaller touches and simple gestures.

2K notes · View notes

shy9-29 · 3 months ago

Text

When The Calls Stopped [p.hs]

“Even through the distance, I knew we’d find our way back to each other.”

SOMAR𝒊O ─── Sunghoon promised nothing would change when he left to chase his dream, and at first, he kept that promise—answering every call with warmth, filling the distance with laughter and late-night whispers. But slowly, the calls grew shorter, his replies delayed, and some nights, he didn’t answer at all. Still, you called, same time, same hope, until one day… you didn’t. At first, he barely noticed, too caught up in his hectic world, but as the silence stretched on, unease settled in. Why weren’t you calling? Why weren’t you texting? And why did the quiet feel heavier than he ever expected? 박성훈 𝐱 𝑓. reader ✉️ wc. 19.9k ✶ careful ! skinship, kissing, nicknames, long distance relationships, etc 🔖

requests open | masterlist

The moment Sunghoon tells you he got accepted, his eyes shine with excitement, his breath unsteady as if he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “I did it,” he says, his hands gripping yours tightly. “I got in.”

For a second, time stops. You’ve always known this day would come—he’s worked too hard, sacrificed too much for it not to. But now that it’s real, your heart clenches in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Sunghoon, that’s amazing,” you say, forcing your lips into a smile, even though there’s a lump forming in your throat. “I knew you would.”

His grin is wide and bright, but it falters as he studies your face. “You’re happy for me, right?”

You nod quickly. “Of course I am.” And you are. You really, truly are. But you’re also terrified.

He sighs, squeezing your hands like he’s reassuring himself as much as you. “I’ll be busy, but I swear nothing will change between us. I’ll call every day. No matter what.”

You hold onto that promise like a lifeline. “And I’ll call too,” you say, trying to sound certain. “We’ll make this work.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you poke his chest lightly. “And I’ll be your number one fan. No matter what happens, I’ll always be cheering you on.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You already are.”

The day he leaves, the airport is filled with noise—people moving, voices overlapping, announcements droning over the speakers—but all you can hear is your own heartbeat. It’s too fast, too loud, too unsteady. Sunghoon stands in front of you, his bags slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he says softly, as if reading your mind. “It’s just… see you later.”

You manage a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah. See you later.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and you cling to him, trying to memorize the way he feels. The warmth of him, the familiar scent of his cologne. “I’ll miss you so much,” he murmurs into your hair, his hold tightening.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Me too.”

Neither of you moves for a moment. You want to stay like this just a little longer, just until the ache in your chest fades—but the world doesn’t stop for you. His name is called. He steps back.

One last look. One last smile.

And then he’s gone.

You take a deep breath, gripping your phone in your hand. Every day, you remind yourself. No matter what.

The first night without Sunghoon feels strange. Your room is quieter, emptier. You lie in bed, your phone resting on your chest, staring at the ceiling as you wait for his call. He promised he’d call every day. You know he will, but the seconds drag on too slowly.

Then, finally, your phone rings.

You answer instantly. “Sunghoon!”

“Y/N!” His voice is slightly breathless, like he rushed to pick up. “I’m here. I made it.”

A relieved smile tugs at your lips. “How is it? How’s your dorm? Your members? Did you eat? Oh! What about your schedule? Are they making you run laps already?”

He chuckles, the familiar sound sending warmth through your chest. “Whoa, slow down! One question at a time.”

You listen as he talks about his first day—how he barely had time to settle in before being thrown into meetings, how his members are all nice but just as nervous as he is, how their dorm is smaller than he expected but still comfortable. He tells you about the rules: no phones during training, strict curfews, early mornings.

“It’s… a lot,” he admits after a pause. “I knew it would be hard, but it’s only the first day, and I’m already exhausted.”

You hear the tension in his voice—the weight of his dream settling on his shoulders. You wish you could be there, to see him, to tell him in person that he’s got this. Instead, you hold your phone a little tighter and say, “That just means you’re working hard. And you always work hard, Sunghoon. You’ll get used to it. Soon, it won’t feel as overwhelming.”

He exhales, and you can almost picture him closing his eyes, letting your words sink in. “Yeah… you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” you tease. “I am your number one fan, after all.”

His laugh is softer this time, more at ease. “You really are.”

Then, he suddenly groans. “Y/N, I swear, all the guys here are so good-looking. It’s kind of unfair.”

You blink before laughing. “And? Don’t forget you are too.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know… Compared to them, I—”

“Sunghoon,” you cut him off, your tone firm but affectionate. “You’re literally one of the most handsome guys I know. And I know a lot of people.”

He huffs out a shy laugh. “That’s not even true.”

“It is true,” you insist. “And don’t let anyone, not even your ridiculously good-looking members, make you forget that.”

There’s a short pause before he murmurs, “You always know what to say.”

“I just tell the truth.”

Sunghoon suddenly groans again, but this time, his voice is more playful. “But seriously, Y/N… Heeseung hyung? He’s so good-looking. It’s actually insane.”

You hum in thought. “Huh. He kinda is.”

Silence.

“…Excuse me?”

You bite back a grin, waiting for his reaction.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me!” he exclaims, sounding completely betrayed.

“I’m just saying,” you tease. “You’re right, he’s pretty handsome.”

You hear rustling on the other end, followed by a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “I’m telling Heeseung to stay away from you.”

That’s when you finally burst into laughter, and after a second, Sunghoon joins in too, the sound soft and warm.

Even with exhaustion creeping in, neither of you want to hang up just yet. You talk for as long as you can, lingering in the comfort of each other’s voices.

And when Sunghoon finally murmurs a sleepy “goodnight,” you hold onto his promise a little tighter.

It’s different now. The distance is real.

But at least, for now, nothing has changed.

The second night without Sunghoon feels a little easier. Maybe it’s because you know he’ll call, or maybe it’s because the sound of his voice last night still lingers in your mind.

When your phone rings, you pick up immediately. “Sunghoon!”

“You were waiting for me, weren’t you?” he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

You roll your eyes. “Obviously. My favorite trainee calls once a day—I have to clear my schedule.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

His tone is light, but there’s an underlying exhaustion in his voice. It’s only been a day, but you can already tell the training is wearing him out.

“So, how was today?” you ask, settling into your bed.

He exhales, and you hear him shifting, probably lying down as well. “Intense. We had dance practice all day. My body hurts everywhere.”

You wince in sympathy. “Did you at least eat?”

“Yeah, but I barely had time. Everything’s so fast-paced here. The second you finish one thing, there’s already something else waiting.”

“Sounds stressful,” you murmur.

“It is,” he admits. “But… it’s exciting, too. I mean—” He suddenly stops himself.

You frown. “What? What were you gonna say?”

A long pause. Then, a nervous chuckle. “I, uh… I can’t tell you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret.” His voice is smug now, like he enjoys keeping you on edge.

“Sunghoon.”

He laughs. “Okay, fine. I can tell you this much—I’m preparing for my debut.”

Your breath catches. “Already?”

“Well, not officially,” he corrects himself quickly. “But training’s getting more intense because they’re getting us ready. It’s still early, though, so nothing’s confirmed.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, your chest swelling with pride. “You’re already so close, Sunghoon.”

“Yeah…” His voice is softer now, almost like he’s processing it himself. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

You smile. “It is real. And soon, the whole world is gonna know Park Sunghoon’s name.”

He groans, embarrassed. “You always make it sound so dramatic.”

“Because it is dramatic! You’re literally gonna be a K-pop idol! I can say I knew you before you were famous.”

“That’s the only reason you’re keeping me around, huh?” he teases.

“Obviously,” you joke. “Gotta secure that ‘childhood friend of a celebrity’ title.”

He laughs, but then he sighs. “I just wish I could tell you more. It sucks that there are so many rules.”

You nod in understanding, even though he can’t see you. “I get it. But it’s okay—you don’t have to tell me everything. I’ll be here cheering for you, even if I don’t know what I’m cheering for yet.”

There’s a brief silence before he quietly says, “That means a lot.”

You smile. “It’s because I’m your number one fan, remember?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You are.”

The conversation shifts after that. He tells you about his members again—how Jungwon is way too mature for his age, how Niki keeps making everyone laugh, how Jay seems intimidating but is actually super nice. You listen, taking in every word, because even though you’re not physically there with him, you want to be part of his world in whatever way you can.

Eventually, his voice grows sleepier, and you know he’s fighting to stay on the phone.

“You should sleep,” you say softly.

“Mhm.” He sounds half-asleep already. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you whisper.

The line goes silent, and for a moment, you just hold your phone to your ear, as if the connection alone can bridge the distance between you.

The next evening, when your phone rings, you can already tell by the tone in Sunghoon’s voice that he’s had a long day. You answer quickly, trying to mask the worry creeping up on you.

“Hey, how was today?” you ask, trying to sound upbeat, though you can hear the fatigue in his voice.

“I’m starving, Y/N,” he says, his words coming out in a rush. “They’re putting us on a diet to get us ready for the debut. I can barely eat anything.”

You frown, the concern rising in your chest. “What? Are you okay? How can they expect you to work so hard and not let you eat?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, a tinge of frustration in his voice. “They said it’s part of the training. I’m just trying to push through, but… I’m so hungry, Y/N. I just want to eat something that’s not just protein and vegetables.”

“Sunghoon,” you say, your tone gentle but firm. “You need to eat. I know they’re pushing you hard, but you can’t run on empty. Don’t starve yourself.”

You hear him sigh, the weight of everything pressing on him. “I’m fine. I can handle it, Y/N. It’s just… so much right now. I don’t know how to keep up with it all.”

“I get it. I know it’s tough,” you reply softly, “but your body needs fuel. If you starve yourself, I’m going to be really mad at you.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding amused but still stressed.

“Yes, really,” you say with a playful but serious tone. “If you starve yourself, I will too. I’ll just sit here eating my feelings, okay?”

He laughs, but it’s light, lacking its usual energy. “I can’t let you do that. But I guess I’ll try to eat more. I’ll sneak a snack or something when no one’s looking.”

“Good. Just promise me you won’t push yourself too hard. I can’t be the only one who’s worried about you.”

“I promise. I won’t starve myself. But the training, Y/N… it’s just nonstop. I’m exhausted, and I don’t know if I can keep up with all of it.”

You pause, your heart aching for him. “You can. You’ve been working toward this your whole life, Sunghoon. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I don’t know. It feels like I’m always falling behind. There’s so much pressure.”

“I know, and I can’t imagine what it’s like right now, but I believe in you. I always have.”

There’s a soft silence on the other end, and you can almost hear him letting your words sink in.

“I… I really needed to hear that,” he says quietly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply with a small smile. “I’m your number one fan. That’s what I’m here for.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, you really are.”

You continue talking for a little longer, but by the time the conversation starts to wind down, you can tell he’s beyond exhausted. His words become slower, more drawn out, as he struggles to stay awake.

“You need to sleep,” you remind him, your voice soft.

“Yeah… I know.”

“Goodnight, Sunghoon. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” he mumbles, and for a moment, you can hear the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Sweet dreams.”

The call ends, and you find yourself lying there, your phone pressed to your chest, your heart heavy with all the things he didn’t say.

The next evening, you’re getting ready for bed when your phone rings. Sunghoon’s name flashes on the screen, and you pick it up almost instantly, eager to hear his voice.

“Y/N!” His voice sounds much lighter today, more energized, though you can still detect the edge of exhaustion beneath his words. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

You smile at the sound of his familiar tone. “It’s been good. How about you? You surviving the diet and the training?”

Sunghoon laughs, but it’s a little strained. “It’s been… tough, but I’m making it. You know, Jay’s been teasing me a lot about the diet. He keeps calling me the ‘hungry trainee.’”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he talks about his members. “I bet he’s being dramatic about it, huh?”

“Yeah, totally,” he says, and there’s a bit of laughter in his voice. “But he’s actually kind of right. I am starving half the time.”

“Well, you better eat something tonight. Don’t make me come over there and force-feed you!” You joke, but you’re half-serious.

Sunghoon chuckles, but before he can respond, you hear a voice in the background.

“Wait a minute,” the voice says. “So this is the famous Y/N? The one Sunghoon’s always talking about?”

You blink, surprised, but Sunghoon quickly calls out. “Jay! Don’t interrupt, man!”

Jay’s voice sounds teasing, and you can almost picture the grin on his face. “Oh, I see now. You’re real. I thought you were just some fake girlfriend Sunghoon made up to seem cool.”

You laugh, not at all offended. “Well, I’m glad I’m real. I guess Sunghoon’s not just making up stories to impress you guys, huh?”

Sunghoon groans from the other end, clearly embarrassed. “Jay, I swear, if you keep this up—”

But Jay cuts him off, clearly having too much fun with this. “Nah, I’m just kidding. But seriously, Sunghoon never stops talking about you, so I was starting to wonder if you were just some figment of his imagination.”

You can hear Sunghoon muttering something about how Jay is the weird one, and you laugh, feeling the warmth of the moment. It’s nice to hear Sunghoon in such a comfortable environment, surrounded by people who care about him.

“I promise you, I’m not a figment,” you reply playfully. “But tell Sunghoon that if he doesn’t start eating properly, I’ll come and find him myself.”

Jay bursts out laughing. “I think he needs to hear that! Hey, Sunghoon, don’t make her come over here. She’ll beat you into eating.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sunghoon mutters, clearly fighting to hide his smile. “I get it, I’ll eat.”

“Good,” you say, your tone more serious now. “Take care of yourself, Sunghoon. I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard.”

There’s a brief pause, and then he sighs, a little softer this time. “I will. Thanks, Y/N.”

“I mean it,” you reply quietly. “I’m always here. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “You’re the best, Y/N.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you, Sunghoon,” you say, your words filled with so much sincerity that you can feel them resonate in your chest.

For a moment, there’s a soft silence on the line, and you wonder if he’s heard you correctly. But then he answers, his voice just as gentle, “I love you too, Y/N.”

Jay, not missing a beat, interrupts again. “Aww, look at that. Sunghoon’s all soft now. It’s cute.”

“Shut up, Jay,” Sunghoon mutters, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Alright, alright,” you say with a grin, “I’ll let you guys go. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

Sunghoon laughs. “We’ll try not to. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“You bet,” you reply. “Sleep well, Sunghoon. Both of you.”

The call ends, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. You’re glad Sunghoon’s surrounded by people who make him laugh, who help take the edge off the stress. But you also know that no matter what, you’ll always be there for him—cheering him on through every part of his journey.

The following evening, as the call connects, you immediately notice something’s different. Sunghoon’s voice sounds tired, more worn out than usual. The usual warmth isn’t as present, and he answers after a few rings, his greeting slower than before.

“Hey, babe…” he says, a slight sigh in his tone.

“Hey, Sunghoon. How’s everything? You sound a little off.” You try to keep the concern out of your voice, but it’s hard not to notice.

“I’m fine,” he responds quickly, but it’s clear he’s not. “Just… a long day, you know? Practice and all that. It’s been non-stop. I’m pretty drained.”

You can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s obvious that the exhaustion is catching up to him. His usual spark is dimmed, and you wish you could do more for him.

“Sunghoon, you need to take care of yourself,” you say gently. “I don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

He laughs softly, but it’s weak. “I’ll be okay. Just… a bit of a rough day, that’s all.”

You can hear him shift in his seat, probably leaning back and trying to get comfortable, but it only worries you more.

“Are you eating enough? Please tell me you’re not starving yourself again,” you ask, your voice a little firmer now.

“I had a little to eat,” he replies, though you can hear the hesitation. “I’m just really stressed about everything… I’m supposed to be prepared for this comeback, but there’s so much to remember, and the pressure is intense.”

You frown, feeling the weight of his words. “I know it’s tough, but you can’t let the stress take over. You’ve got this, Sunghoon. You’re amazing, and everyone is rooting for you.”

“I just feel like I’m barely keeping up,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s hard.”

A silence falls between you two, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. But then, you hear his voice again, softer this time.

“Y/N…” His voice catches slightly, like he’s mustering the strength to say something important. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” you say quickly, trying to ease the tension. “I’m always here.”

“You know I love you, right?” He says, though his voice is quieter than usual, almost as if he’s saying it for comfort more than anything.

The words make your heart ache, hearing him say them so softly, knowing how much he’s carrying right now. “I love you too, Sunghoon,” you reply, making sure your words are full of sincerity and warmth. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m always here for you, okay?”

He pauses for a second, as if processing your words, then adds with a sigh, “Promise you’ll keep saying that to me? I need to hear it right now.”

“I promise,” you say firmly, your voice steady and full of affection. “I’ll always tell you. I love you, Sunghoon, and you’re doing amazing. I know it’s hard right now, but you’re getting through it.”

You can hear him exhale, like he’s finally able to relax a little. “Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.”

You smile softly, even though you know he can’t see it. “Anytime, Sunghoon. I’m always here. Get some rest, okay? Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I will,” he replies quietly, but there’s still a trace of exhaustion in his voice. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” you say. “Sleep well, Sunghoon. You deserve it.”

“I will. Goodnight, Y/N. Love you.”

“Love you too,” you whisper, the words feeling like a promise to both of you.

The next day passes, and when your phone rings, you’re excited as usual to hear from Sunghoon. But when you answer, there’s something different in his voice right away.

“Hey, babe! What’s up?” he greets, a little too cheerfully.

“Hey! You sound excited,” you say with a grin, already sensing there’s something new going on. “What’s going on? Did you finally get a good meal or something?”

He laughs, but it’s clear there’s a little more to it. “Well, actually… I got a new haircut today.”

Your heart skips a beat. You’ve seen Sunghoon change up his look from time to time, but hearing that he’s got a new hairstyle has your curiosity piqued.

“Really?” you say, feigning surprise. “I bet it looks amazing. You were already handsome enough, but now you’re just showing off, huh?”

He chuckles, but you can tell he’s excited to hear your reaction. “I’ll send you a picture. Hold on.

You hear the sound of him shifting around, and a few seconds later, a picture message pops up on your phone. You eagerly open it, only to see a shot of Sunghoon with a fresh, slightly messy hairstyle—his hair styled with a bit of volume and some subtle layers, giving him an effortlessly cool vibe.

Your eyes widen, and you immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, Sunghoon! What did you do to your hair?” you tease, your voice full of playfulness. “You have like—the stereotypical idol hair cut. Are you even real?”

He laughs, clearly amused by your reaction. “What? You don’t like it?”

You’re still laughing, unable to stop yourself. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I mean… wow, you look good, but you’re definitely going to make all the fans swoon even harder now. You’re making it unfair for the rest of them.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” he replies, sounding a bit shy now, though the amusement in his voice is still there. “I just wanted to try something different. You think it suits me?”

You pause for a second, pretending to think about it seriously, then grin. “Hmm, well… it’s not bad. I mean, it’s not like you were ever ugly, but now… I’m going to have to fight off all the fan girls who’ll be falling even harder for you.”

“Stop it,” he says with a playful groan. “You’re going to make me embarrassed.”

“I’m just saying the truth!” You laugh, shaking your head even though he can’t see you. “You really are trying to make everyone else jealous now, huh?”

Sunghoon lets out a soft chuckle. “Well, as long as you’re not jealous, I think I’m doing alright.”

You can’t help but grin, your heart feeling lighter at the playful moment. “Don’t worry, Sunghoon. I’m your #1 fan, and I’ll always be here for you, no matter what hairstyle you go for. Just… no more drastic changes, okay? I might not recognize you next time.”

“Deal,” he says, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “I’ll keep it simple next time, I promise.”

You smile, feeling your heart swell with affection. “You look great, Sunghoon. I’m happy you’re trying new things. Just… don’t forget I like you just the way you are, no matter what your hair looks like.”

“I won’t forget,” he says softly. “I promise.”

“I love you,” you say, a soft, genuine smile on your face.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice quieter now, and there’s a warmth in it that makes your heart flutter.

The next day, you’re both on FaceTime, and you can’t help but smile when you see Sunghoon’s face light up as soon as he picks up. His hair looks great as always, and he’s looking slightly more relaxed, though still busy with everything going on.

“Y/N!” he greets, his usual smile spreading across his face. “How are you? I miss you so fucking much I think I’m going crazy”

“It’s been alright. I miss you too hoon,” you reply with a grin, but then you hesitate, glancing at yourself in the reflection. You’re not exactly feeling confident, especially after a long day, and you barely managed to throw on something comfortable. You decide to only show half of your face on camera, hiding the side you’re not happy with.

“Hey, why are you only showing half your face?” Sunghoon asks, his voice filled with playful curiosity. “Come on, let me see all of you.”

You shake your head, feeling self-conscious. “No way. I look terrible today. I’m just not in the mood to show all of me.”

Sunghoon pouts dramatically. “I don’t believe that for a second. Let me see all of you, please? You know you’re beautiful.”

You laugh, even though his words make your heart flutter. “I’m serious, Sunghoon. You don’t want to see it. Trust me.”

He gives a soft chuckle, clearly not buying it. “Y/N, you’ve got to stop hiding. Just show me, and I promise you’ll feel better. I know you look great.”

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the pressure of his persistent words, but you still resist for a moment. After a few seconds of silence, you finally roll your eyes and, with a reluctant sigh, shift the camera to show your full face.

“See? Told you,” you mutter, bracing for the inevitable teasing.

But then Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and you hear his voice soften. “Wow, absolutely stunning” His tone is sincere, and you can tell he genuinely means it.

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “What?”

“I said you’re cute.” He grins, and there’s a playful gleam in his eyes as he leans closer to the camera. “Really cute, actually. Like, ridiculously cute. Can’t believe you’re my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, and despite yourself, you smile. “Stop it, Sunghoon. You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not,” he says, his voice lowering slightly, his eyes now locked on yours. “I’m serious. You’ve got no idea how gorgeous you are.”

You try to fight the blush rising to your cheeks, but it’s hard when his gaze is so intense. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’m not the one hiding my face,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “I just want to see all of you. You don’t have to hide, ever.”

You look down, feeling a little shy. “You’re way too sweet.”

Sunghoon gives a soft laugh, but then his voice drops into something more playful, more flirty. “I’m just telling the truth. But if you’re this cute even when you’re hiding… I can’t even imagine how amazing you look all put together.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re really laying it on thick today, huh?”

“I’m just stating facts.” His grin grows wider. “And I’m telling you, if you keep looking this cute, I’m going to be even more smitten with you.”

Your heart flutters, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You never quite get used to the way he can make you feel so special with just a few words.

“Alright, alright,” you say, trying to brush off the sudden rush of warmth in your chest. “I guess I’ll take the compliment, but only because you’re my favorite.”

Sunghoon winks at you through the screen, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Good, because you’re mine too. But I think you knew that already.”

You smile, a little shy but full of affection for him. “I guess I did.”

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a moment, both of you just enjoying the moment. The teasing fades, and for a while, it’s just the two of you, connected despite the distance.

“I really do think you’re cute, Y/N,” he says softly after a beat, and you feel the sincerity in his words even through the screen.

You smile, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Sunghoon. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grins. “I know. I’m a keeper, right?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You might just be.”

When Sunghoon picks up, you can immediately tell something is off. His face is shadowed, his usual smile absent. His eyes look heavy, and there’s an exhaustion in his voice that he tries to hide, but it’s clear he’s been pushing himself too hard.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greets, his voice low and slow, as if every word is a struggle.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you reply, concern creeping into your tone. “You don’t sound like yourself. You okay?”

He sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I’m just really tired… It’s been a long day. We’ve been rehearsing non-stop, and it’s been hard to keep up. I haven’t really had much sleep the past couple of days.”

You can’t help but frown. You’ve seen him work hard before, but this is different. He’s always been energetic, full of life when talking to you. But now, he sounds like he’s barely keeping his eyes open.

“Hoonie,” you say softly, “you need to rest. Don’t push yourself too much. You know I want you to take care of yourself, right?”

“I know,” he mumbles, but the words don’t seem to have the usual fire behind them. “I’ll be fine… just need to get through this.”

A long pause settles between you two, and you try to gauge what’s going on in his mind. You can hear the faint background noise of the dorm—footsteps, someone laughing in the distance—but it only adds to the sense that he’s not fully present with you.

“Are you eating enough?” you ask, your voice firm with concern. “If you’re not eating, I swear I’ll—”

“I’m eating, Y/N,” he interrupts, but it’s sharp, the kind of snap that catches you off guard. “Stop worrying about me so much.”

You freeze, startled by the sudden change in his tone. It’s not like him to snap at you. You can tell he’s frustrated, but you can’t help but feel hurt by how quickly his patience seems to have worn thin.

You try to keep your voice calm. “I’m just worried about you, Sunghoon. I know you’re stressed, but—”

“Yeah, I know,” he cuts you off again, his tone more defensive. “I’m just… tired. Can you give me a minute, please?”

The request stings, and you try to hide the disappointment creeping in. He hasn’t snapped at you like this before, and though you know it’s just stress, you can’t help but feel a pang of hurt in your chest.

“I… I just want you to be okay,” you whisper, fighting the tightness in your throat. “I love you so, so much.”

There’s a pause on his end. You can hear him breathing heavily, and then he exhales deeply. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, regret evident in his words. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just really drained right now. It’s not you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s okay. I know you’re stressed, but you’ve got to remember you can’t do everything on your own. Don’t forget to take a step back sometimes.”

“I know… I just feel like everything’s piling up, and I don’t want to let anyone down,” he admits, his voice a little shakier now. “I’m sorry for snapping. I really didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s alright, Sunghoon,” you say softly, your heart aching for him. “I know you’re doing your best. Just… please don’t wear yourself out completely. I care about you.”

“I’ll try,” he responds, though the exhaustion in his voice still lingers. “I’ll rest soon… I just need to finish up some stuff first.”

“Promise me you’ll rest after?” you ask, your voice gentle.

He sighs again, but it’s a little more peaceful this time. “Promise.”

There’s a moment of quiet before you speak again. “I love you, Sunghoon. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“I love you too,” he says, his words more sincere now, even though you can tell he’s still a little worn out. “I’m sorry again for snapping. I didn’t mean it.”

You smile softly, knowing how hard he’s been working. “Don’t apologize. Just get some rest, alright? You’ve got this.”

He nods, though you know he’s probably too tired to keep his eyes open much longer. “Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Definitely,” you reply, your voice warm. “Sleep well, Sunghoon.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Sunghoon answers the call, something feels different. His usual warmth, the energy he once had when he saw your name light up on his screen, seems dimmed. He’s quieter, his responses slower, like he’s barely present in the conversation.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you greet, trying to keep the cheerfulness in your voice, but there’s a subtle tightness in your chest as you notice the shift.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice flat. It’s not the usual excitement or affection that you’re used to hearing. “What’s up?”

“How’s everything today? How’s the comeback prep going?” You ask, trying to break through the silence, your concern creeping in with every word.

“It’s fine,” he answers, but there’s a detachment in his tone. “Same as usual. Busy. A lot to do.”

You pause, the words hanging in the air, and you feel the distance between you grow, even though you’re both on the phone. “Sunghoon, you okay? You sound kind of… off.”

There’s a long pause on his end, like he’s debating whether to answer honestly. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired, but he doesn’t say much.

“Yeah… just a little tired,” he mutters, almost dismissively.

You can sense that he’s shutting you out, and it hurts. “I know you’re busy, but you can talk to me, you know. If you need a break or anything.”

“I’m fine, really,” he responds, a little too quickly. “I’m just dealing with some things… but I’ll be alright.”

You can feel the gap between you widening with every passing second. Normally, Sunghoon would reach for your hand, even through the phone, but now it feels like he’s pulling away. You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

“I’m here if you want to talk, Sunghoon. You don’t have to keep everything inside,” you say softly.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his tone still distant, not offering much more. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The words strike you hard, like a cold wave. You want to reach out, ask him if something’s wrong, but he’s already pulling away from you. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to push back the hurt that starts to bubble up.

Before the call ends, you quickly add, “I love you, Sunghoon.”

There’s a long pause. You hold your breath, waiting for him to say it back, but instead, there’s only silence.

“Sunghoon?” you say, a little softer this time, hoping for the reassurance you always get, but he doesn’t respond.

“I love you,” you repeat, quieter now, your heart sinking. Still, nothing.

“Talk to you later, Y/N,” he says quickly, cutting through the silence, his voice tinged with impatience, and the call ends before you can say anything else.

You stare at the screen, the absence of his usual “I love you” echoing in your mind. Your chest feels heavy, and for the first time, you wonder if the distance is becoming more than just physical.

You try calling him again later that evening, hoping for a better conversation. When he picks up, his voice is more rushed than usual, and there’s a faint background noise of chatter and shuffling.

“Hey, I can’t really talk right now,” Sunghoon says quickly, his tone tight and distracted. “I’m in the middle of something.”

You blink, surprised. “Oh, okay… I didn’t realize you were busy. Everything okay?”

He sighs, and you can hear the tension in his voice. “Yeah, just practice and other stuff. It’s a lot to juggle right now. I really can’t take a long call.”

You try to hide the disappointment, but it’s hard. “I get it, Sunghoon. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I know, but… I just don’t have the time right now,” he says a little apologetically, but there’s still a sense of distance in his words. “I’ll talk to you when I can. Sorry, Y/N.”

There’s a brief pause before you speak again, trying not to let the hurt show. “Alright, take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push too hard.”

“I will,” he says, though his tone is distracted. “Talk to you later.”

You hesitate for a moment, but before the call can end, you quickly add, “I love you, Sunghoon.”

There’s a silence on the other end, just long enough for you to second-guess yourself. He doesn’t respond right away, and it makes your heart ache. Then, his voice comes through, quieter than before.

“Yeah… I’ll talk to you later,” he says, but his words feel rushed, and the usual warmth isn’t there.

You sit there, staring at the screen, the weight of the silence lingering in the air. The distance between you feels bigger now, and you wonder if the connection you once had is fading away.

The following day, you call Sunghoon, needing someone to talk to. A lot’s been weighing on your mind, and you just want to vent to him. It’s been a rough day for you—your boss had been incredibly difficult, and a few personal things have left you feeling down. You just want to hear his comforting voice.

When he picks up, you immediately start talking, eager to unload. “Sunghoon, you won’t believe what happened today. My boss was so unfair with me, and it just… it feels like everything’s going wrong. I tried to stay calm, but nothing I did was good enough.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and when he responds, his voice isn’t as warm as usual. “Oh… yeah?” His tone is flat, as though he’s distracted, and it catches you off guard. You push on, not noticing the change at first.

“Yeah, and then my friend was being distant too, which just made everything worse. Like, I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong, but it’s been a lot. I just want to get it off my chest, you know?” You’re pouring your heart out, hoping he’ll be the support you need right now.

“I mean, that sucks,” Sunghoon responds, his voice a little distracted. “But it’s not like there’s much you can do about it, right? You’ll be fine.”

His words sting more than you expect. You try not to let it show, but the impatience in his voice is unmistakable. “Yeah, I guess. But it just feels like everything’s hitting at once, and I can’t catch a break.”

You expect some sort of comforting reply, something to ease the tension in your chest, but instead, he sighs. “Yeah, well… I don’t really have time to talk about this right now. We’ve got practice, and I really need to focus.”

You freeze, your words hanging in the air. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The distance in his voice is more evident now than ever. You take a deep breath, trying to hide the disappointment that threatens to show. “I… I understand, Sunghoon. I just wanted to talk to you. It’s okay.”

There’s a pause before he replies, his tone still somewhat distant. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? I really have to go.”

“Alright…” you say quietly, the words barely leaving your lips. You feel like you’ve been cut off mid-sentence, but you don’t know how to push further.

The call ends abruptly, and you sit there, the weight of his impatience lingering. The feeling that something’s not quite right between the two of you grows heavier with every passing second.

Later that evening, you try calling him again, hoping for a chance to talk more calmly now that he might have a break. But as the phone rings, you can feel the knot in your stomach tighten. He doesn’t pick up.

You wait for a few more rings, then the voicemail picks up.

“Hey, it’s Sunghoon. Sorry, I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

His voice sounds distant, almost robotic—nothing like the Sunghoon you know. You stand there for a moment, staring at your phone, feeling your chest tighten. You had hoped things would feel a little more normal tonight, but now, the silence on the other end only deepens the gap between you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and try to shake off the feeling of abandonment, but it lingers.

“Hey, Sunghoon… It’s me. I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to talk. I… I miss you. I miss your voice, your presence—everything. Call me when you can, okay? I’ll be here.”

You end the message, and for a second, you just stare at your phone. The call didn’t go the way you hoped, and as you hang up, you can’t shake the feeling that something is slowly slipping away. You wonder if he’ll ever call back.

You wait for a few more rings, then the voicemail picks up.

“Hey, it’s Sunghoon. Sorry, I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and try to shake off the feeling of abandonment, but it lingers.

“Hey, Sunghoon… It’s me. I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to talk. I… I miss you. Call me when you can, okay? I’ll be here.”

Later that week, another wave of bad news hits you. Your friend, who you’ve been trying to support through some personal struggles, completely shuts you out. It’s frustrating, confusing, and you’re feeling completely drained from trying to be there for everyone else while no one seems to be there for you. You reach for your phone, desperate to talk to Sunghoon, hoping he’ll be the support you need, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

When he picks up, you immediately start venting, your emotions spilling out faster than you can control them. “Sunghoon, I don’t know what to do. My friend… she’s been shutting me out, and I don’t know why. I tried to be there for her, but now it’s like I’m just invisible. Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

There’s a pause, and then Sunghoon’s voice comes through, colder than you expected. “Again with the drama, Y/N? I’m really not in the mood for this.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What? I’m just telling you what happened. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“You’re always making it about yourself,” he snaps, his tone sharp. “Everything’s always about you. You’re the one who needs attention, who needs someone to fix everything for you. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with that right now.”

His words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you don’t know how to react. You thought he’d be there for you, even if it was just to listen. But now, it feels like the weight of your emotions is too much for him, too much for anyone.

“You don’t even care, do you?” you say quietly, your voice shaking with hurt. “I’m just trying to talk to you, Sunghoon. I didn’t expect you to fix it, I just needed to tell someone.”

“I can’t always be there for you like that,” he says coldly. “I have my own things going on. Maybe you should start thinking about that instead of making everything about you.”

Your heart sinks, and before you can respond, you hear him exhale sharply.

“I gotta go,” Sunghoon says abruptly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Before you can even say another word, the line goes dead.

The phone still pressed against your ear, your heart racing in your chest. The words echo in your head, and the distance between you feels like an insurmountable gap. The person you thought you could rely on, the one who promised to be there, just hung up on you, leaving you alone with nothing but the weight of his harsh words.

The next day, your phone rings, and when you see Sunghoon’s name, your heart skips a beat. You hesitate before answering, still reeling from the harsh words he had said yesterday. But when you finally swipe to answer, his voice comes through, and it’s immediately clear something is wrong.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks, and you hear the unmistakable sound of tears. “I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just so… overwhelmed. Everything’s falling apart, and I… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Your heart tightens at the sound of his pain. You weren’t expecting this at all, but the sincerity in his voice makes the anger and hurt you felt yesterday fade. You stay quiet for a moment, letting him speak, and when he continues, you can hear the exhaustion in his words.

“I’ve been so stressed with practice, with everything going on, and I just… I lost it. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You can’t help but feel the weight of his apology. You know how much he’s been dealing with, how hard everything must be for him. Despite how hurt you were, you take a deep breath, your voice gentle as you reply.

“It’s okay, Sunghoon,” you say softly, trying to comfort him. “I understand. You’re under so much pressure, and it’s a lot to handle. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about it. I’m here for you, always.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and then you hear him sniffle. “I don’t want to push you away, but I’ve been pushing everyone away. I don’t even know how to deal with this anymore.”

You feel your heart break for him. “You don’t have to deal with it alone, Sunghoon. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You can vent to me, and I’ll listen, okay? You don’t have to keep it all inside.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I really messed up, Y/N.”

“No, you’re allowed to have your moments. You’re human, Sunghoon,” you reassure him, your words soft but full of care. “It’s okay to be stressed and overwhelmed. I get it. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through it together.”

He sighs heavily, as if the weight on his shoulders has lifted just a little. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m really sorry for how I acted.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Just take care of yourself, okay? And if you need to talk, I’m always here.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice more stable now, though you can still hear the lingering tension. “I’m really lucky to have you, Y/N.”

“I’m lucky to have you too,” you reply, your voice full of warmth and affection. “Just remember, we’re in this together. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

You can hear him take a shaky breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between the two of you. Even through the stress and distance, you know this moment—this understanding—will bring you closer.

A few days pass, and you try to stay positive, especially after the heartfelt conversation you had with Sunghoon. You thought things were going to improve, that the distance between you two was finally closing. But when you call him again, you feel that familiar weight of uncertainty creeping back.

When he picks up, the usual warmth you’ve come to expect isn’t there. His voice is distant, almost emotionless. “Hi,”

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light. “How are you today?”

There’s a long pause before he answers, and when he does, his response is flat. “I’m fine.”

You furrow your brows, sensing something off. “You sure? You don’t sound like it. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says quickly, but there’s no conviction in his voice. It feels like he’s just saying the words to get through the conversation. “Just busy, you know? Lots of stuff going on.”

You try to push through, wanting to hear more, wanting him to open up to you like he did before. “I get it. You’ve been working a lot. But you know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” he says, but there’s no real emotion behind it. “I’ll talk to you later. I don’t have much time now.”

You feel the sting of his detachment, and your chest tightens. “Sunghoon… I’ve been really worried about you. You’ve been distant lately, and I don’t know what’s going on. Is it me?”

There’s another pause, longer this time, and you hold your breath, hoping for something—anything—that’ll show you he still cares. But when he responds, his words come out cold and brief.

“No, it’s not you. I just don’t have time for this right now. I’m too tired.”

Your heart drops. His words cut through you, and the sudden shift from the Sunghoon you know to this distant version of him leaves you speechless. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, but it feels like your chest is caving in. “Okay… if you need space, I understand,” you say quietly, trying to hold it together.

“Yeah,” he says, his tone distant, like he’s already mentally checked out of the conversation. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Before you can say anything more, he hangs up.

You gaze at your screen, the words he didn’t say hanging in the air. He didn’t even say “I love you” this time. The silence feels louder than ever, and a sinking feeling fills your stomach.

You call Sunghoon, you’ve got something lighthearted to share, hoping it might bring some energy back into your conversations. You’ve just bought a new set of makeup, something you’ve been wanting to try for a while, and thought it’d be fun to try it on while on the phone with him. Maybe he could offer his opinions—or, at the very least, cheer you on.

When he picks up, his voice is quieter than usual, and you can immediately feel that familiar distance hanging in the air. “Hey,” he says, his tone flat, barely any emotion behind it.

“Hoonie!” You try to sound upbeat, forcing a smile even though you’re not feeling it. “ I bought some new makeup today! I was thinking of trying it on while we talk. Maybe you can tell me if it looks good?”

There’s a slight pause on the other end. You can hear him sigh softly before he replies. “Uh, okay…”

You go on, excited despite the unease in his voice. “I got this cute blush and a new lippie, and I thought I’d do a quick little look. You can rate it or whatever. It’ll be fun, right?”

You pull out the makeup, feeling a bit nervous but also wanting to share something fun with him, hoping it might make him a bit more engaged. As you start applying the blush, you glance at the screen to see if Sunghoon’s paying attention. But when you look up, he’s staring off to the side, looking distracted, his hand running through his hair absentmindedly.

“Sunghoon?” you say, trying to pull him back in. “What do you think so far? Do you think it looks cute?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Another pause. You can feel your heart sink just a little, but you could see a slight smile on his face.

“I… don’t know,” he mutters, sounding distant. “I can’t really tell from here. Maybe it looks fine.”

You try again, brushing a bit of eyeshadow on, hoping he’ll at least show a little excitement. “Come on, Sunghoon, you can at least say something. You know I love when you notice the little things.”

But instead of the encouraging words you were hoping for, you hear him sigh again, his voice a little frustrated. “I’m just… kind of tired, okay? I don’t really feel like giving opinions on makeup right now.”

Your smile falters, and you can feel the excitement you had draining away. “Oh, okay… I just thought it’d be fun to share with you.”

“I know,” he says, but his tone is distant, detached. “I’m just not in the mood for it. I have a lot going on.”

There’s a slight edge to his voice, and it stings more than you expected. You’re left holding the makeup brush in your hand, feeling like you’re talking to a wall.

“Alright, I get it,” you say softly, trying not to let the disappointment show. “I just wanted to do something fun… but I understand.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the silence stretches between you both. It’s like the distance you’ve been feeling in his voice is now physically present, filling the space where your excitement used to be.

“Sorry,” he mutters finally, though it feels like an afterthought. “I’m just really tired. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you, and whisper, “Yeah, okay. Take care of yourself, Sunghoon.”

Before he can say anything else, the call ends. You stare at the phone screen, makeup half-applied, the weight of his lack of interest heavy in the air. The silence that follows feels like a painful reminder of how far apart you’ve grown.

The next time you call Sunghoon, you try once again to bring back the warmth that’s been slipping away. You went shopping earlier and picked up a few new outfits—pieces you were excited about, ones you thought he might like. Maybe, just maybe, this could be a moment to reconnect, even if just for a little while.

When he picks up, his voice is the same as it’s been lately—tired, distant. “Hey.”

You push past the hesitation in your chest and smile at the camera. “Hey! Guess what? I went shopping today and got some cute clothes. Wanna see?”

There’s a slight pause before he responds. “Sure.” It’s not enthusiastic, but at least it’s not dismissive.

You grab the first outfit—a soft pink top and a white skirt—and step back so he can see. “What do you think? Cute, right?” You twirl a little, hoping for some kind of reaction from him.

Sunghoon watches through the screen, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nods. “Yeah… it looks nice. It suits you.”

You feel a flicker of warmth at his words, even though his tone is subdued. Encouraged, you switch into another look—baggy jeans and a black zip-up sweater. “And this? I thought it was a cute, casual look.”

Again, he takes a second before responding. His eyes scan over you, and for a brief moment, the old Sunghoon peeks through—his lips twitch, as if he wants to smile, and there’s a softness in his gaze that you haven’t seen in a while. “It’s cute. You always look good in stuff like that.”

You light up at his words, but just as quickly as that warmth appears, it fades. Sunghoon shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, and the distance in his expression returns. “Sorry, I’m just kind of out of it today,” he mutters.

Your heart sinks a little, but you don’t let it show. “It’s okay,” you say gently. “I know you’re busy. I just wanted to share something fun with you.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say much after that. The conversation feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, no matter how much you try to hold onto it.

Still, at least for a moment, he looked at you the way he used to. And even if he’s distant, you can tell—deep down, he still thinks you’re pretty. He still thinks you’re cute. But is that enough to hold onto?

When you call him again, you’re craving even the smallest bit of warmth—some kind of reassurance that things between you aren’t slipping away completely. So, you try something different, something playful, hoping to pull a smile from him the way you used to.

“I miss you,” you say softly, shifting against your pillow. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

There’s a pause on his end, and for a second, you think maybe you’ve caught him off guard in a good way. But when he finally speaks, his voice is flat. “Yeah.”

Hoping to lighten the mood, you call him again, determined to make him smile—really smile, like he used to. When he picks up, his face looks just as exhausted as before, his expression blank. But at least he answered. That’s something, right?

“You look tired,” you say softly, trying not to sound too worried. “Rough day?”

“Mhm,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Practice was brutal.”

You nod, thinking for a moment before reaching for the bag of chips sitting beside you. “Alright, since you’re too tired to talk, I’ll entertain you instead.”

He raises a brow, barely interested. “What?”

You grin, bringing a chip close to your phone’s mic. “ASMR,” you announce dramatically before biting into it with an exaggerated crunch.

Sunghoon blinks, clearly caught off guard. Then, to your relief, the corners of his lips twitch just the slightest bit.

“You’re so weird,” he mumbles, but there’s a tiny glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Encouraged, you take another loud bite, chewing obnoxiously slow. “This one’s for you, Park Sunghoon. May it bring you strength in these trying times.”

This time, a small, fleeting smile appears on his face. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Also ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. But the exhaustion in his voice remains, and just as quickly as that tiny smile appeared, it’s gone.

You keep munching, hoping to keep the moment alive, but Sunghoon just leans back against what looks like his dorm bed, staring at the ceiling.

And in that silence, you realize something.

You can still make him smile. But it doesn’t reach him the way it used to.

Determined to lift his mood, you keep going, crunching dramatically into another chip. “This one,” you say between bites, “is the ultimate, most perfect crunch. Listen closely.”

You take the slowest, loudest bite yet, exaggerating every sound.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a dork.”

You gasp. “Excuse me? This is high-quality ASMR content. People pay for this, you know.”

He lets out a soft chuckle—small, but real. “Yeah, yeah. You’re still ridiculous.”

You smile, relieved to finally hear something other than exhaustion in his voice. “But you love it.”

He pauses for a moment, then mutters, “Yeah… You’re cute.”

Your heart skips. It’s been a while since he’s said something like that, and even though his voice is still quiet, still tired, the warmth in his words makes your chest ache.

“Damn right I am,” you tease, trying to keep the moment light. “The cutest, actually.”

Sunghoon hums in agreement, but just as quickly as the warmth appeared, it fades again. He shifts, rubbing his face tiredly. “I should probably go soon.”

Your smile falters, but you nod. “Yeah… okay.”

He looks at you for a moment, as if he wants to say something else. But in the end, he just sighs.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And just like that, the call ends.

He called you cute. He smiled. But something still feels off. Like no matter what you do, he’s slipping further and further away.

You don’t want to overthink it. You tell yourself he’s just tired, just busy, and that things will feel normal again soon. So when you call him the next day, you try to act like nothing’s wrong.

When he picks up, he looks even more exhausted than before. His hair is damp, probably from a shower, and he’s lying in bed, his face barely illuminated by the dim glow of his phone screen.

“Hey,” you greet, keeping your voice soft. “Long day?”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

You hesitate before trying to lighten the mood. “Well, lucky for you, I’m here to entertain you. No ASMR today, but I can sing you a bedtime story.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face, but it doesn’t last. “That’s okay,” he says, his voice distant. “I don’t really feel like talking much.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh… that’s okay,” you reply, forcing yourself to sound understanding. “Do you just want me to stay on call with you, then? We don’t have to talk.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. “I think I just wanna sleep.”

You hesitate, gripping your phone a little tighter. “Okay,” you say softly. “I’ll let you rest. But… Sunghoon?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

Silence.

Too long of a silence.

Then finally, in a voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it, he mumbles, “Night, Y/N.”

And just like that, the screen goes dark.

He didn’t say it back. Again.

And this time, you’re not sure if he ever will.

That’s it. Just “yeah.” No teasing remark, no soft chuckle, no quiet “I miss you too.”

You swallow, ignoring the sting. “Nothing to say about that? You used to get all shy whenever I said stuff like this.”

He sighs. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just really tired.”

You try not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “I get that… I just—I feel like we barely talk anymore. I just want to feel close to you.”

Another pause. This one drags on a little too long.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he finally says, and this time, there’s no frustration, no sadness—just distance. Like he’s already somewhere else.

Your heart tightens. “Do you not want to talk to me?”

“It’s not that,” he mutters. “I just don’t have the energy right now.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. Even though you don’t really believe him.

“…Okay,” you whisper. “I love you.”

He doesn’t say it back.

And for the first time, you don’t even have the energy to ask why.

Sunghoon stares at your name flashing on his screen, the vibration of your call buzzing in his hand. His break has just started, and he’s sitting with the other members, chatting and laughing, trying to unwind for a few minutes before going back into practice. He wants to answer, he really does, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy right now. His mind is too tired, his thoughts too scattered.

He glances over at his friends, who are talking about something ridiculous, and decides to let the call go to voicemail. “It’s no one,” he mutters to himself, feeling a flicker of guilt in his chest as he hangs up. But the guilt is drowned out by the noise of the room, the ease of conversation, and the constant pressure of what comes next.

Back to you, the call still ringing, still waiting on the other side.

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at the screen for a moment longer than you should. The sound of it ringing empties the room, the space between you growing wider with every unanswered call. You sigh, closing your eyes for a second. The familiar ache in your chest is back, heavier than before, as you reluctantly end the call.

This distance, this silence—it’s growing harder to ignore. And yet, you keep dialing, hoping, praying that maybe this time, just once, he’ll pick up.

You try to push the unease down, telling yourself it’s just a busy moment. He’s probably overwhelmed with practice, maybe distracted, but deep down, something tells you that it’s not just that anymore.

You leave a voicemail, your voice soft and hesitant. “Hey, Sunghoon… it’s me. I called because I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you. I know you’re busy, but… just wanted to check in. Hope everything’s okay.”

After hanging up, you sit there, waiting for the tiny moment of hope that he might call back. But the minutes stretch on, and your phone remains silent. You stare at it for a while, the weight of your unanswered call pressing against your chest.

The uncertainty begins to gnaw at you again. He hasn’t been the same lately, and you’ve been ignoring the signs, hoping things would go back to normal. But with every passing day, it feels like a door is closing, slowly but steadily.

You toss your phone aside, but the ache doesn’t go away. It lingers, an unspoken question hanging between you both. What happened?

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. You try to keep yourself busy, but the empty space he’s left behind in your heart feels louder with every minute that passes. You can’t help but think back to when he would call you every night, excited to hear your voice, to tell you about his day. Now, it feels like you’re clinging to something that’s slowly slipping away, and you don’t know how to hold on.

By the time you try again, it’s late. The day’s gone, and you’re sitting in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your messages and photos. You know you should probably let him have his space, but you can’t help it. You miss him. You miss the old him—the one who would answer your calls with a grin and talk to you like you were the most important part of his day.

This time, when you call, you stare at the screen, almost bracing for the rejection, the unanswered ring. But something inside you doesn’t want to give up. Not yet.

It rings.

And then it stops.

He picked up.

“Hello,” his voice sounds tired, hoarse, but you’re relieved to hear it at all. It’s been too long since the last time. You can barely contain your relief.

“Hi, Sunghoon,” you say, trying to sound casual, but you know your voice gives away the knot in your chest. “I’m glad you picked up. I was starting to think I wouldn’t hear from you today.”

There’s a long pause, and for a second, you wonder if he’ll hang up again. You can almost hear the gears in his head turning. “Sorry,” he finally murmurs, his voice low. “I’ve just been… busy.”

You nod even though you know he can’t see it. “I get it. But you’ve been busy a lot lately. I just… I miss talking to you. Like we used to.”

“I know,” he says quietly, his tone distant, yet tinged with something almost apologetic. “I’ve just had a lot on my plate. But you’re right. I’m sorry for being… distant.”

His words hang in the air, but they don’t feel like the apology you need. They’re words, yes, but there’s no warmth, no reassurance in them. You fight to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t need an apology,” you say, your heart beating faster. “I just want you. I just want us to be… us again.” You bite your lip, trying to hold back the rush of emotions threatening to spill. “I want to be there for you, Sunghoon. I want to be that person who makes you feel better when everything’s hard, but… I don’t know how to do that when you’re shutting me out.”

Another long pause. Then he exhales heavily, like he’s trying to find the right words. “It’s not you, Y/N. It’s just… everything. It’s harder than I thought. Being here… and everything that comes with it.”

Your chest tightens, but you force yourself to take a deep breath, pushing down the feeling of being left behind. “I know it’s hard. I get it, Sunghoon. I do. But you don’t have to go through it alone. You’re not alone in this.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and that silence feels more deafening than any of the words exchanged.

“I need to go,” he says quietly, his voice almost breaking. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.”

Before you can respond, the line goes silent again.

You stare at your phone for what feels like an eternity, the weight of it sinking deep into your bones. Another call that ends before it even really starts. Another goodbye that isn’t really said.

You want to scream, to throw your phone across the room, but you don’t. Instead, you clutch it tightly to your chest, willing yourself not to break. You thought it would get better, but now you’re not so sure anymore.

You only wish he’d realize you’re still here. Still waiting. Still holding on, even though it’s getting harder every day.

You try to push the weight of his absence aside, but it lingers, pulling at you with every word he says, or doesn’t say. The silence feels deafening when the call drops again, and you sigh softly, trying to keep things light. You hate that you’re always the one to reach out, always the one to try and make him smile. But it’s a fight you’re not ready to lose yet.

“Hey, can you turn on your camera?” you ask, your voice soft, but full of longing. “I miss seeing your face, Sunghoon. Just… turn it on for a bit?”

You hear him shift on the other end, and there’s a pause that stretches far too long. “No,” he answers quickly, his voice flat.

The response stings, and your chest tightens at the coldness in his voice. “Why?” you ask quietly, trying to push past the hurt. “I just want to see you. Just for a second.”

He sighs heavily, sounding exhausted. “I don’t feel like it, okay? Just… not today.”

You bite your lip, forcing the disappointment down. You try to laugh it off, but it comes out empty, more of a nervous chuckle than anything else. “Alright, fine. But you know I miss seeing your face. It’s not the same without it.”

There’s no response at first, and you wonder if he even heard you. You wait for a few moments, and just when you think he’s going to end the call without saying anything else, he mutters, “I’m sorry… I’m just… tired.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it, and keep your voice gentle. “I know you are. But… just remember, you can always turn on your camera for me. It doesn’t have to be perfect, I just want to see you, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything back. Instead, the line goes quiet again, and the conversation falls into that familiar emptiness—silent, distant. A space between the words, between the feelings, between the two of you.

The days blur together, and each time you call, you feel like you’re reaching out to someone who’s becoming harder and harder to hold onto. Sunghoon’s responses have grown shorter, and each time he picks up, it’s like you’re talking to a version of him that’s further and further away. You tell yourself he’s just busy, overwhelmed, that things will get better—but the silence between you is growing deafening.

You try again, the hope still there, the quiet voice in your mind that whispers that maybe today will be different.

The phone rings, and for a moment, you hold your breath, hoping for a familiar voice. When it finally picks up, it’s not the warm, enthusiastic “Hey!” you’re used to. It’s flat. Distant.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, his tone lacking the usual excitement.

“Hi, Sunghoon,” you try to sound upbeat, but the strain in your voice betrays you. “I miss you. I feel like I haven’t heard from you properly in so long.”

He sighs heavily, and for a second, you think he might say something comforting, might try to reassure you. Instead, there’s nothing. Just that quiet, suffocating silence.

“I’ve been busy,” he mutters, barely audible over the static.

“I know you’re busy,” you reply, forcing the patience into your voice. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m chasing you all the time, Sunghoon. It’s like… like I don’t even matter to you anymore. ”

You can feel his shift, hear him pull back even further. “I didn’t say you didn’t matter,” he says, his voice cold now, like he’s irritated with you for feeling this way. “I’m just dealing with a lot right now, okay?”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or the frustration building up inside you, but something snaps. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m not saying it’s easy for you, but I miss you. I miss hearing from you. You promised me you’d call. You promised we’d talk every day, Sunghoon!”

He doesn’t answer at first, and you can feel your anger building, that familiar ache in your chest turning to something sharper. “I’ve been trying, Y/N,” he finally says, his voice barely controlled. “You think I don’t want to talk to you? I’m just tired, okay? I have a million things to do, and I don’t need you making this harder.”

You clench your fists, biting back the frustration that’s threatening to boil over. “Making it harder? I’m just trying to be here for you. But you—you’re acting like I’m some inconvenience. Like you don’t even want to talk to me anymore. You’re shutting me out, Sunghoon!”

“I’m not shutting you out,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I just can’t deal with this right now, okay? I can’t deal with you needing so much from me when I’m barely hanging on myself.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, the sting of his words sharper than you expected. “So now it’s my fault?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m the one who’s ‘too much’ for you now? That’s what this is?”

Sunghoon’s silence feels colder now, like he’s turned away from you completely. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it sure feels like it,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “You don’t have time for me anymore. You’re always too tired, too busy, too everything. And I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine?”

He exhales sharply, sounding exhausted, but his tone is still distant. “I can’t always be there for you, Y/N. I’m not perfect. I’m just trying to get through this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not asking for perfection,” you say, your voice thick with frustration. “I’m asking for you to be here. For me. For us. But all you’re doing is pushing me away.”

The silence that follows feels like a wall between you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to make it better, and the weight of that realization hits you harder than anything else. You can feel the distance between you two, like an ocean that you can’t cross no matter how hard you try.

Finally, Sunghoon speaks again, but his words sting. “Maybe you should just move on, Y/N. You don’t need to deal with this. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at your phone, unable to respond, your throat tightening as the tears you’ve been holding back start to rise. “Is that what you really want?” you whisper, but he’s already gone, the line going dead before you can hear his response.

You sit there, phone in hand, feeling like you’ve just lost the person you loved, even though he’s still on the other side of the world. You wanted to fix things, to make it right again, but right now, you’re not even sure what’s left to save.

And just like that, the call ends.

The days drag on, each one blurring into the next. You tell yourself to be patient, that things will get better with time, but each call you make—each unanswered ring—chips away at the hope you’re clinging to.

You start calling every day, at the same time, like a routine, but every time you hear the familiar beep of the voicemail, it feels like a dagger to your chest. The voicemail greeting, his voice a distant memory, echoes in your ears like a cruel reminder of how far away he’s become.

“Hey, it’s Sunghoon. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you,” the robotic message says. And every time, you leave a message, pouring your heart into each word, hoping, just hoping that he’ll hear it, that he’ll pick up, that things will go back to the way they used to be.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you say in the first voicemail, trying to keep your voice steady. “I miss you. I’ve been trying to reach you, but… it feels like you’re not even trying anymore. I just want to talk. Please pick up the phone. I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

The next day, you try again, hoping he’s had time to think about it. Maybe today will be different, maybe he’ll answer this time. But again, the same voicemail greeting. Your heart sinks a little lower.

“Hey, it’s me again,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m still here. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Sunghoon. I miss you. I need you to pick up. Please… please let me in again.”

Every message feels like a plea, like a desperate attempt to reach him through the wall he’s built. But it’s always the same. Voicemail after voicemail. Nothing.

You can’t remember the last time he picked up, and the emptiness of each unanswered call is starting to suffocate you. But still, you keep calling. Because you can’t bring yourself to stop. You tell yourself it’s just a phase, that it’s only temporary, that maybe he’s just busy, overwhelmed. But the silence is too loud now, and the uncertainty gnaws at you.

And still, you keep calling.

Sunghoon scrolls through his phone, his thumb hovering over the missed calls from you. Each notification is a reminder of the silence between you two, and he feels a pang in his chest each time he sees your name on the screen. Days pass, and he tells himself that he’ll call back soon, that he’ll make things right, but the weight of everything—his schedule, the practice, his exhaustion—keeps him from picking up the phone.

It’s been a while since he last heard your voice. He used to look forward to your calls every day, the way you’d brighten his mood with just a few words. But now, it feels like something is different. He’s caught up in the whirlwind of his own world, and he tells himself that it’s all temporary. You’ll understand, he thinks. You’ll be patient.

But then, one day, there are no more calls. No more texts. The notifications stop coming, and it hits him harder than he expects. The silence feels strange, unsettling even. You always used to reach out—every day without fail. And now, there’s nothing. No missed call. No “hey, I miss you.”

Sunghoon stares at his phone, unsure of what to feel. There’s a part of him that wants to reach out, to apologize, to ask you what’s going on, but he doesn’t know where to start. He wonders if you’ve finally given up on him, on the relationship, on the person he’s become. The thought lingers in his mind, but he’s frozen, unable to make the first move.

He could call, but every time he picks up his phone, he hesitates. What would I even say? He can’t find the right words. And the longer he waits, the harder it becomes to reach out.

The silence is deafening. And as the days go by, he starts to realize that he might’ve let you slip away. He wonders if it’s too late, if you’ve already moved on, if he’ll ever be able to fix this. The thought eats at him, but the fear of confronting it head-on paralyzes him.

He’s lost track of time. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been since the last time you tried to call, but it’s long enough for him to feel the distance between you, the absence where there used to be a connection.

Maybe he’s the one who’s been pushing you away all along. And maybe, just maybe, it’s too late to fix it.

You’ve been staring at your phone for what feels like forever, waiting, hoping for something—anything—from Sunghoon. The days without his calls have been suffocating. The silence between you two is louder than anything else, and it’s starting to settle in your chest like a heavy weight.

You’ve almost convinced yourself that it’s over, that he’s moved on, that maybe he doesn’t care anymore. You’ve stopped calling. You don’t even know if he noticed the absence, but you couldn’t keep doing it. You couldn’t keep chasing after someone who didn’t seem to want you anymore.

But then, your phone lights up.

It’s him.

For a second, your heart stops. You stare at his name flashing across the screen, a mixture of hope and hesitation flooding through you. Part of you wants to pick up and hear his voice, to hear the explanation you’ve been waiting for. But another part of you feels scared—scared of what he might say, scared of what you might hear.

Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before you finally press accept, the sound of your breath catching in your throat as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, his voice sounding tired, but it’s still familiar, still comforting in a way. But there’s something off about it. His tone is different. “I… I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

You don’t say anything at first. You can feel your heart beating louder than before, the anticipation and the hurt mixing in your chest. “I didn’t think you would call,” you manage to say, your voice quieter than you intended.

“I know,” he replies, sounding almost apologetic. “I’m sorry for not reaching out sooner. I don’t know how to explain it.”

You can feel the lump in your throat as you try to hold back the words you’ve been dying to say. “Why didn’t you?” You let out a shaky breath. “I kept calling, Sunghoon. I kept trying to reach you, and… you just kept ignoring me.”

There’s a long silence, and when he finally speaks, it’s almost like he’s struggling with his words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice softer now, as if he’s finally realizing the weight of what’s happened. “I’ve just been… caught up. Everything’s been so much. And I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

“Drag me into it?” The frustration creeps back into your voice, but you try to keep it in check. “I was already in it, Sunghoon. I’ve been here, waiting for you to just… talk to me. You promised we’d always talk, but you stopped trying. And I just… I just feel so alone right now.”

He’s quiet again, and you wonder if he’s even listening. But then, you hear him take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve tried harder,” he admits, the guilt in his voice unmistakable. “I didn’t mean for things to get this way. I’ve just been so stressed, and I didn’t know how to juggle everything.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The sadness in his voice is so raw, so real, and despite everything, you can feel a small part of you softening, wanting to forgive him.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you say quietly, trying to steady your emotions. “I just need you to be here, Sunghoon. To actually be here with me. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I can’t keep doing this alone.”

Sunghoon’s voice cracks, and for a second, it sounds like he’s struggling to hold back tears. “I know. I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll make it right. I promise.”

Your chest tightens, but you let out a soft breath. “I hope you do, Sunghoon. I really do.”

You stay silent for a while, listening to each other’s breathing. The call feels like a fragile moment, like something that could either fix everything or break it all apart. But for now, at least, you’re talking. At least, for now, you have him back.

As the days go by, things start to shift, slowly but surely. The calls with Sunghoon become more frequent, and you can feel the connection growing between you two again, even if it’s over the phone. There’s a certain ease when you talk now, a comfort that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s because he’s finally starting to open up, or maybe it’s because the silence you both felt for so long has finally started to lift.

One evening, you’re on FaceTime with him, and as soon as he picks up, you can’t help but laugh a little. “Hey, what’s up?” you ask, your voice playful.

Sunghoon grins, holding up a piece of fried chicken to the camera. “I’m having dinner,” he says, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“Fried chicken again?” you tease him, raising an eyebrow. “Well at least you’re not starving yourself baby.”

He shrugs, looking innocent. “I just really like it. Besides, it’s K-fried chicken! You have to appreciate that.” He then leans closer to the camera, his grin widening. “You want some ASMR?”

You laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Of course! You’ve never heard K-fried chicken ASMR before?” he says, before biting into the crispy chicken. The sound of crunching fills the screen, and you can’t help but giggle. It’s so silly, but it’s so… him.

As if on cue, you hear a voice in the background. “What are you two doing?” Jake’s face suddenly pops up in the corner of the screen, interrupting the moment. His eyes flicker between you and Sunghoon, amused.

“Hey, Jake,” Sunghoon says, a bit sheepish, but his smile is still there. “Just having some fried chicken with my girlfriend.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, a smirk creeping across his face. “Ah, I see. You two really are cheesy as fuck, huh?”

You laugh, trying to hide the pink creeping up on your cheeks. “Nuh, uh. Just trying to make the most of it.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes playfully at Jake before turning his attention back to you. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous of my fried chicken skills.”

Jake laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure that’s it,” he teases before making an exaggerated gagging sound. “Just promise me you’re not going to do this every time, Sunghoon. I’m pretty sure we all don’t want to hear your ASMR.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “We’ll see. Maybe next time I’ll do some kimchi ASMR.”

Jake just laughs and shakes his head before walking off, leaving you and Sunghoon alone again.

You smile at Sunghoon. “You know, you’re so cheesy.”

He smiles back, his eyes softening. “Only for you.”

The playfulness between you two feels different now, more natural, like you’re both letting your guards down a little bit. Every day, it feels like the distance is slowly fading away, and you find yourself looking forward to these moments—just the two of you, talking about the most random things, but feeling more connected than ever.

“Next time, I’ll do a real ASMR for you,” Sunghoon says with a wink, the teasing edge to his voice, but there’s an undeniable warmth in his smile.

And for the first time in a while, it feels like everything might just be okay.

The next time you FaceTime Sunghoon, there’s a familiar, but still comforting energy in the air. The tension that had been present before seems to have eased a bit, but it’s still clear that things aren’t completely back to normal yet. Despite the lingering distance, Sunghoon greets you with a soft smile.

“Hey, remember that makeup you showed me last time?” he asks, his voice light. “I want to see it again and give you my real review.”

You laugh softly, raising an eyebrow. “Your real review? Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He grins, a playful glint in his eyes. “I promise, I’m not going to hold back this time.”

You shake your head, amused, as you grab the blush and lip tint you showed him earlier. You hold them up to the camera, showing him both products. “Here it is. The blush and the lip tint.”

Sunghoon leans in, his face so close to the screen that you can see the concentration in his eyes as he inspects them. His gaze flickers back to you, and a teasing smile spreads across his face. “Hmm, I can’t even focus on the makeup,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re just so cute.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’m trying to show you makeup here, Sunghoon. Focus!”

But he just continues to stare at you, his eyes soft and filled with admiration. “I’m focused. You know, that blush is nice, but I think the real highlight is you. I swear, you’re too pretty for your own good.” His tone is flirty, and it makes you feel a little warmer inside.

You laugh, feeling your cheeks warm up, but you play along. “Really? You’re just saying that.”

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon says, his voice lowering a bit as he leans in closer to the camera. “I can’t even think straight when you’re this cute.” He pauses for a moment, looking at you like he’s memorizing every little detail of your face. “You look even better on camera than you do in person. I can’t decide if it’s the makeup or just you.”

His words make your heart skip a beat, but you try to keep your cool. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, laughing.

“No, really,” he insists, his voice teasing but with an undeniable sincerity. “You’re just… amazing. Everything about you is perfect.”

You’re about to respond, but before you can, he interrupts with a grin. “Okay, okay, now that I’ve given you my real review—” he pauses, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “—you’re absolutely killing it with that makeup. But I’m still more into how you look without it.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little bashful. “Sunghoon…”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, winking at you through the screen. “You’ve got that natural beauty. I don’t know how you do it. But I love it.”

You smile at him, feeling a rush of affection. “Well, I love you too, you know.”

Sunghoon’s eyes soften, and he suddenly looks a little more serious than usual. “I love you more,” he says quietly, a tender smile on his lips.

The playful banter gives way to something deeper, a warmth between you two that’s undeniable. Even though the calls have had their ups and downs, moments like these remind you that it’s all worth it.

The week of Sunghoon’s comeback has finally arrived, and with every update he posts on social media, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and longing. Watching him rehearse, getting closer to the big day, it’s all so thrilling, but at the same time, it makes the distance between you two feel even more intense. You wish you could be there with him, supporting him in person.

The idea hits you out of nowhere one night as you’re scrolling through his posts. You’ve been waiting for the right moment to see him, and this feels like the perfect time. His comeback is such a monumental event in his career, and you want to be there to cheer him on—not through a screen, but in person.

You’re standing outside the building, the anticipation making your heart race. You can’t stop smiling, even though you’re nervous. The plan is simple: sneak in, find Sunghoon, and surprise him. You just hope he’ll be as excited as you are when he sees you. But there’s a small part of you that wonders if it’s too much—if it’s too soon, too unexpected. Still, you push that doubt away. You came all this way for him, and this surprise is going to be worth it.

Before you can get too lost in your thoughts, you see a familiar face approaching: Ni-ki. He smiles at you as he walks over, his usual cool demeanor making him look like he’s ready to break into a dance at any second.

“Y/N,” Ni-ki greets you, his voice light and playful. “You really came. Sunghoon’s going to be shocked.”

You nod, a little too excited. “I know. I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes I’m here.”

Ni-ki gives you a mischievous grin. “He’s in his room right now, so we’ll just go in and surprise him.” He leads you through the hallways, and every step feels like a drumbeat in your chest.

As you reach Sunghoon’s door, Ni-ki pauses, a teasing look in his eyes. “Ready for this?” he asks, his voice soft so you don’t alert Sunghoon yet.

You nod, your heart racing. “Let’s do it.”

Ni-ki pushes the door open just a bit, giving you a glimpse of Sunghoon sitting on his bed, his head down, focused on his phone. He doesn’t even look up when the door creaks open.

With a quick glance at Ni-ki, you step inside, your heart pounding as you make your move toward Sunghoon. You take a deep breath before calling out his name. “Sunghoon!”

His head jerks up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/N?” His voice is soft, almost as if he’s still trying to process the sight of you standing in front of him. For a split second, it feels like everything is perfect. But then you notice something—there’s no excitement in his eyes, no rush of joy, like you expected. Instead, he just stares at you with a blank expression.

You smile nervously, feeling the unease growing inside you. “I wanted to surprise you. I’m here for your comeback, Sunghoon.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, and then, his gaze shifts. His lips press into a thin line as if he’s holding something back. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even seem remotely excited, despite the obvious shock of you being there. His posture is stiff, distant.

“Yeah… thanks for coming, I guess,” Sunghoon mutters, his tone flat.

The words sting, and you suddenly feel smaller than you should. You’ve traveled all this way, wanting to be there for him, to show him how much you care—but this coldness, this distance in his voice, catches you off guard.

Ni-ki steps back, sensing the tension in the air, and quietly mutters something about leaving you two alone before disappearing down the hallway, giving you space. You’re left standing there, feeling like an outsider in your own surprise. The silence between you and Sunghoon is palpable, making your heart sink even deeper.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words feel trapped in your throat. “Sunghoon, is everything okay?” You try to sound calm, but there’s a shakiness to your voice that you can’t hide.

He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture almost too familiar, and sighs. “I’m fine. It’s just… it’s been a long day. I’m tired.”

The excuse feels weak, like he’s brushing you off. You can’t ignore the way his words seem to distance him even more. The Sunghoon you talked to on the phone—the one who always smiled and laughed, the one who joked around and called you cute—feels like a distant memory now.

You take a step closer, your heart sinking further. “You don’t seem fine, Sunghoon. I came all this way to see you… to surprise you. Don’t I at least deserve a little more than this?”

His gaze shifts, avoiding yours, and he mumbles, “I said I’m fine. I just need some space right now.”

You feel the distance between you two growing, wider and wider with every word that leaves his lips. It feels like you’re talking to a completely different person—the Sunghoon you used to know, the one you’d talk to every day, isn’t here. Instead, there’s a coldness you don’t recognize.

For a moment, you stand there, unsure of what to do. The excitement you had when you first arrived has drained from your body, replaced by a sense of confusion and hurt. Why does he seem so distant now? What happened to the Sunghoon who was always so kind, so playful?

“I’m sorry. I thought this would be a good surprise,” you say quietly, your voice cracking slightly.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker to you for a brief second, but then he looks away again. “I didn’t ask for this… I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. You try to mask the hurt, but it’s impossible. You’ve never felt this far away from him, and you can’t help but wonder if this distance will continue to grow, no matter how hard you try.

You swallow, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I thought I could help, but… maybe it was a mistake.

The room feels suffocating as Sunghoon doesn’t say anything more. You wish he’d just look at you the way he used to, with affection, with love. But right now, you feel completely invisible to him.

You slowly back away, not knowing what to say or do. The surprise you thought would bring you closer has only pushed you further apart.

You get a rush of adrenaline as you think about it: What if I just surprise him?

The thought of flying to Seoul without telling him sends a little thrill through you. No heads-up, no warning—just a surprise that shows up when he least expects it. The thought of seeing his face light up when he realizes you’re there for his comeback makes your heart flutter. You can imagine his shock, his joy. It would be the perfect way to show him how much you care and how proud you are, without needing to say a word.

You don’t waste any time. You start making the arrangements, booking the flight and planning the logistics. It’s a bit last-minute, and you know it’s risky. But at this point, the excitement is too much to hold back. You pack a small bag, just enough to get you through the few days, and make sure to grab something small for him—a surprise gift to make it even more special.

The whole time you’re planning it, you keep it to yourself. You don’t want to ruin the surprise. No texts, no hints, just silence. You’re counting down the days until you’ll see him, and every minute feels like it’s dragging on. But the moment you board the plane to Seoul, it finally feels real. You’re doing it. You’re going to see him.

The flight feels like it lasts forever, but the anticipation only grows as you finally land in Seoul. You take a deep breath as you walk through the terminal. You’re here now, and you can’t wait to see Sunghoon’s reaction when you show up at his rehearsal or his dorm, wherever you’ll find him.

You don’t tell him where you are or what you’re doing, letting the surprise unfold when the time is right. Every step you take towards surprising him feels like a step towards rekindling everything that’s been lost between you two. You smile to yourself, knowing that when he sees you, it’ll be all worth it.

Ni-ki gives you one last reassuring smile before standing up. “I’m going to grab you some snacks,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “Just stay here and take a breather. I’ll be right back.”

You nod slowly, wiping your eyes and trying to calm your breathing. The room feels a little quieter now, the soft hum of the building around you making the space feel a little less heavy. As Ni-ki leaves, you lean back in the chair, trying to steady yourself. You’re still shaken, the lingering hurt from Sunghoon’s coldness making your heart ache, but you’re grateful for the small moment of peace that Ni-ki’s presence offered.

After a few moments, Ni-ki comes back, pushing a small cart with an assortment of snacks—chips, fruit, cookies, and bottled drinks. “The building provides these for us,” he says with a small smile, setting the cart next to you. “You can help yourself.”

You offer him a faint smile, though it’s clear you’re still struggling. “Thanks, Ni-ki.”

He pats your shoulder before giving you a soft look. “I’m gonna need a second. Don’t worry, I’m going to talk to Sunghoon. He needs to hear this.”

You look up at him, confused but too tired to ask more. “What do you mean?”

Ni-ki’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression turning more serious. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, Y/N. No one should make you feel like this, especially not Sunghoon. I’m going to make sure he understands that.”

Before you can respond, he turns and heads toward the door. “Just stay here and take care of yourself for now. I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, Ni-ki exits the room, leaving you alone with the snacks and your swirling thoughts. The silence stretches around you, the sound of your own breathing louder in your ears. You don’t feel hungry, but the thought of something familiar, something simple, is comforting. You reach for a bottle of water, but your mind keeps drifting back to Sunghoon—what’s going on with him? Why was he so distant?

Ni-ki’s words echo in your mind. “No one should make you feel like this.”

You hope he’s right—that maybe Sunghoon just needs to be reminded of how much you mean to him. But a part of you wonders if things are already too broken to fix.

As you sit there, slowly nibbling on the snacks Ni-ki brought, you try not to overthink it. But the uncertainty is hard to shake. When Ni-ki returns, you’ll probably have more answers, and maybe you’ll finally understand why Sunghoon shut you out.

Meanwhile, somewhere upstairs, Ni-ki is on his way to find Sunghoon, hoping to give him the wake-up call he needs.

Ni-ki walks away from the small practice room and heads upstairs to where Sunghoon is. The building is quieter now, the soft echo of footsteps on the floors the only noise. He makes his way down the hall to Sunghoon’s room, his steps deliberate. As he reaches the door, he hesitates for just a moment, but then he knocks lightly.

“Hyung,” Ni-ki calls, his voice steady but carrying an edge of concern. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

There’s a brief pause before the door creaks open. Sunghoon stands in the doorway, his face tired, his eyes not meeting Ni-ki’s. He’s wearing the same blank expression that’s become all too familiar lately. Ni-ki looks at him with a mix of frustration and sympathy.

“What’s up?” Sunghoon mutters, sounding distracted, his voice flat.

Ni-ki sighs, stepping inside without waiting for a response. “It’s about Y/N.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows slightly but says nothing, just leans back against his desk, clearly not interested in whatever Ni-ki has to say. He’s been distant lately, almost cold, and Ni-ki isn’t sure what Sunghoon’s thinking anymore.

“Y/N’s upset,” Ni-ki continues, crossing his arms. “She’s in tears right now.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers to him briefly before drifting away again. “What about?” he asks, his tone still flat, like he doesn’t really care.

Ni-ki clenches his jaw, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Because of you, Sunghoon. She came all this way to surprise you, and you… you barely acknowledged her. You shut her out, and now she’s questioning everything. She’s hurt.”

Sunghoon stays quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on something in the distance, his posture slumped. He doesn’t seem to grasp the gravity of what Ni-ki is saying.

“I didn’t mean to… hurt her,” Sunghoon mutters, though his words don’t seem to carry the weight of genuine remorse. “I’m just—there’s a lot going on right now.”

Ni-ki steps closer, his voice firm. “I get that. I know you’re stressed, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like that. She’s been calling you every day, Sunghoon. She cares about you. But you’ve been pulling away, and it’s obvious.”

Sunghoon’s eyes meet Ni-ki’s for the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He doesn’t respond, just looks away again, rubbing his temple like the conversation is giving him a headache.

“You need to fix this,” Ni-ki says, his voice softer now, but still laced with concern. “She’s not some kind of distraction. You can’t just keep shutting her out when things get hard. If you keep doing this, you’ll lose her.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately. He seems lost in thought, like he’s weighing something in his mind. Finally, after a long silence, he sighs deeply. “I don’t know what’s happening. I… I don’t want to lose her, Ni-ki, but everything is overwhelming right now. I don’t know how to balance it all.”

Ni-ki watches him for a moment, his eyes softening. “I get that you’re struggling, Sunghoon. But you need to show her that you care. Don’t shut her out. Don’t let this become something bigger than it needs to be.”

Sunghoon finally looks up at Ni-ki, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and something else—regret, maybe. “I’ll talk to her,” he says, his voice quieter now, like he finally understands the weight of what’s going on. “I’ll fix it.”

Ni-ki nods, though he’s not entirely convinced. “You better. Or you’ll lose her for good.” He gives him one last look before turning to leave. “Don’t waste any more time.”

As Ni-ki exits the room, he can’t shake the feeling that Sunghoon has a long way to go. But at least now, maybe, he’s starting to realize just how much he stands to lose.

Sunghoon’s heart pounds as he stands in front of the small practice room. The conversation with Ni-ki still lingers in his mind. He knows he messed up, knows that he’s been distant, and he can’t keep letting you slip away. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever comes next.

He hesitates for just a moment before opening the door and stepping inside. There you are, sitting with your arms crossed, looking down at your phone, your expression a mixture of exhaustion and sadness. Your eyes meet his for the briefest of seconds, and he feels his chest tighten.

“Y/N,” Sunghoon says softly, stepping closer. He watches as you lift your head, your eyes wary but hopeful. He can see the pain in them—pain he caused—and it makes his heart ache.

“I… I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been so caught up in everything, and I’ve hurt you because of it,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything at first, just stare at him, taking in his words. Sunghoon feels the weight of the silence between you, like every moment he hesitates, he’s pushing you further away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve been an idiot. I let everything else distract me, and I pushed you aside without even realizing it. But I’m not going to let that happen anymore. I care about you… so much, Y/N.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I’ve been trying, Sunghoon. I’ve been calling you every day, I’ve been trying to be there for you, but it feels like you just… didn’t care. I came here to surprise you, to be with you, and it felt like you didn’t even notice.”

“I noticed,” he says quickly, stepping closer to you, his eyes soft. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything. I was too focused on all the wrong things, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please don’t think I don’t care. You mean the world to me.

You look at him for a long moment, the walls around your heart slowly starting to crack. The distance between you both, the pain, the confusion—it all feels like it might finally be fading.

“Do you really care?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, vulnerable. “Because it’s been hard, Sunghoon. I don’t want to feel like I’m just… an afterthought.”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you. “I care more than you know,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “And I’m going to show you. I promise, I’ll make it right.”

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for any trace of doubt, but all you see is sincerity and regret. And for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe again.

Sunghoon hesitates, his hand reaching out slowly, fingers brushing against your cheek as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he gently cups your face, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leans in, his breath mingling with yours.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he whispers again, his voice barely audible as he closes the distance between you. His lips meet yours gently at first, a soft, tentative kiss, like he’s testing the waters, hoping you’ll kiss him back.

You do, pressing your lips against his, and everything else falls away. There’s no more distance, no more uncertainty. Just the warmth of his kiss, the feeling of his arms pulling you closer, and the quiet understanding that things are going to be okay.

When the kiss breaks, you both stay close, foreheads resting against each other as you catch your breath. Sunghoon’s eyes are full of softness, his expression tender as he looks at you.

“I’ll make sure I never hurt you like this again,” he promises quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know you will,” you whisper back, your hands resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says with a smile, his eyes lighting up. And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right again.

You both stand there for a moment, letting the silence between you feel comfortable for the first time in days. Sunghoon gently holds your hand as you both walk out of the practice room, the weight of everything that’s happened finally starting to lift. The distance, the misunderstandings, the pain—they all seem smaller now, fading with every step you take toward something more solid, more real.

“I’m never letting you go, Y/N,” Sunghoon murmurs as you both walk together. His grip on your hand tightens, and you can feel his sincerity in every word.

You smile up at him, feeling lighter than you have in so long. “I’m not going anywhere, Sunghoon.”

There’s a warmth in your chest as the two of you make your way out of the building. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You know there will still be hard days ahead, but you also know that with Sunghoon by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.

As you step out into the world together, hand in hand, you realize that the future may be uncertain, but for once, you’re not afraid. Because with him, you know you’ll make it through anything.

requests open | masterlist

1K notes · View notes

norrisradio · 2 months ago

Text

PEACH RING PROMISES

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “I know a place / It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face / We get married in our heads / Something to do while we try to recall how we met” - The 1975, About You

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x f!reader | ᝰ WC: 1.1K ᝰ GENRE: established relationship, oscar is in love, there is a little baby cousin involved ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: this has been gathering dust in my wips for like. a week now but was then locked and loaded for an oscar miami win // not beta-read. we die like men ꨄ requested by @estellaelysian !

Some people go to church; you go to the treehouse.

It sits crooked at the edge of the Piastri property line, half-swallowed by jasmine vines and the hum of summer. The planks are sun-bleached and splintering, nailed together with the blind optimism that only dads and four-year-olds share. But it’s still standing – stubborn, quiet, familiar – like the memory of a face you’ll never forget.

Today, it overlooks a backyard choked with folding chairs and sunburnt uncles, picnic blankets and toddlers sugar-high on too many juice boxes. The barbeque is in full swing – OScar’s mum’s at the grill, his dad’s holding court with a beer in one hand and a story in the other, and someone’s blasting Seven Nation Army from a portable speaker (you swear you see Oscar roll his eyes when some of his family members start changing the lyrics to include his name).

You had just finished your second helping of potato salad when Theo, Oscar’s five-year-old cousin and self-appointed general of the under-five army, came barreling toward the two of you like a missile in Paw Patrol socks.

“Hide and seek!” he declared, panting, cheeks red. “You’re it!”

Oscar looked up from your shared plate, looking deeply betrayed. “Why am I always it?”

“Because you’re tall!” Theo whined, tugging at his hand. “And you never play with me.”

Which was a bold accusation, considering Oscar had spent the morning pushing him around on a plastic trike and pretending to be a race car announcer. Still, Oscar hesitated – eyeing the shady comfort of the patio – until you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on,” you murmured, soft and smug. “Don’t make me count.”

So he sighed, knelt down, and covered his eyes with a dramatic groan. “One…. two…. three…”

You slipped away, giggling, weaving past lawn chairs and coolers and sticky-fingered children until you reached the edge of the yard, ducking beneath the canopy of trees.

And now, here you are.

The treehouse looks almost shy, peeking out between branches. The ladder’s still rickety, the walls still wonky, but it holds you like it remembers you. You climb inside and sit cross-legged on the floorboards, brushing dust from the heart you once drew into the wood with a rock. Your initials, backwards and misshapen, look like you carved them yesterday.

You got married here once – four years old, caked in mud, with Hattie (barely out of pull-ups, in a bright orange tutu) acting as both officiant and chief witness. You gave Oscar a peach ring. He cried when you ate it thirty minutes later.

You kissed his cheek with grass-stained lips and told him he was silly. “We don’t need a ring,” you’d said, wiping his nose with the hem of your shirt. “We love each other. That’s the proof.”

You don’t hear the ladder creak, but you know it’s him before he speaks.

“Hiya,” Oscar says, ducking into the doorway like a hippo trying to fit into a china shop. His grin is crooked. Warm. His curls are longer now, haloing his face like he’s been touched by sunlight.

“How’d you find me?”

“Our wedding venue,” he says drily, brushing a leaf from your hair. “Bit of a cop-out though. You didn’t even try.”

You scoff and whip a twig at him. It bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. “You weren’t even counting properly,” you reply. “Hattie taught you better than that.”

He folds himself beside you like an accordion, limbs gangly, knees knocking into yours. “God,” he mutters, glancing around. “We were tiny.”

“You still are,” your chirp. That earns you a pinch to your side. You shriek and nearly kick out a support beam.

When the air settles, you rest your chin on your knee and say, “If we get married-”

“When we get married,” he correct instantly, poking your ribs.

You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth betray you. “Fine. When we get married, have you thought about the venue?”

He hums thoughtfully, shifting to lie down with his head in your lap. You card your fingers through his curls, watching them spring back into place. They curve around his ears, golden at the tips, soft as they were when he was four and you made him cry.

“What’s wrong with the venue of our first wedding?” he asks, cracking one eye open. “I’ve heard great things about the officiant. Real prodigy.”

You snort. “She also tried to eat a snail halfway through the vows.”

“A creative soul.”

Before you can respond, the hatch slams open.

“You FORGOT about me, Oz!” Theo screeches, hauling himself into the treehouse with all the righteous fury of a betrayed war general.

Oscar barely has time to yelp before Theo flops into your lap like a royal cat, shoving Oscar’s head out of the way with a chubby hand.

“I was winning,” Oscar insists, pressing loud, dramatic kisses to his cousin’s sticky curls and apologizing like it’s the end of the world. You laugh until your sides ache.

Eventually, Oscar untangles himself and groans, cracking every joint like he’s been in a clown car. “There’s only so much cramping a man can take,” he says, grabbing Theo under the arms and turning back to you with an outstretched hand.

You take it.

The descent is careful – Theo held like a football, your hand snug in his. Your feet hit the grass and the smell of charcoal and sunscreen floods your lungs.

“You guys would be a good mommy and daddy,” Theo announces suddenly, chin tilted up, tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Oscar throws a cheeky wink at you over his head. You groan and shake your head, the laugh bubbling up anyways.

“BUT!” Theo says quickly, yanking your hand to pull you closer like he’s about to reveal state secrets. “Maisie told me mommies and daddies have to be married. Are you guys MARRIED?”

“Yes,” Oscar says immediately, just as you snap, “No!”

“Oscar!” you slap his chest, scandalized.

“What?” he shrugs, entirely unbothered, not even trying to hide the smile. “Feels true.”

Theo frowns. “Where are your rings? Married people have rings.”

Oscar reaches for your hand and you swat it away, faking disgust. He smirks. “We don’t need them,” he says easily. “We’re in love.”

His cousin accepts this with a sage nod only toddlers can pull off, then wriggles free and barrels across the yard, lungs at full capacity.

“MUM! MUM! OSCAR IS MARRIED! THEY’RE MARRIED! I SAW! THEY SAID!”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder. “He’s going to tell your entire family.”

Oscar just grins, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “It’s already happened once,” he says, brushing a kiss to your temple. “And it’s going to happen again. Isn’t it?”

You don’t answer – not out loud. But your fingers find his where they rest over your heart, and you hold them there.

#formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x yn #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri writing #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #⚡︎ race day #event -> line by line

1K notes · View notes

reidphobic · 6 months ago

Text

i’ll show you heaven (if you’ll be an angel all night) - s. r.

in which you give your pretty boy neighbor a few much-needed lessons in pleasure. 4426 words. part two.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, unprotected sex, mommy kink, brief hint at nursing, praise, oral (f receiving), no use of y/n, reader is super condescending at times but it’s hot i promise

You’re utterly enamoured with the pretty boy next door. You know next to nothing about him, only that his name is Dr. Spencer Reid (his mail); he’s bookish (you first met when he literally bumped into you in the hall with his nose in a book); he keeps very odd hours; and, most crucially, in the four years you’ve been his neighbor, he’s never had a girl over.

It’d be enough to make you think he just isn’t particularly interested in sex, if not for the paper-thin walls you share. You’re not trying to listen, but it’s hard to keep yourself under control when you know he’s only feet away, stroking himself to a whimpering, moaning orgasm in the dead of night. He just sounds so pretty, pliant and delicate, like he’s begging to be wrecked.

Your little crush has been spiralling out of control for a while now — you’re going through a dry spell, and it’s hard to keep your gorgeous neighbor out of your fantasies when they’re all you have. Your heart flutters when he smiles and waves from across the street, kicks in your chest when he nods at you in the hall. It’s embarrassing. Eventually, you have to take action. You order a parcel to his apartment, put your feet up and wait.

There’s a soft, timid tap at your door a day or so later, and you force yourself not to sprint to the door. “Hi,” Spencer says, bright and cheerful, an openness in his face that you’re dying to take advantage of. “Is this yours? It was delivered to my apartment by mistake. I- I’m Spencer. Reid. I live next door.”

Time for the performance of your life. You paste on a shocked, grateful look. “Yes! Oh, thank you!” you gasp. “I’ve been trying to get my money back all day, and it’s been a fucking nightmare,” you laugh, taking the box from him and leaning against the doorframe. Your eyes flicker down his body, tall and lean, catching on his hands for a second before landing on his lips. You smile, lick your lips. “Hey, d’you wanna come in? I’ll make you a coffee as a thank you.”

Spencer glances at his watch, then smiles, and, oh. You swear to yourself right then and there that you’ll do anything in your power to make him smile like that again. “Sure. I can’t stay long, though. Work,” he adds with an apologetic shrug.

“What is it you do?” you ask politely, closing the door behind him and busying yourself in the kitchen.

“I’m in the FBI,” he answers, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Your eyes bug out of your head, and you turn to face him. But then you catch his expression, resigned and almost bored.

You let your eyes widen just enough that he knows you’re impressed, and then shrug. “And I bet that’s all you get to talk about when you meet someone new, am I right?” His face cycles through surprise, confusion and then relief, and he nods. You sit, slide him a cup of coffee, try not to be too transfixed by the muscles in his throat as he swallows. “So let’s talk about something else. You’re a doctor, right?” He tilts his head quizzically. “You’re not the only one who gets other people’s mail by mistake. The whole FBI thing means you’re not a medical doctor, at least, I don’t think, which only leaves a PhD.”

“Three, actually.” At that, you can’t stop your eyes from bugging out. He can’t be more than twenty-five! “Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering.” He almost sounds sheepish, deliberately tucking in his shoulders to seem smaller as he speaks.

“Oh, my God,” you say faintly. “Well, I was going to ask about your thesis, but apparently I have to specify.” You pause. “Which one is your favourite? No, I wanna hear,” you say when Spencer opens his mouth to protest. “I won't understand a word, but I’m told I’m a really good listener.” You lean forward, smiling sweetly, and he fiddles nervously with his tie, stumbles over his words.

True enough, you don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but the way his eyes light up and his movements grow more animated the longer he talks more than makes up for it. You’re content to sit and listen, carefully memorise him as you hang onto every word, and the best part of an hour flies by like that. He pauses to take a breath, checks his watch and winces. “Crap. I’ve gotta go. This was… really nice. Thanks,” he says, setting his empty mug next to your sink on his way out.

“Hey,” you call out, and he pauses. “You’re welcome to come by another time, if you’re up for it. No offence or anything, but I kinda get the sense you need someone to talk to who’s not in the FBI.”

Spencer chuckles softly. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you tease. “I’m sure your work is super serious and important, but, really, drop by if you get the chance. I’d like to see you again,” you add, letting the smallest note of interest creep into your voice at the last sentence, and you can tell by the way he falters mid-step that he picks up on it.

But he only smiles, offers you a polite goodbye, and disappears into the elevator. You don’t see him for a little while after that, but just when you’re starting to kick yourself for not getting his number, he taps on your door. It’s so late that you’d thought he wasn’t coming home for the night, but you smile warmly when you open the door, assure him he’s not bothering you at all, of course not, and you work nights anyway, so it’s not even close to your bedtime.

“You want something to drink? It’s a bit late for coffee, but I have tea? Wine?” You pad across the living room, hyper-conscious of Spencer’s gaze on your bare thighs, your short silk robe doing very little to protect your modesty.

“Wine would be great, actually,” he says, balancing himself delicately at the edge of your couch.

“Rough day?” you ask, pouring two healthy glasses and passing one to him.

He laughs ruefully. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Spencer bites his lip. “I’d really rather not,” he says quietly, looking down at his shoes. “How about you talk and I listen this time? About anything.” He laughs softly and you launch into your best first-date stories, slowly working your way through the wine and inching closer with each new glass. Both slightly tipsy, your head rests in his lap and he’s staring down at you like you hung the moon, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips, his pretty, flushed cheeks. “Hey, what was in that package they delivered to my apartment?” he asks, and you’ve got him.

“You don’t wanna know,” you smirk, toying with the hem of your robe and dragging it up, revealing just a sliver more of your bare thigh.

“I do, though,” he pouts, carding a hand gently through your hair.

Your smile broadens. “Well, you know what they say about curiosity.”

“It killed the cat?”

“Sure,” you answer, hands sliding up to the tie around your waist. “But satisfaction brought it back.” You untie your robe, let it spill into his lap and across the floor, hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of you. Lace in a shade of red so deep it’s almost black cradles the curves of your body, and you study his face carefully for a reaction. Spencer’s eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his hands tremble where they hover above your skin. “Do you like it? I bought it to cheer myself up. I’m in a real dry spell at the moment — but, you know about that, right?” you tease.

Spencer clears his throat. “I, uh… huh?” He sounds practically tongue-tied, poor thing, and you reach up to smooth his hair behind his ear.

“Spencer. Come on. Unless your mute girlfriend only comes in through the fire escape, you’ve never had a woman in your apartment,” you say, playful but just mean enough to get under his skin.

He flushes crimson to the tips of his ears. “Is it, uh…” He licks his lips. “Is it really that obvious?”

You smirk. “Yeah. Be honest, is this driving you a little crazy? Do you think I look pretty?”

“I think you’re beautiful.” You sit up, plant yourself squarely in his lap. He’s stiff, back ramrod-straight, fists clenched by his sides.

You shift your hips, grind down against him. “Do you want me?” you breathe, leaning in close. Spencer nods weakly, entirely at your mercy. “Spencer,” you purr. “Are you a virgin?”

“No!” he says indignantly. “I’ve had sex. Just not, you know, for a long while.”

Taking his hands, you place them on your waist, and his head tips back like he can’t believe his luck. You laugh, low and dark. “You blush like one.” Leaning in, you speak against his lips, so close he can practically swallow your words. “Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

He nods frantically, so hard you’re afraid his neck is going to snap. “Please. I want… God, I can’t—”

You drag your thumb across his bottom lip to silence him, resist the urge to press it deeper into his mouth. “Aw, you’re so needy, baby. So cute,” Spencer whines, pouts up at you as you shift your hips. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” you murmur, finally leaning in to kiss him; nothing more than a soft press of lips, at first. Then his hands slide up from your waist to your jaw, pull you in again. His kiss is starving, feverish, almost crazed, like he’s gone so long without it that he can’t relax.

You nip playfully at his bottom lip, pull it into your mouth. He slides his hands into your hair, happily cedes control as you slip your tongue into his mouth. His face scrunches up in displeasure when you pull away. “You’re not very experienced, are you?” you say, taking one of his hands and skimming it down your back. “All the theory in that brain of yours, but no application, right? Does that make you nervous?”

Spencer flushes impossibly redder. “I… Yes. I don’t… I want it to be good for you,” he murmurs, deliberately avoiding your gaze until you tilt his head up to meet his warm, honey-brown eyes.

Pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss to his lips, you gently twirl a strand of his hair around your finger. “It’s okay, baby. I can teach you, huh? How’s that sound?” You slip your hands under his sweater, slide them up his slim, toned chest.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, head dipping to kiss your neck.

You giggle. “Such a quick learner, baby. You wanna bruise me up, just a little?” His teeth scrape at your neck, a messy, graceless thing; pain blooms under his touch, skitters down your spine. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he shudders. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, pretty? Be a good boy and take your shirt off for me, okay?”

He scrambles to obey, practically rips his shirt over his head and tosses it away. You pull back to gaze at him, trace your fingertips over his bare chest. “Stop it,” he says quietly, almost a whine, squirming under you. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” you grin. “You’re just so pretty.” You grind your hips down, moan just a touch theatrically. “And so hard. This all for me, sweetheart?” you ask, and he melts under you at the epithet. “I asked you a question,” you add, digging your nails just slightly into his jaw.

“Yeah, it’s for you. S’yours, baby, I want you,” Spencer pleads, eyes wide and lips parted.

“So eager, baby. I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry. You wanna stay here or go to bed?”

Spencer grabs at your hips, squirms under you, meets your hips at an angle that sends pleasure cascading over you. “Bed. Please,” he gasps, burying his head in your neck and whining.

You stand up without a word, affecting casualness, but you feel the loss of his warm body between your thighs like an ache. “You coming, pretty?” you smirk, glancing over your shoulder to where Spencer is still sitting, stunned. He scrambles to his feet so fast he almost pitches over, stumbling after you as you pad into your bedroom.

Spencer doesn’t follow you into bed, though, casting a sweeping, curious look around your room. You snap your fingers impatiently. “Hey. Stop profiling the half-naked girl who wants to have sex with you.” Obediently, he climbs onto the bed next to you, kisses you sweetly as your hands slide down to unbuckle his belt. You tug his pants and boxers off in one motion, let him awkwardly kick them to the floor. Suddenly, he’s gorgeously naked in your bed, his cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs.

You stare openly, mind blanking for a second as your mouth waters. All you can think about is how beautiful he is, how good he’ll feel inside you. “Are you… Am I, uh… Okay?” Spencer asks softly, like he’s embarrassed. You gasp, grab his face, kiss him fiercely.

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, cupping his cheek as he blushes. “You’re gorgeous. Such a pretty boy for me, huh?” you breathe, connecting your lips and taking easy control of the kiss, your movements languid where his are frantic and desperate.

“Please,” he murmurs against your lips, the pathetic sound of it falling straight between your legs.

You smirk against Spencer’s lips as his hands rove along your back like he’s searching for something. “It undoes from the front, honey.” You guide his hands to the clasps, let him loosen your lingerie and pull it off, and he moans openly at the sight of your naked body.

He sits up to gaze at you, lips parted and eyes darting around as if he’s mapping every inch of you. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, hands hovering over your chest until you grab them and rest them on your boobs. Arching up, you press your chest into Spencer’s hands, moan when he squeezes softly. One hand trails down your body, down your side and along the curve of your hip, under your leg to grab at the point where your thigh meets your ass. “How do you want me?” he breathes, a nervous tremble in his voice.

“It’s alright, baby. Take your time. I’m all yours, promise.” You smile softly up at him, let him cautiously explore your body, learn exactly how to pull a soft moan from your kiss-swollen lips. Spencer dips his head, kisses the hollow of your throat, works his way down until he’s wrapping his lips around your nipple. You whine when he sucks softly, laps at the peaked bud.

It seems like you’ve found something that makes him tick, because it’s minutes before he lifts his head, and only to switch to the other side. His eyes are glazed over with lust when he finally looks up, and you smile down at him. “Enjoying yourself?” you tease, and he flushes a now-familiar red. “It’s okay, pretty. Don’t need to be embarrassed. But I wanna fuck you now, ‘kay?” You crawl on top of him, grind your soaked cunt against his stomach. “Feel how wet I am, baby? S’all for you, gorgeous.”

Slowly, you push yourself up onto your knees, Spencer’s hands clutching your hips like you’re a mirage, like you’ll fade into a dream if he lets go. “Oh, my God,” he moans, eyes fluttering closed as his hips twitch in desperation.

You circle your hips, carefully line him up with your dripping hole. “You ever done cowgirl before?” He shakes his head mutely, mouth open but no sound coming out. “You want to?”

“Yes,” he rushes out. “God, yes. But, don’t you wanna… condom?”

You lean down to whisper in his ear, conspiratorial. “No. It’s hotter that way.” You shift your hips again. “I mean, I know I’m clean, and you haven’t had sex in over four years, I’m on the pill… I can go and get one, if you want, but I really want to feel you cum inside me, Spencer,” you murmur, and he gives a full-body shudder. “Yeah?”

He nods frantically. “Yeah.” You trail your hands down his stomach, the muscles bunched tight under your fingertips.

“Relax, okay, sweetheart?” you coo, still roaming your hands across his stomach. “S’only gonna feel even better if you just relax for me.” Spencer breathes in deeply, closes his eyes, exhales the tension. “Good boy.” Oh-so slowly, you sink down on him, the aching stretch delicious between your thighs. His whimpered fuck when you’re fully seated makes you pulse around him, back arching involuntarily. “Do you need a minute, baby?”

Spencer looks up at you, dazed, and nods. “You feel so good,” he groans, half-broken already. A moment or so passes, giving the both of you time to adjust to feeling each other. You can sense that he wants you to move by the way he starts twitching inside you, his nails digging harder into your hips.

You watch him suck his bottom lip into his mouth, screw his eyes shut, fight not to make a sound. Pouting, you slide your thumb over his mouth until his lips part obediently around the digit. “Who taught you that?” you murmur, scrunching your face in displeasure. “Who told you to be quiet, Spencer? Don’t do that with me, okay? I wanna hear all your pretty noises, honey. You gotta let me know you feel good.”

Nodding, Spencer moans your name the second you free his mouth, hips jerking as pent-up, needy whines spill free. Something that might be the word please stumbles from his lips, over and over until it’s the only sound you can hear, filling the room and humming under your skin.

Despite all his efforts, you hold still, though every nerve in your body is screaming, begging for you to fuck yourself on his cock. “Is there something you want, sweetheart?” you say, sickly-sweet and patronising. “Beg me for it, pretty.”

“Fuck, come on, please!” he whines. “Want you s’bad, please. God, I need you, please, Mommy, want you to fuck me, you feel so good, please!” he gasps. You don’t think he even realises what he’s said, too far gone in his desperation. You, however, are far more lucid.

You rock upwards, lift your hips off him, and he whines at the loss. “Is this what you need, baby? Need Mommy to fuck you like this?” Spencer covers his face in embarrassment, but he can’t hold back the gasping moan that slips out when you sink down on him, grind your clit against his stomach. “Stop it,” you snap, pulling his arm away from his face. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t hold anything back. How’m I supposed to teach you if you don’t let me know what makes you feel good, huh?” Setting a slow pace, you start to bounce in his lap, every sound that escapes him pathetic and delicious. “I’ll be your Mommy if that’s what you need, pretty.”

Whining, Spencer gazes up at you, eyes fixed on your tits and practically drooling. “Tell me— shit— tell me what to do,” he pleads, grabbing greedily at your ass and moaning.

“Such an eager boy. Just wanna please, right?” He nods, moans your name and yes and Mommy. “Give me your hand, okay?” You take his hand, carefully press his index and middle fingers against your clit, moaning at the sudden stimulation. “Little circles, okay, baby? Just keep goin’, try and find—oh, fuck!” You choke on your words, a bright bolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your thighs clench around his hips. “That’s it, baby, good fucking boy. Don’t stop,” you moan.

To his credit, Spencer knows what don’t stop means; doesn’t try to move faster, harder, just works at you in those same tight little circles, arousal sliding hot and sticky down your spine. His hips jerk, fucking up into you harder, and you grind down into his lap, against his fingers. Ecstasy pools in your belly, drips out between your legs, your hands fisting in the sheets.

You clench around him, roll your hips, lean down just enough that he can wrap his lips around your boob, grazing your skin with his teeth in his desperation. “Feel so good, Mommy,” Spencer moans, writhing desperately under you. “I’m gonna— gonna fucking— please,” he whimpers, choking on his own moans. Desire threads under your skin, pulls taut in your belly.

“You gonna cum, pretty? Aw, baby. Cum for me, yeah? I wanna feel it.” Your instruction seems to be all Spencer needs, twitching and jerking under you as he spills in your cunt. “Good boy,” you murmur. He shudders, goes limp, smiles dazedly up at you.

“Thank you,” he gasps as you climb off him, kissing you sweetly, frantic desire dispersed into slow, indolent passion. “That was… you’re… I mean…”

You giggle. “Oh, my God, are you speechless?” You press your lips against his, chest clenching with affection as he blushes. “God, you’re so cute,” you add, and Spencer closes his eyes, scrunches up his face in embarrassment.

He pouts up at you, all pleading brown eyes and soft hands skimming up and down your body. “You didn’t finish,” he says, and he sounds genuinely forlorn, earnestly apologetic.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say, and although it’s far from the first time you’ve said that in bed, you really do mean it. “This was about you, yeah? First time you’ve had sex in, oh… five years?” He nods. “You were never gonna last, sweetheart, it’s alright,” you coo, stroking his cheek as he presses his body close to yours.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me? If I just… like that… How am I supposed to learn?” Spencer says slyly, the corner of his mouth quirking teasingly upward.

Oh, he’s learning, all right. You grin. “I’ll teach you something, Spencer. You ask a woman anything with that look on your face, she’ll do it.”

Spencer smiles faintly as you slide his hand down your body, along the inside of your thigh, let him explore you with the tips of his fingers. “Can I… I wanna taste you. Please?” You thread your fingers into his hair, tug lightly just to make him whine.

“Yeah? S’that what you want, pretty?” He nods as you lift his head, straining frantically to reach your lips where you hold him tantalisingly out of reach. “Oh, you’re so good, honey. God, I’m so lucky I got my hands on you, sweetheart, so good for me, such a sweet boy,” you say indulgently, and he scrambles down your body as soon as you let go of his hair. “Slow down, baby, s’not a race. You wanna take your time, alright? Kisses, a little bit of tongue, make me want it, yeah?”

“Okay,” Spencer breathes against your skin, kissing at your lower belly. His tongue swirls over your body, tracing delicate patterns over your skin that work you into a frenzy. You’re desperate, a fire burning you from the inside out, your body aching with it. You moan his name, and you feel him smile against you. “You want something?” he says, sounding all too pleased with himself.

You scoff, tugging on his hair. “Don’t get cute,” you scold, pulling him down until his lips meet your core.

Still teasing, he presses soft little kisses to the insides of your thighs. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, wide eyed and faux-innocent even with his mouth achingly close to where you need it.

“Use your imagination,” you groan, tugging his head down until his tongue finally makes contact with your core. He’s hesitant, at first, licking a slow stripe along your cunt, but your moan and the way you slam your thighs closed around his head seem to spur him on. Suddenly, he’s frantic, hands clutching at your hips as he buries his tongue inside you. Pleasure burns under your skin, creeps up your spine, drips out against Spencer’s mouth. He pauses between every new motion, every movement of his tongue, every trace of his fingers, studies your reaction oh-so carefully.

He’s hungry, and it only makes you more feverish, his sweet little moans into you coaxing matching ones from your own lips. His nose bumps your clit and you whine, a bolt of heat lurching through your body. Smiling, Spencer repeats the motion, brings his fingers up to circle your soaked clit. You grind against his face, down on his tongue, arousal winding tight between your thighs. “Shit, honey, I’m close,” you moan, holding him close, crossing your legs behind his head. He murmurs something unintelligible, but the words vibrate deliciously through you all the same, dragging you ever closer to your peak.

You whine when he moves his fingers away, clenching uselessly around nothing and bucking your hips in a silent plea. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly and moaning into you. The sudden wave of stimulation is all it takes, your vision cracking and splintering as ecstasy crashes over you. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his name spilling from your lips in a nearly crazed litany, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. You’re half-convinced you left Earth for a second, your body melting into the mattress with his still tangled between your hips.

When you finally regain the strength to move, you let go of him, and he climbs eagerly up your body. “Was I good?” he asks, quiet and almost fragile.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You cup his jaw, kiss your own taste off his lips. “You’re so good for me, baby, did so good. C’mere, let me hold you.” You hook one leg over his, let him tuck his body into yours. “Such a good boy,” you murmur.

You’re conscious of the state of both of you, sweat-soaked and sticky between your thighs, but, selfishly, you just want to hold him a little longer. “Thank you,” Spencer says softly. “Do you… Can we, um. Do this again sometime? Maybe?”

You smile. “Honey, I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

#coming out of the gate swinging with this one lol #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #every tag under the sun on here lol #writing #smut #neighbor!au

1K notes · View notes

luvergirl-535 · 1 month ago

Note

What about a fluffy shot where Azzi is a pouty mess after finding out Paige napped without her.

napgate

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 1.3k

c/w - nothing :)

a/n - working through my prompts as promised. as someone who has lots of experience in being a dramatic girlfriend, i may have projected myself into this fic a little, lol.

azzi was halfway across campus before she even realized she was speed-walking.

she’d barely survived class. barely made it through that dry-ass econ lecture without just laying her head on the desk and giving up. all she wanted—all she’d been thinking about—was going back to paige’s room, climbing into bed with her girlfriend, and napping like her life depended on it.

this was their post-practice ritual. their unspoken sacred time. snuggles, sleep, and soft music. the occasional make-out session. as paige would say, it’s fucking goated.

when azzi got to paige’s dorm, she walked right past allie in the kitchen, social battery entirely too low for anybody other than paige, and beelined for her girlfriend’s bedroom. but when she opened the door, sight that met her was not one of sleepy cuddles and open arms.

paige was awake. sitting upright at her desk. playing games on her ipad like everything was fine.

“wait,” azzi said, stopping in her tracks. “why are you awake?”

paige looked up and smiled. “hey, mama.”

“nuh-uh—why are you awake? we’re supposed to be napping.”

“i already did,” paige said, like it was casual, like it was nothing. “i laid down after chem lab. i was wiped.”

azzi blinked. stared. processed. then—

“you slept without me?”

“uh…yeah?”

“you slept without me?”

paige squinted. “are you okay?”

“babe!” azzi threw her bag down like she’d been personally victimized. “i was waiting all day for our nap! i was like, ‘this lecture sucks but it’s okay because i’ll nap with paige later’, and you already did it? without me?”

“aight, you’re dragging it,” paige said, standing now, walking over with a cautious smile. “i was just tired.”

“we were both tired!”

“baby…”

“nah, don’t ‘baby’ me. this is—this is a betrayal.”

paige stepped closer, clearly holding back a laugh. “okay. you’re right. i’m a villain.”

“you are,” azzi pouted, crossing her arms. “you left me to fend for myself. exhausted.”

“i didn’t know you were planning on coming back right after class.”

“we nap every day after class!”

“sometimes we don’t.” paige shrugged. “we didn’t talk about it this morning, so i thought…”

“it’s an unspoken thing, paige.” azzi sighs, eyebrows furrowed as she makes her best pouty face, an expression reserved exclusively for her girlfriend.

paige reached for her. “come here, drama queen.”

“no,” azzi said, turning her shoulder.

“you’re seriously mad?”

“i’m disappointed.”

“bro, that’s way worse.”

“you should feel bad.”

paige sighed and wrapped her arms around azzi anyway, tugging her into a hug she pretended not to want. “i do feel bad. i love napping with you. i missed you, mami. i swear.”

“you didn’t miss me that much if you slumped without even texting me.”

“i thought you’d be in class ‘til three.”

“i was! and now it’s three-fifteen and i’m abandoned.”

paige kissed her cheek. “come lay down. i’ll pretend to be tired again just for you.”

but azzi stepped out of her arms, eyes narrowed, full-on sulky. she was aware she was disproportionately upset. she was also aware that she was tired and probably hangry, too. that didn’t make it any easier for her to regulate her emotions, though, and thus:

“no. you made your bed. literally. and now you can lie in it. alone.”

paige blinked. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i’ll nap by myself, thanks.”

“wait, what?”

“i’ll be fine. totally fine. just me, my blanket, and my thoughts.”

“azzi.”

“goodbye, traitor.”

and with the dramatic flourish of a woman deeply committed to the bit, azzi turned and left paige’s room, arms crossed and jaw set. allie paused with her spoon midway to her mouth, clearly confused, but azzi ignored her. she headed straight for her own dorm without looking back.

❀❀❀

azzi curled up in her own bed like she was in exile. self-inflicted exile.

no girlfriend. no cuddles. no comfort.

just her sad pink blanket and her non-bicep pillow.

she flipped over once. then twice. then kicked the blanket off. then dragged it back on.

her room was too quiet. too cold. too wrong.

because napping alone? sucked.

it wasn’t just the lack of warmth (though her body was already missing paige’s). it wasn’t even that she felt too grumpy to relax. it was the principle of it all. the complete and utter emptiness of trying to sleep without her person.

she missed the way paige’s arms fit around her waist. the soft hum paige always made when she was drifting off. the way their legs always tangled up without trying.

and now azzi was lying here, wide awake, very much not cozy, and spiraling into her own stubbornness.

“this is stupid,” she whispered into the darkness of her dorm.

but she didn’t get up.

no. she had to mean it. she couldn’t just crawl back after throwing such a fit. she had to last at least an hour. maybe even text paige something petty like “hope ur nap was worth it.”

yeah. that would show her.

except…thirty-five minutes later, azzi was still not asleep. and worse: she’d started to feel lonely.

not just bored. not just annoyed. actually, genuinely…achey in her chest. she missed paige. like, on a spiritual level. she momentarily wondered if that was unhealthy, then disregarded it. god forbid a girl be in love.

ugh.

“fine,” she muttered.

she threw the blanket off, jammed her feet into pink fluffy slippers, and padded back down the hallway like she was walking the plank or something.

allie was still in the kitchen, and when she raised an eyebrow at azzi, she said a simple “don’t” before continuing to paige’s room.

when she reached the door, she paused. tried to school her expression. tried not to look too desperate.

but before she could knock, the door opened.

paige stood there, in pajama pants and a hoodie, holding a fuzzy blanket like she’d been waiting.

“you lasted thirty-eight minutes,” she said, smug.

“oh, really?” azzi said. “i wasn’t counting.”

“mm-hmm.”

azzi crossed her arms. “you set a trap.”

“i made the bed.”

“you knew i’d come back.”

“of course i did,” paige said, stepping aside to let her in. “you can’t nap mad. you get all huffy and lonely.”

“i do not.”

paige just raised an eyebrow.

azzi sighed. “okay, maybe i do.”

“that’s what i thought.”

the room was dim now, blinds pulled and led lights on. paige’s bed had an extra pillow and two blankets folded at the end. her spotify was already playing the soft r&b playlist they always used. azzi swore she could feel her melatonin levels rise.

“you baby-proofed the bed,” azzi mumbled.

“i azzi-proofed it. for you.”

“you’re so annoying,” she said. but she was already climbing into it.

paige followed, slipping behind her and wrapping an around her waist without hesitation. azzi let out a dramatic sigh, but melted into the touch immediately.

“still mad?” paige whispered. she shifted her free arm under azzi’s head, and she didn’t let on how pleased she was to have her bicep pillow back.

“uh-huh.”

“gonna give me the silent treatment?”

“maybe.”

paige kissed her shoulder. “you’re such a baby.”

“you like it.”

“yep. i especially like the part where you come crawling back.”

azzi turned to face her, burying her face in paige’s neck. “i wasn’t crawling.”

“riiight.”

“you missed me,” azzi accused, muffled.

“missed you so bad,” paige said, kissing the top of her head. “bed was too cold without you.”

azzi hummed, nuzzling closer. “you smell good.”

“you smell like my body wash. did you steal it again?”

“maybe.”

“mm,” paige hummed, tugging the blanket up around them.

they settled into the silence again, but this time it was warm. safe. exactly right.

“you can nap now,” azzi mumbled.

“what, you’re giving me permission?”

“yes.”

paige smiled against her hair. “thank you, princess.”

“you’re forgiven, by the way.”

“finally.”

“but don’t do it again.”

“‘wouldn’t think of it, baby.”

“swear you won’t. for real.”

“on my life.”

“you’re lucky i love you,” azzi whispered.

paige kissed her cheek. “i know i’m lucky.”

and with that, azzi finally let herself fall asleep—held tight, babied properly, grudge surrendered and balance to the universe restored.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #fluff #random and unserious #as fucking usual

619 notes · View notes

ccazimi · 2 months ago

Text

You Are Also Like Me

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt. 3

cw: incest (uncle/niece but there's some faux dadcest idk how to explain... either way it's only between reader and sukuna), age gap, dubcon, freudian elements, reader's daddy issues are explored in depth, reader has family issues, fluff, angst, mutual hurt, dry humping, kissing/making out, unprotected piv sex, creampies, loss of virginity, degradation/namecalling, dirtytalking, humiliation, sadism/masochism, slight blood kink if you squint, pussy eating/ass eating, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, cumplay, fingering, mdni, DDDNE wc: 21k a/n: im sorry the if the formatting is ass, apparently tumblr only allows "1000 blocks in a post" so i had to go through and cut a bunchhhh of paragraph breaks D: it might read better on ao3

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Sukuna’s eyes flit to yours as he takes another bite of his food, not answering right away, just watching you.

Annoying.

You put down your chopsticks and refuse to take another bite until he gives you some response.

Finally, he smirks at you, speaking lazily. “That’s a big step. You sure you’re still not just worked up from the other night or something?”

“That was like four days ago,” you hiss, “So no— it’s obviously not that.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as he chews. “Maybe you got all horny remembering it.”

You lean forward, teeth clenched, scowling at him hard enough to kill. “Can you please just give me a useful answer, for once?”

His eyes flicker down to the chopsticks laying across your plate of food. “Eat. I don’t pay Uraume as much as I do for you to throw a tantrum and waste your food.”

God he can really be insufferable sometimes.

“I’ll eat when you answ—”

“Eat. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops to a stern command and he stills, watching you expectantly until you finally pick up the chopsticks and shove a bite of food into your mouth, angrily.

“Good girl.” He resumes eating, and you swear he waits a beat longer just to piss you off before finally adding, “I’ll do it whenever you sign up for classes.”

You stiffen slightly.

Classes. Six months.

You know damn well what you agreed to. Logically, it's the right move—and yet, any mention of it makes your chest tighten with a dull, anxious ache. Makes you want to think about literally anything else.

But Sukuna—in the most ironic way—is actually good at getting you to do things. You know he won’t bend on this, not when it comes to your future.

“You know I’ll have to ask my parents about that, right?” you point out flatly. “Especially if you’re financing it.”

“Already spoke to them,” he says, casually.

“What?! When?”

“None of your concern. But your mom’ll probably call you later today or tomorrow to confirm, so might as well start prepping now.”

You stare at him for a second, then just huff. “Fine. You promise?”

“Of course, princess. You’ll have to show me proof, though.”

Reluctantly, you nod.

Just like he said, the call comes later that evening—your mother’s voice neutral, if a little relieved, as she runs through application deadlines and housing options. She doesn’t say it, but you can hear it in her tone—anything to get you back on track. Back to your degree, to who you used to be.

You tell her you’ll look into it.

And you do, sort of. You open your laptop that night, click through your old student portal and check a few deadlines.

But the tabs sit there open and unanswered. Because you’ve always been like this—avoidant, stubborn when it matters most.

Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s something deeper, some twisted logic that if you never re-enroll, never hit submit, then the end of your six months here won’t come, and that staying will stay possible.

That Sukuna won't actually make you go.

But as the days pass, your need for him grows heavier. Hungrier. Harder and harder to ignore. Sukuna promised you ruin and while you waited expectantly for the next three days, on edge and feeling like a fool, he gave you absolutely nothing, leaving you out to dry.

His way of messing with you, probably. Making you really beg for it.

Just like now — dangling himself just out of reach, so you’ll cave and sign up for those damn classes. The day after he told you his condition, he’s definitely started playing with you more — not cruel, but deliberate.

Close touches, subtle innuendos, intense eye contact.

In the evening, when you come out of the bathroom with your hair still damp and dressed in pajamas, Sukuna calls to you from the dining table where he’s nursing a glass of whiskey.

You expect a lecture—maybe about forgetting to empty the dishwasher again—but instead, he catches your wrist as you pass. You let him pull you in, straddling his lap, pleasantly surprised.

His fingers skim your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Make sure to dry your hair before bed. Don’t want you catching a cold,” he murmurs.

You snort under your breath, but don’t bother saying anything. In your experience, explaining to anyone your parents’ age that cold wet hair making you sick is nothing more than a myth, is a futile endeavor.

But then his lips are on yours—soft at first, then deeper. All tongue and teeth and the faint bitter taste of whiskey melting into your mouth.

Your hand slides into his hair as you tilt your head back, letting him in, sighing when he nips your lip. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction—pressing down against the bulge in his pants in a slow, barely-there grind. His hand slides to your lower back, holding you steady, letting you move just enough to feel it.

Ever since he taught you how to kiss, it’s secretly been one of your favorite things to do with him—making out at odd, quiet moments until you’re breathless and aching without even realizing how far you've gone.

But then he pulls back, leaving you flushed and involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

You blink up at him, frowning, your thighs still tight around him—and the smirk tugging at his lips tells you everything. Abruptly, he pushes you off his lap and stands, tossing back the rest of his drink before looking down at you, smug.

“Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can manage as he turns away, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, and dry your hair. I’m serious.”

And with that, he’s gone—leaving you alone, warm, aching, and seriously considering banging your head against the wall.

Two more days pass, still no progress.

You want him—crave him in the way your body always does—but your mind keeps recoiling from the one simple task that would make everything easier.

Instead, you take the long way around it.

Late at night, you drift to his room like it’s nothing, one of his shirts hanging off your frame soft and oversized, paired with the smallest pajama shorts you own. You don’t knock, as has become habit lately.

He’s seated in his bed, glasses on, looking at something on his phone, not even bothering to glance up when you speak.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

His eyes stay on the screen, reflecting on his frames. “You’ve got your own room. What’s wrong with it?”

You pout a little, speaking softly, “I just…don’t feel like being alone.”

There’s a pause as he scrolls, and you step a little closer, the air thickening.

“You said you’d do it if I signed up for my classes. I did.”

You didn’t—not yet, at least. But maybe if you keep him distracted, he’ll forget about that part.

Sukuna just cocks a slitted brow. “That’s funny. Don’t remember seeing any proof yet.”

You hesitate, but decide to push on anyway, hoping you can soon make him forget about the proof. So instead of answering you climb onto his lap.

Sukuna stiffens, jaw ticking slightly, but he lets you. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, shaky fingers coming up to unbutton the top of his shirt — in nervousness, frustration, need, you don’t know.

He doesn’t react, just watches you quietly, face impassive before quietly asking, “What are you doing?”

You swallow, trying to sound as confident as you can. “What do you think?”

His hand finally moves, up your back, till the nape of your neck, and you finally think you’ve won. You lean in slightly, but then he tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his narrowed eyes.

“You’ve gotten pretty brave…”

You gulp, and he smiles — all teeth, no warmth.

“You think this is how it works? You crawl into my lap, bat your lashes, and I forget every condition we laid down?”

Your throat tightens, despising how smug he sounds.

“It’s not like that,” you protest defensively.

“No? Then what is it like?”

You don’t answer, as his thumb brushes your lower lip. “I know what you want. You’ve made it very clear.”

Then he pulls away, leaving you sitting on his lap flushed and frustrated.

“You don’t get to change the rules just because you’re impatient. Desperate girls don’t make demands.”

“I’m not desperate.”

Your second lie of the night, and both of you know it.

He snickers. “What’s this little show then, hm?”

You bristle, and he leans in, speaking softly, just a little cruel. “Show me proof, princess. Otherwise you’re just pretending you want it.”

You’re not given a chance to retort before he lifts you off his lap, deposits you onto the bed like a doll, and goes back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

If he was trying to get through to you, it certainly worked.

“I did it.”

As usual, he barely looks at you. “Did what?”

“My application. I signed up for classes. Check your email.”

He’s quiet for a beat—then his phone buzzes, and he opens the attachment. Your name, bold and official. All real.

He exhales, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Tch. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You said you’d stop dodging me if I did,” you say, voice taut.

Sukuna sets the phone down, gaze cutting toward you like a blade. “And you followed through,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches, pulse quickening.

Then he rises slowly, deliberate, until he’s standing in front of you. His voice drops; quiet, amused almost.

“So that’s all it takes to get you to commit to your future,” he says, brushing your hair back. “One fuck from your uncle?”

You tense, but he just leans in to whisper near your ear, “I bet your parents wouldn’t be so proud of you for going back if they knew the real reason…”

You flinch, heat and humiliation mixing in your chest because of course he has to make this as vulgar as possible.

But you refuse to back down.

“You promised.”

“I did,” he says simply. Then he cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Just remember,” Sukuna adds, gaze dark and steady, “You signed up for this.”

You don’t look away, not even as the air grows heavier, as you feel a certain thrum starting up between your legs.

“I know,” you whisper, throat dry.

He watches you for a long beat, eyes roaming over your face like he’s searching for hesitation. But you don’t give him any — you want this more than anything.

“Take off your clothes,” he says finally. It’s not a request.

You’ve done this before, you’ve done worse than this before, and somehow you’re still not entirely used to the feeling of undressing in front of someone — certainly not in front of him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the hem of your shirt, but you do it, breaking the silence with the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of cotton slipping off skin, revealing the expanse of your skin.

Next your pants, pulling at your ankles before you step out of them. His gaze darkens with every inch of bare skin revealed but he doesn’t move to touch you, not yet.

He watches, waiting, expecting as your hands reach around back to unclasp your bra. It falls to the ground, exposing your tits, your tightening nipples. You stand there, bare under his eyes that roam your curves, heart thudding, trying to ground yourself.

And still, he doesn’t touch you.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You step forward anyway, closing the distance between you, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest. “Do it before I change my mind.”

His hand slides into your hair, firm but not cruel, tilting your head back. He looks at you like something he wishes he didn’t crave as badly as he did. Something he wants to leave his fingerprints all over anyways.

“Six months,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all we’ve got. Then no more of this.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you—nothing like the last time. There’s no pretense now, no power play. Just heat, and want, and something else buried beneath it all, something like the night he told you he wants to ruin you.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bedroom. There’s no hesitation in him, just intent.

You feel it in the way he throws you onto his bed, peels your underwear down your legs, the way he tilts your chin back to bare your throat to him, kissing it like something he owns. Kisses turn into something harsher, sucking, biting, and the rough scrape of teeth that stings enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. You know now there’ll be marks of his claim littering your skin for days after.

But when he pauses—just for a second—eyes meeting yours again, it’s not just control you see there. It’s restraint.

A question, silent but real. You answer it by pulling him down, mouth meeting his again.

And then there’s no more waiting.

There’s a sound that escapes you when his mouth finds your throat again—quiet, startled, and helpless. He drinks it in like it’s what he wanted all along.

Warm palms roam slowly, like he’s mapping out every fragile inch, learning you by feel, by the way you shiver under his touch as his he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

You wonder if this is what sex is supposed to feel like - being worshipped and ruined at the same time. His hands make their way to your tits, tweaking one of your hard nipples between his fingers, before he bends to capture the other one in his mouth.

You whimper a little at the feel of his tongue tracing wet circles over the areola, then sucking hard enough on the bud for it to sting just a bit before he releases the pressure again.

"You really went and did it,” he mutters against your skin. “All that pouting, all that begging... just to get fucked like a slut.”

You swallow, your own trembling hands making their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, craving more of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Sukuna takes the hint, pushing off you with a low chuckle, just enough to pull his own shirt over his head. Dark markings crawl from over his shoulders, along his chiseled abs.

All muscle and sinew rippling under his flesh.

It occurs to you that you’ll never want a boy after this, not after you’ve been with a real man.

“It’s rude to stare,” he comments, arms flexing as he tosses his shirt aside.

“Give me some more to stare at,” you mutter shamelessly.

Eager to see him again, all of him.

Sukuna smirks, an arrogant gleam flickering in his eyes as he steps even closer, his body hovering over yours.

“Mm, you’re getting impatient again. We’ve got all night sweetheart.”

His eyes roam down to the apex of your thighs, where they’re clenching together, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“Spread yourself.”

You take a shuddering breath as you part your legs as wide as you can, heat flowing directly to both your cheeks and your cunt. He lays on the bed, and you leak more arousal in anticipation of his face right in front of your folds.

“I said spread yourself, girl. Do I have to show you how it’s done?”

You frown at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “I d-did, can’t spread my legs any further than this—”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, before taking your hand and using your fingers spread your inner folds open.

“Like this. Hold it.”

The flesh inside is softer, more sensitive, and you cringe when you feel it cool from air brushing against the slick skin.

“Why? It’s not…comfortable…” you mutter nervously.

“It’ll feel better,” he states simply, large hands wrapping around your thighs to pull you in closer while you try to breathe and stay calm.

You trust him and hold yourself open as he leans in, and in a moment you understand what he means now — his tongue hot and insistent against not just your clit, but the surrounding areas of your sensitive inner labia.

You can feel everything, every stroke of his tongue, every small nudge of it against your clit and your sticky flesh. Bolts of pleasure light up your spine, as he works against your dripping cunt, lapping with increasing fervor. You whimper and quiver as he licks inside every crevice of your cunt, sucking on your clit, eating you out greedily.

You pant, feeling hot from your cunt all the way to the backs of your watering eyes as you twitch and tense, feeling yourself come closer and closer.

“Mmh, j-just like that, don’t -ah- fucking stop—” you whine desperately tilting your pelvis into his mouth for more, and soon you’re cumming all over his tongue, his hands keeping your thighs pried apart as they threaten to lock in around his head.

You finish, muscles laxing into a trembling mess and he intentionally gives you one last, harsh lash of his tongue right against your overstimulated clit, making you flinch in pain. He pulls away, inspecting your sopping hole, humming in approval before standing up to slip off his pants.

Down they go, and you can’t help but watch the large bulge in his boxers straining against the fabric, a wet patch already formed. They slip off and you ogle unabashedly at his large, leaking cock, his hard length swaying slightly as he steps forward, crawling onto the bed.

His mouth latches back onto one of your tits, suckling and licking gently as he strokes himself a few times.

“You’re shaking,” Sukuna murmurs, almost amused.

“I’m not scared,” you breathe, though your voice wavers.

He smirks against the slick mess on your breast. “Maybe you should be.”

His hand trails down your waist, rough palm against skin, as he finally rests his cock between your thighs.

Warm, with a dizzying weight. Soft skin against skin.

Just the sensation of his bare cock on your folds feels oddly vulnerable and intimate, enough to make your ears burn hot. Your stomach does a flip when you peer down, finally able to gauge the sheer size of him when his length is laying across your mons like this, his swollen tip reaching all the way till your navel.

Despite it, you could stare at his cock for hours.

And then it occurs to you—

“Wait, do you have a condom? I’m…I’m not on the pill.”

The words come out like a choked gasp, as though something inside you finally gives way. Your mind stutters, the fog of desire lifting just enough for the ugly reality to sink in. The heat that was rushing through your veins turns cold, a creeping dread that coils tight in your chest.

A terrible realization of what you’re actually doing. How real this all is. Because the chance of conception would be horrible enough on its own, but with a family member?

Well, that’s what the natural revulsion to incest was supposed to prevent, right?

Your body’s response is instantaneous—an involuntary shiver that starts deep in your gut, an icy feeling that spreads outward, stiffening your spine. You thought you’d come to terms with this, but perhaps you hadn’t — not all the way, at least.

“I do, but I won’t use them,” he states coolly. “I have more than enough money to afford a plan B pill if needed.”

He’s right, but still…

Sukuna looks up at your face, taking in the hesitation written all over it.

“Having second thoughts?” he asks, voice too smooth, too knowing.

Were you? You don’t know.

Because in spite of the cold, you want this, and maybe the perversion of it all makes you want it more.

“You knew there wouldn’t be any holding back if we did this, didn’t you?” He drags his cock languidly along your glistening folds, the head of it catching on your clit over and over, as he speaks.

Cruelly slow. Like he’s savoring every inch of your hesitation, every stifled breath, every twitch of uncertainty you don’t want him to see.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, the hesitation still curling in your chest, but it’s fading. Slowly, so slowly.

Your body betrays you, the cold tightening in your stomach transforming into something deeper, more urgent with every drag of his swollen head across your clit, pre smearing with your own slick.

Your hands, trembling but eager, make their way to his chest, pressing against his skin. A part of you wants to pull back, to stop this madness—but the other part? It’s begging for more. The thrill, the perversion, it warms you.

You want to feel him completely.

“I did,” you whisper, “So don’t hold back. Even if you think you should.”

“So you’re really gonna let me do this?” he asks, his mouth brushing your collarbone, tone low and mocking.

He wants you to want him, but he also wants to test how far you’ll go — and that contradiction is Sukuna’s affection.

You should say something. Anything. But all that comes out is a soft gasp when his fingers ghost over your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll make sure it hurts just a little. You’ll remember it.”

You hate how that thrills you. That you want him more for it.

His hand slides beneath your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist. You feel everything in that moment—his breath, his warmth, the coiled tension under his skin as he presses in closer.

“Breathe,” he says, right against your lips. “It’s just me.”

He finally pushes forward to part your lips, slow and deliberate, and you gasp. Building pressure gives way to pain, sharp and acute as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate him.

It burns.

“Uncle,” you gasp, hips reflexively trying to pull away from the intrusion in your virgin cunt.

But he holds you in place, murmuring against your panting lips, “Almost there, sweetheart. It’ll get better after this, I promise.”

You believe him, but your body reacts of its own accord — walls clamping down, trying to push out the invading length.

“It w-won’t fit—“ You start to panic a bit as you feel the burning stretch.

He hisses through his teeth at the tightening of your cunt, fighting the urge to simply slam in all the way as you wince and tremble.

“Fuck, you need to breathe, I’m serious — take deep breaths.”

“It hurts—“

“Breathe.”

You swallow and nod, forcing a deep inhale all the way into your belly. As soon as you do, he slides in all the way in one final push till he’s bottomed out inside of you.

There’s a moment of stillness, where it all weighs down on you. The feel of him sheathed inside you, the stretch, his breath mingling with yours, the gravity of what you’ve let happen. What you wanted to happen.

He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips. “Good?”

“Uh, y-yes, I think so…” you reply unsurely, trying to get used to the feeling of something inside you. “Feels a little weird…”

“Mm, well we can stay like this till you’re ready for me to move again.” His lips pepper your face in gentle pecks. “I don’t mind having you cockwarm me.”

You stay there for a second, basking in this rare show of affection from him, as twisted as the circumstances might be.

And then, another deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

You pull your face back to glare at him, finding his lips twisted into a smirk. “You fucking sadist, can you just do i— ahh!”

You wince in pain as he abruptly pulls out, till only his tip is left inside and he grins down at you wickedly.

“Okay w-wait not so fas— Uncle!”

Your sentence once again ends in a yelp as he slams back inside of you, hard enough to make your nails dig into his back as you jolt.

He groans obscenely in response at your heat enveloping him again, clenching down on him.

Your face is contorted now as you grit your teeth. “What is your problem?! I swear you’re doing this on purpose—“

“I told you I was going to make it hurt. Or do you not listen to the things you agree to?” he snaps back too quickly. A bit too sharply.

“I—“ Your face crumples and you swear you see his eyes soften ever so slightly in response, like something akin to pity. Maybe realization that he’s being a bit too mean right now. Especially given what’s actually happening here. You trusted him to take your virginity, after all.

You must look upset—maybe even a little scared—because something in his face shifts. That awful grin fades.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, slow, almost gentle. And then, as if to make up for earlier, “You’re doing so good for me, you know that?”

You blink up at him, breathing uneven. You don’t trust the softness, not from him. But you don’t pull away, despite your trembling. His other hand strokes the inside of your thigh—too gently for someone who just made you cry out a moment ago.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, quieter now. “But it’s still gonna hurt.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. He watches your expression, like he’s testing how much of your fear you’re willing to swallow for him.

“But it’ll pass. It always does,” he says, brushing your hair back. “You just have to take it. Be good, breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

He grips your hips, and slowly pulls out again.

It burns still, but less.

And back in his cock goes. You try to keep your breathing even, but it’s true, he shows restraint and goes slow enough for the pain to begin subsiding.

Sukuna watches you carefully, your lip still held between your teeth in slight discomfort, though your body starts to relax.

The pain might be fading, but you’ve heard it’s supposed to be replaced by pleasure. Except you can’t really feel any — you think his fingers felt better.

You look up at him. “More. Go harder.”

“More?”

You nod.

“Finally ready for me to actually start fucking you now?”

He smirks at the slight pout forming on your lips, soothing the slight sting of his teasing with another kiss to your lips as he begins to thrust faster. You’re not sure when but soon your fingers are digging further into his muscle, anchoring yourself there as he begins fucking you with short, shallow thrusts, and soon your mouth parts around a sound you don’t even recognize.

He groans softly in response, and it’s not mocking now. It’s something raw, something real. “There you are, my pretty girl…”

His praise goes straight to your gut, coiling in with the heat slowly building there, more of your arousal lubing your silken walls making it a bit easier for him to slide in and out.

And then he stops.

You look at him confused, as he pulls away, standing on his knees, cock slipping fully out of your raw hole. It glistens in the dim light, flushed and turgid.

“Just wait,” he says as he grabs a pillow from besides you, and drags it under your legs. “Here, put your butt on this.”

You’ve heard something about pillows making penetrative sex feel better — you figure that’s what this is as you shift downward till your ass is cushioned, pelvis raised slightly higher. He kneels a bit to the side, positioning one of his knees under the crook of your bent one, and grabs your other ankle, lifting your leg straight up.

You just can’t help the snarky words from falling out of your mouth, “Thought we were having sex, not doing yoga.”

He gives you a warning glare, the same disciplinary kind whenever you purposefully annoy him, or try to protest against some mundane chore he’s assigned to you.

And then he’s positioning his cock against your entrance again, the other hand coming to toy with your clit, making you sigh at the sensation.

“You’d better shut that mouth while I’m still trying to play nice, sweetheart.”

You want to say something but you feel the round head of his cock breaching your entrance again, and instinctively you tense up as he pushes inside.

There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable now.

Sukuna starts fucking you again, harder now, and this new angle makes you moan, back arching slightly off the mattress.

“Hnngh, m-more Uncle—” you whimper.

“What was all that you were saying about yoga, earlier?”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a high-pitched noise coming out of your throat as you savor his fat cock massaging that spot in your swollen walls that makes you feel utterly gone.

“’M s-sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you babble mindlessly, eyelids dropping as he fucks all the attitude right out of you.

His pelvis snaps forward, dark pink hair brushing against your burning skin, as he tightens his grip on your ankle, pulling your leg taut with ease.

“Silly girl,” he chides you, though his lips are pressing kisses along your ankle, down the length of your calf. “You never learn, do you?” he mutters against your skin. “Good thing I’m here to teach you your lesson over and over again…”

“Ha—ah!” you mewl when he abruptly bends your leg a bit, placing his lips to the back of your knee to suck and lick at the delicate, sensitive skin there.

“U-Uncle!” You moan and gasp in ecstasy, shivers running down your spine all the way to where his cock is thrusting into your drooling cunt.

And then you take a look at him, a good look at him, in the faint warm light of the bedside lamp falling over his features.

He’s familiar. Very familiar.

The broad shape of his muscular chest, the veins that run down the forearm gripping your leg, the set to his angular jaw as he fucks you, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

You pull your leg from his grip slightly, moving around a bit in discomfort at staying in this physical position.

“Stop squirming,” he says authoritatively, like he’s talking to some petulant, hyperactive child.

“Mh, w-wait lemme just—” Soon you’re pulling your leg from his grip, planting your foot on the other side of his body as you stand on your hands and feet, arching your back, panting in desperation to feel more of him.

Sukuna lets you change positions, wrapping his arms to support your lower back as you grab his neck with one of your hands, undulating your hips so that his cock hits you in a new place — deeper than before.

“F-Fuck, greedy fucking girl—” he grits out and you can tell he’s losing his restraint now too, slowly focusing more and more on taking his own pleasure from your body rather than just giving. He thrusts into you harshly, kissing your cervix with each squelching movement, watching your tits bouncing on your splayed out torso.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes—”

The musky smell of sex, the salty tang of sweat-slicked bodies now permeates the air as you move sensually, trying to feel him deeper inside you.

“Good girl, keep going baby, just like that,” he rasps, voice rough with arousal as he ruts into you.

The furrow of his brows, the smell of his skin, the warm, steady weight of his hands holding you, supporting you.

Familiar.

“Ah, a-again, say it again, that I’m good—”

He slows down for a millisecond, eyes flicking to yours, at the needy look all over your face as you look up at him with pleading eyes, clouded and hazy with lust.

“Do you deserve that?” he breathes lowly, taking lead and fucking you harder with an intense pace you can’t keep up with. “My dumb, needy little niece. Wonder which side of the family you got all that desperation from, because it certainly isn’t mine—”

The sound of his heavy breathing, the shape of his smirk, slightly lopsided.

“P-Please!” Something claws in you, something desperate and vulnerable to hear it from him, to hear that praise and validation, god, why can’t he just give it to you—

To your dismay he sneers, too far gone in that side of him that needs to degrade you, hurt you, control you.

“Good? You’re bleeding all over my cock like a dumb piece of meat.”

“H-Huh?” You open your eyes, realizing they’re blurry with tears as you look at where you’re connected.

And it’s true, his cock is covered in streaks of red every time it pulls out to slam back into you again. Maybe the sight should’ve alarmed you, or made you feel more cautious or whatever — what it shouldn’t have done was make you moan lewdly, clenching down on his length.

Sukuna notices your reaction, and it only sends him into more of a frenzy, gripping you so tightly he’s practically holding your nearly limp body up like a doll, as he fucks your hole.

“You like that? Sick little slut—” he growls, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You think your dad would still call you his daughter if he saw you like this?”

Your watery eyes widen, all the air sucked from your lungs as the words hit like a punch to the gut.

That’s what it is. Who he reminds you of, why he feels so oddly familiar.

Did you forget you were fucking your dad’s brother?

The similarities are undeniable now, a physical reminder of the genes you share.

Something twists in your gut, like a writhing serpent with the realization, yet your cunt leaks more and more, waves of shuddering pleasure only growing in their intensity.

Sukuna grins at your shock, before abruptly dropping you onto the bed, cock slipping out from your abused hole.

“Straighten your legs and turn on your side a bit.”

You obediently do as he tells you, and then he’s straddling your bottom leg, folding the top one and hitching it over his waist. You watch him, spine twisted so your torso lays supine on the mattress.

His other hand grips your ass, before he thrusts himself back into the warm, wet heat of your tight cunt, stretched perfectly in this position so that he hits you even deeper, like he’s in your lungs. He watches the pout on your lips, the crestfallen expression on your tear-stained cheeks as he fucks you so good that he’s forcefully pulling moans from you.

“Still gonna look at me like that? Well cry if you need to — I’ll still be here, fucking you through it.”

And even as he’s fucking you, losing himself in your pussy, Sukuna’s mind is sharp — he knows the reason behind this change in your demeanor. What it is that’s bothering you. It's the same reason you need him, need his validation right now, his words of praise and reassurance.

You don’t care if they’re fake.

“Mm fuck, p-please,” you pant incoherently between moans, crying out when he hits another spot that makes a rush of warm liquid drip out of you, coating his cock. “B-Be good to me—”

Sukuna snickers, reveling in the way you beg. “Why? I’m not your fuckin’ dad, slut.” He slaps one of your tits, making you jolt.

“S’kuna!” you cry his name, slurred with the weight of your tears, at how cruel he's being when you feel most vulnerable.

“I’m not him,” he repeats, hand grabbing your ass, digging his nails in till it hurts. You barely notice that pain amidst everything else right now, with the way he’s fucking you stupid. “But we are blood. That’s why you fit so perfectly around me. Your cunt was made for this, sweetheart.”

He grinds his cock inside you, making you squeal in both pleasure and shame and disgust at his downright disturbing words.

“Don’t say that! You’re gross-”

“Oh please. You fucking love it.”

“I don’t—”

Your words are cut off as a large hand wraps around your throat, pressing down onto your esophagus as he picks up the pace even more, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“Say it and I’ll tell you all the things you wanna hear,” he whispers darkly.

You don’t have much resistance in you, not when he’s ruining you like this, when your cunt is simultaneously aching and sore but screaming in pleasure.

“I…I love it.”

“Love what?”

“How…fucked up this all is. That we’re related. And that..” you hesitate, and the grip on your throat tightens, making you wheeze a bit, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper from your strained throat. “And that you’ve been like a…father to me.”

“There it is,” he breathes triumphantly, loosening his hold on your neck though his hand still stays collared around it. “My good little girl. Finally being honest for once.”

His thrusts turn sloppy as he leans down to kiss you messily, and murmur against your skin.

“You’re so perfect, you know that? Smart, capable, pretty...”

You moan at his praise, feeling your pussy clench tighter and tighter around his pistoning length. The words go straight to your core, building and building, melting with the pleasure into something that threatens to swallow you whole.

“I’m so proud to call you my niece.”

You cum instantly, wet noises spilling out at you gush slick and kiss him messily, a thin droplet of drool running down the corner of your mouth. And then with a twitch of his cock and a guttural groan, warmth is spilling inside you, the most heavenly feeling, as he fills you with ropes of his hot seed.

A few euphoric moments of him emptying his balls into you, and then the cum stops flowing and he stills his thrusts. Warm breaths fill the silence, then he’s collapsing on top of you, careful not to put the majority of his weight on top of you. Your damp skin sticks against his, and he grabs your body as he spoons you from behind.

“You feel that?” He rolls his hips, slow and deep, his softening dick squelching inside the mess of fluids he’s plugged you up with. “This is what it means to be mine.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he pulls out of you, cock exiting your hole with a wet pop.

And then stillness. Too much of it.

The only sounds are the hum of the lamp and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Your body curls in on itself instinctively, sheets tangling around your legs. You half expect him to push you away as you press your cheek to his chest, listening to the slow steady thrum.

He doesn’t. And the sound of his heartbeat is the only constant you have in the chaos still blooming inside of you.

Sukuna doesn’t speak. One arm lies draped lazily behind his head, the other wrapped around your waist—possessive, but not tight. His thumb strokes the small of your back, lazy and unthinking, like he’s petting a sleeping animal.

You don’t know what you expected after — a sharp word, a joke, indifference, maybe. But not this. Not him letting you hold onto him like this. Not his lips brushing against your temple like it means something.

“You’re quiet,” he says finally, voice low and almost too soft. “Regret already sinking in?”

You don't answer with words. Just shake your head a little against him, like you're refusing to answer something you can't explain.

Numbness. And the physical need to feel him next to you. That's all you feel.

His hand moves up to your hair, fingers threading through it. “Hn. Didn’t think you’d cling like this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, even as your fingers curl tighter in the sheet between you.

He chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Liar.”

There’s no malice in it, no mockery. Just a strange, patient warmth that makes your throat ache. And when you finally dare to glance up at him—at the faint cut of his jawline in the soft light, at the familiar cruelty in his eyes dulled by something quieter—it aches deeper.

Not regret. Something else, something softer and more tender that feels like it shouldn't hurt.

And yet it does.

But then something shifts — imperceptible, but there. The slightest stiffening of his body under yours.

“You good?” you murmur, sleep-heavy, cheek still pressed to his chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lingers in your hair, then stills. His breathing changes—not relaxed, not calm; more like he’s suddenly aware of something he hadn’t let himself think about.

The silence between you stretches, no longer warm. You’re already half-asleep when you feel the mattress shift, his voice cutting through the haze a moment later.

“Don’t get comfortable. We need to get you cleaned up, and more importantly you should go pee.”

You groan, dragging the blanket over your head. “Are you serious? I don’t need to go.”

He tugs the blanket down with one hand, unimpressed. “Yeah, well you’re still sticky, bruised and probably bleeding a little. Get up.”

You scowl. “So romantic.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying not to let you get a damn infection.”

“I’ll survive,” you mumble, rolling over.

And then—before you can react—his arms are around you, and he’s scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

“Hey!” you yelp, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“You had your chance,” he mutters, already heading toward the bathroom. “You made your choice when you started whining like a brat.”

“I am a brat,” you snap, arms crossed, glaring at his jawline. “And you like it.”

“Right,” he replies sarcastically, “Or maybe I just don’t feel like explaining to your parents why their daughter has a goddamn infection.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, but despite your annoyance, you can’t help but relax a little into his chest, finding some strange comfort in the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the fact that you know he’s right—he’s always right about these things, even when it’s irritating.

“Well actually you’d be the one explaining, in that case. Don’t want Mom and Dad to know the kinda things you’ve been up to, huh?”

You glower at him as he tries not to look too pleased with himself, dropping you clumsily to your feet in the dark bathroom. You suppress a grimace as you feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down your inner thighs.

It’s an odd, slightly disconcerting sensation.

“Can you at least try?”

“There’s nothing!” you snap, slightly embarrassed that the topic of you peeing is still being brought up. “I went….before, okay?”

Sukuna just sighs. “Make sure you do it next time. Don’t wanna deal with a UTI.”

You make a face but he’s already pushing you with a hand on your back to step into the shower. The warm water hits your skin, and you shiver before it starts to soothe. You’re still sulking, arms crossed under the spray as Sukuna steps in behind you like it’s just another chore he has to handle.

“You gonna stand there pouting all night, or do I need to wash that attitude off first?” he drawls, already grabbing the wash towel like you’re completely useless.

You try to snatch it from him. “I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he replies condescendingly sweet, though he holds the wash towel up and away. “But I can do it better.”

You glare at him, but he’s already starting to lather your arms, completely unbothered by your glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“No,” he says, deadpan, “You’re annoying. I’m just responsible.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, but your shoulders relax under his touch. You hate how smug he is when he’s right.

“You know I hate it when you treat me like a kid.”

“You act like one,” he replies, adding more of the fragrant bodywash onto the towel, before forcefully spinning you around to face him. “Especially when you’re tired. Or hungry. Or pretending you’re not clingy.”

You sputter a bit at the sudden spray of water in your face, before finally giving him another cold look.

“Me? Clingy? Are you out of your mind?” you reply, genuinely a little offended for some reason.

He just snorts, clearly unconvinced, and drags the towel down your back with a slow, deliberate hand. “You literally cried the last time I left for more than two days.”

“That was once,” you bite back, jaw tightening. “And I was on my period.”

“You called it a ‘separation-induced emotional collapse,’” he quotes flatly, then dips the towel just beneath the curve of your ass like he’s cleaning you, though you know he’s doing it just to get a rise out of you.

You swat at his arm, but he grabs your wrist and pins it lazily against your side, still holding the towel in the other hand. The motion isn’t aggressive—just practiced, smooth, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“I’m going to push you and you’re going to fall in the shower and not be able to get back up because of how old you are.”

He huffs out a short laugh through his nose, clearly amused. “Sweetheart,” he says, still calmly lathering your skin, “if anyone’s breaking a hip in here, it’s you. I saw you nearly sprain your knee trying to climb on top of me last night.”

“Once again, that was one time.”

“That was this week.”

You squirm against his grip, which only tightens slightly—enough to keep you still, not enough to hurt. He lathers the soap with the cloth on your chest, then squeezes it till the foam drips lewdly down your breasts. You only notice what’s happening when he smirks, eyes trained on the bubbles traveling the curve of your chest.

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, cheeks burning. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“Sometimes I forget how unbearable you are when you get your way."

“And yet, you keep letting me have it.”

His eyes flick down again—languid, slow—watching the water and suds slide down your skin like it’s a show meant for him alone.

You roll your eyes and try to pull away. “Maybe I’m just too tired to argue.”

“Liar,” he murmurs. “You like it when I take care of you like this. Even when you pretend to hate it. Especially then.”

You stare at him like you're about to challenge him, but no words come out.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low, fingers dragging just slightly along your waist now, “and I will.”

You look at him. He’s still holding the cloth, still waiting—for once, serious.

So you cross your arms to give him another stubborn look. "You forgot to get behind my ears, by the way."

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like a warning.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, but the way he tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans in tells you he’s taking the bait anyway.

You hold still, stubbornly proud, even when his hands bracket your jaw and tilt your head just so. He uses his thumbs first, rough pads gliding just behind your ears, then switches to knuckles as if he’s mocking the gentleness of the gesture.

“Since when you got so bratty?” he mutters. "This definitely can't be the same girl who showed up on my doorsteps a few months ago."

You glare at him, lips parting for a sharp retort—but he beats you to it, voice dipping just low enough to make your stomach flip.

“She used to be quiet. Timid. Didn’t even look me in the eye.”

You scoff dryly. "I’ve always thought you were unbearable. Difference is, now I say it out loud."

He huffs out a laugh, more breath than sound, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And here I was thinking you’d just grown attached.”

“Delusional and smug. Impressive combo.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his fingers slide from your neck to your collarbone, slow and measured like he’s mapping you out again.

“Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start thinking you enjoy mouthing off just to see what I’ll do.”

“Maybe I do.”

There’s a pause. A taut little silence between you—charged, waiting, thick with steam and something heavier than heat.

Then suddenly his grin widens, wicked and boyish all at once.

“Alright then,” he says—and then, without warning, he twists the shower handle.

A blast of cold water smacks your skin like a slap, and you let out a shriek, practically leaping backwards into him.

“Uncle!” you gasp, teeth chattering as you try to scramble out of the spray. “Are you insane?!”

He laughs—really laughs—arms effortlessly catching you as you flail, pressing you against his warm chest like you aren’t soaking and furious.

“You looked like you were overheating,” he says smugly, completely unfazed by your glare. And the ice cold water, for some reason. “Just trying to help.”

“You’re a menace,” you hiss, shivering as you try to reach around him for the handle.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can reach the knob.

“Easy,” he says, voice low but firm. “You’ll throw off your system if you change the temperature too fast too much.”

You blink at him, teeth still chattering, but he doesn’t budge. Just calmly reaches past you and adjusts the water himself—slowly, carefully—until it warms again, just enough to stop your skin from prickling.

“Better?” he asks, like nothing happened.

“You’re lucky I don’t have hypothermia.”

He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You were flushed and bratty and needed cooling off. Don’t make me explain the logic.”

“There was no logic. That was violence.”

“Soft violence,” he replies. “Therapeutic, even.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already guiding you gently under the warm spray, his touch firm and no-nonsense now. Not serious exactly, but steadier.

“Head down."

You sigh, complying, letting the water run through your hair as he works shampoo into your scalp with methodical hands—fingertips massaging a little too well for you to keep up your grudge.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble.

“Mm. Probably.”

He finishes rinsing you off in silence, hands steady and impersonal now—guarded, almost, like the line between teasing and responsibility has been redrawn.

Soon you’re out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels, drying your hair. The bathroom is silent as Sukuna brushes his teeth.

That feeling, in your stomach again. Something bitter and unpleasant. Fear? You’re not sure of what.

“Can I…sleep with you here tonight?” you suddenly ask, voice smaller than you’d like.

Sukuna pauses, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, and there’s something unreadable in them.

Uncertainty, maybe?

You don’t want to think about it — the thought would only make you spiral. If he regrets this, if he sees you differently now. Maybe he’s even disgusted by you.

He spits into the sink, rinses, and sets his toothbrush down with a clack. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, and your chest tightens.

“Tch. You’re clingier than I thought,” he finally mutters, avoiding your eyes as he wipes his mouth with a towel.

But it’s not biting , it’s hollow. Deflection.

You flinch slightly. “Sorry. I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say no,” he cuts you off, voice quiet but firm, still not looking at you.

You freeze. “So… I can?”

He finally meets your gaze in the mirror — and for once, there’s no smirk, no mockery in his eyes. Just something tired, maybe even resigned.

“It’s your bed too,” he says after a pause. Then adds, almost too low to catch, “At least for now.”

Your eyes flit over to his toothbrush, and as quickly as you can, you reach for it. But Sukuna’s faster. He grabs it out of your hand, squeezes the toothpaste, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, brows furrowed.

He doesn’t answer—just shoves the toothbrush gently between your lips and starts brushing your teeth for you, slow and deliberate.

“Are you serious right now?” you try to say around the bristles.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, condescendingly calm. “Since you probably can’t do anything without me, apparently. Mouth open.”

You try to pull back, but his hand is firm against your jaw. “Uncle.”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Open your mouth wider.”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed up, while he carefully brushes in exaggerated little circles, way too pleased with himself.

“This is so demeaning,” you mutter.

He grins. “Is it? I think it’s adorable. You’re like a spoiled little cat. All hiss, no bite.”

When he finally pulls the toothbrush away, you shove him lightly in the chest, scowling. “I hope you don’t do this with your girlfriends.”

He smirks, not missing a beat. “Well, you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my—”

"Do not," you quickly cut him off, shooting him a venomous glare.

You expect the usual smirk—that smug, needling grin he wears whenever he knows he’s gotten under your skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a flicker of something else—a beat of silence that lingers just a second too long. Then he looks away, the moment slipping like steam through fingers. “Go put on your pajamas,” he says quietly. “I need to change too.”

Your chest sinks. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t look at you as he turns away. “Because we’re not animals.”

That gets under your skin. Deeper maybe, somewhere more sensitive. “Yeah, except we just fucked like animals, so—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts in, too quickly, too quietly. “It’s just… better this way.”

You watch him, frustration rising like heat under your skin. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

He pauses, back still turned. “Do what?”

“Draw lines.” Your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to—brittle, breaking around something you didn’t expect to feel. “You promised. Said you'd give me all of you. Until I had to leave.”

He’s quiet. His shoulders rise and fall with a breath that sounds heavier than it should. You’ve hit something, and you both know it.

You press. “What—did you think I wouldn’t actually take it?” you sneer. “And you were the one accusing me of pretending to want it.”

That makes him turn, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, and for a flicker of a second, there's something raw in them. Frustration. Guilt. Or worse—fear.

But he doesn’t argue, just exhales through his nose, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “Get in bed. But don’t complain if you wake up with my elbow in your face.”

You roll your eyes, but move, letting the towel fall from your body. You’re bare, except for your panties—the liner catching the faintest trace of blood and what’s left of him. You don’t look away as you straighten the blanket and peel it back, sliding under the sheet. It’s cool against your skin, kissing your chest where you’re usually too shy to sleep uncovered.

But not tonight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing—unsure, maybe even uncertain where the lines are anymore. You don’t say anything. Just wait, still and quiet, as he kills the light and lies down beside you. The space between you feels fragile, thick with everything neither of you is saying.

At first, neither of you moves.

You lie on your side, facing the wall. He’s behind you. Not touching, not close.

You shift slightly under the covers. “Are you really gonna sleep all the way over there?”

You meant it to sound teasing—but it comes out... needy, almost.

A heartbeat passes and then the bed shifts as his warmth touches your skin, his body fitting behind yours. Not quite touching yet, but it’s much closer than before. Tentatively, you push back, your back brushing his chest, careful not to let your ass brush up against his groin. He doesn’t pull away, just lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it this whole time.

“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t mean anything,” you whisper.

But you know that’s not the real question. The real question is what this is, now, why he’s gone distant, why the warmth of his body doesn’t quite reach the space where you needed it to.

Guys pull away after sex — you’ve heard that. But he isn’t just some guy, and this wasn’t supposed to be just sex. There’s something more to his silence than that, you’re sure.

Or at least you hope.

That maybe the twisted, complex nature of your relationship would count for something here, where it matters more than ever, perhaps.

He doesn’t reply but soon his arm is slowly wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the expanse of his broad chest, fingers resting right beneath the curve of your breast. They caress the underside so softly it almost tickles.

And then, softly—so quietly you almost don’t catch it—he murmurs against the back of your neck,

“I don’t want to miss you.”

The closest he’s ever come to a confession.

You wake up to the smell of grilled fish and miso.

Sukuna’s here this morning. You’d half expected him to fuck off to wherever he goes for work, just to avoid seeing you after last night.

And not necessarily the sex part—but the part after, where you slept tangled together, limbs knotted, his body curled around yours. You swear that at some point during the night, between dreams, you felt one of his large palms gently cupping your breast. Not sexually. More like the way a kid hugs a stuffed toy in their sleep. Something unconscious.

Possessive yet soft.

But now, there’s nothing in his place except rumpled sheets and an empty stretch of mattress. You get dressed in your pants from last night, then pull one of his oversized shirts over your head to cover your chest. You’re not in the mood to cross paths with him in the kitchen half-naked, just to grab clean clothes from your own room. Finally, you make your way to the dining table and slump into a chair.

Sukuna’s standing at the stove, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as he plates breakfast like it’s any other morning.

“You need to talk to your counselor today. About the dorms.”

You blink. “What?”

“For school,” he says, like you’ve asked something stupid. “Next semester starts in a few weeks. You still haven’t put in your housing request.”

You frown, slowly sitting up straighter. “Okay, well—good morning to you too.”

He finally glances over his shoulder. “Morning. Now eat.”

You study him carefully. There’s no trace of last night in his expression. No warmth, no softness, just that familiar sharp-edged irritation, like you’ve already done something wrong. “You’re being kind of a dick this morning.”

“I’m being realistic,” he replies flatly. “You want to finish your program, don’t you?”

It’s true—you do want that degree. But something about the way he says it now digs under your skin. “Yeah, but—why are you suddenly on my ass about it? You’re acting like I’ve been slacking or something.”

He doesn’t answer right away, instead sets a bowl of rice in front of you with a little too much force. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” you challenge, looking up at him. “Why are you suddenly breathing down my neck about this stuff?”

Sukuna dries his hands with a towel, leans against the counter, and stares at you. His face is unreadable—annoyed, yes, but there’s something else under it. Distant and resigned.

“You said you wanted to go back,” he says simply. “I’m making sure you do.”

“Yeah, but why now?” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “We literally just—” You stop, cheeks burning. “You know.”

He doesn’t flinch. “That doesn’t change anything.”

You push the bowl away. “Right. Of course it doesn’t.”

The silence that follows is thick and bitter. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, standing up.

“You need to eat.”

“Oh my god, can you stop acting like my dad for five seconds?”

He freezes. The words land in the room like something dropped and shattered. You hadn’t meant to say it but there it is, ugly and raw. He stares at you, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “I’m not your fucking dad.”

You cross your arms, scowling—but your insides are trembling. Embarrassed. And you don’t even know why. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, voice going cold. His expression twists, sharp and mean. That look he wears when you push him too far—when he lets something rotting and cruel crawl to the surface just to watch it burn you. “As if your dad’s ever seen you naked. Wrapped around his—”

“Okay, stop!”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, his voice goes low, flat and weaponized. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it when someone tells you what to do. You melt for it. Like a fucking pet. Tail wagging the second someone shows you attention.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between each word. “You want someone to feed you. Dress you. Tell you what’s good for you. Praise you when you behave. Punish you when you don’t. Isn’t that right?”

His smile is wrong. There’s no humor in it. “You don’t want a dad. You want an owner.”

Your stomach drops.

“And you’d rather it be me than anyone else. That’s the sick part, isn’t it?”

You clench your jaw, knuckled white around the chopsticks you grip so hard you’re surprised they don’t snap. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you hiss, eyes burning.

His voice is equally low, gaze equally cutting. “Then sign up for your goddamn housing and make sure you’re out from under my roof in six months.”

Sukuna had almost forgotten what you were like before all this. Before you let him in.

But over the next few days, he remembers. He remembers how cold you can be. How distant. How easily you can withdraw behind those walls of yours, quiet and unreachable.

Polite, even — that’s the worst part. Not cruel, not defiant. Just... cordial. Impeccably so. With that measured tone and perfectly impassive face, like he’s a stranger you owe civility to and nothing more.

You don’t sleep in his bed anymore. Most nights, you’re behind the door of your own room. You wake up early, make breakfast before he’s even down the hall. You greet him with a sterile “Good morning,” eat when you’re supposed to, excuse yourself without fanfare.

And through it all, not once do you snap at him. Not once do you cry.

It’s this version of you — competent, composed, independent — that reminds him, with aching clarity, that you don’t need him.

You do the things he used to remind you about before he even opens his mouth. You fold your laundry without being asked. Clean your space, your dishes, your bathroom. You eat, on time, like clockwork. When you struggle with a jar, you don’t ask him. You run it under hot water, twist a rubber band around the lid, and open it yourself.

At first, it annoys him. Then, it sinks in.

You’ve always been capable. Always sharp, always resourceful. You could take care of yourself. You did, before him — before he inserted himself into your life. But now he sees the truth, that all those moments when you leaned on him weren’t signs of helplessness. They were choices.

You let yourself rest, let yourself be cared for, for once. Gave up the exhausting self-sufficiency because, for the first time, someone was there — and you wanted that someone to be him.

No it was never incapability; it was surrender.

And now you’re showing him that you can go back to holding it all again, alone, if you have to. And that, somehow, is worse than any screaming match, any slammed door. You even inform him one evening yourself — perfectly neutral — that you’ve talked to the counselor. That you’ve applied for housing, and the results should get back in a few weeks.

In many ways, you are certainly much more tolerable than before. And at the same time, in the most ironic twist of fate, he can’t stand it.

He can’t stand those guarded, polite smiles you give him. The way you clean your own dishes without being asked. How you only come to him, or speak to him, when it’s necessary. How you seem unfazed by his longer hours, how you barely seem to even care or notice.

Sukuna only realizes then how much you’d opened up to him, how much of you you’d let him see. That the clinginess, the neediness he used to tease you for—those weren’t flaws. They were the soft depths you’d chosen to reveal beneath that armor he now remembers all too well. The quiet trust behind it, the way you’d let him in. And he’d taken your vulnerability and used it against you.

Vulnerability—somehow your greatest strength. Because he doesn’t know how to show it himself. Doesn’t know how to be soft without destroying something in the process.

He knows—as your guardian—that whatever this is between you has to stop. That it’s fundamentally wrong, that you deserve a future untouched by this, by him. That you should go to school, finish your degree, meet someone your age, live clean and normal and free.

But as a man who wants a woman—wants you—he doesn’t want any of that. He wants to keep you close. Keep you his. Make sure no one else ever sees you the way he has, touches you the way he has, ruins you in the way he already has.

And gods, it would almost be easier if you didn’t look at him like that—like he’s worth everything. Like he’s still someone you want, even now. And that’s what makes it dangerous. Which is why he had to draw the line and set the goddamn deadline. Force you to take control of your own life, even if it hurts you. Even if it kills something inside him.

And the worst part is—it’s working, isn’t it? You’re moving on. Maybe not willingly, nor gracefully, but you’re moving on.

And he’s stuck somewhere between what he owes you as your uncle… and what he wants as a man.

He doesn’t say much these days to you.

But he starts showing up in small, quiet ways.

A freshly folded towel left outside your bathroom door. A full cup of barley tea placed by your laptop while you study. Groceries restocked with your favorite brand of yogurt.

Little things. Nothing dramatic, nothing direct.

You ignore them all. Not because you don’t notice — you do. Every single one. But acknowledging them would mean softening, and softening would mean giving in. And that strange, ugly ache still swells inside your chest every time you see him. So instead you harden.

When he knocks gently at your door one night, a quiet “You eaten yet?” slipping through the wood, you pretend you have your headphones on. He waits a few moments, doesn’t push. Eventually, you hear his footsteps retreat. You stare up at your ceiling and feel the guilt press against your ribs, dull and stubborn. But you don’t open the door. Not yet.

Because some part of you still wants him to feel it. That you were hurt and that you’re not just going to pretend like it didn’t crack something open. And until then, you keep that distance. Even as it eats at you too.

A few days later, Sukuna finds you on the balcony.

You’re small in the dark. Knees pulled to your chest, sleeves tugged down over your hands. It’s cold, but you don’t shiver.

He leans in the doorway for a long moment before stepping out. Doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls out a cigarette, lights it with a quiet flick, exhales a slow curling stream of smoke into the night.

You don’t look at him, but there’s that familiar ache in your chest. A tightness.

“You’re freezing out here,” he says eventually, like it’s casual.

Nothing.

He tries again. “Didn’t touch your dinner.”

Still no response, not even a shrug.

A longer pause this time. He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair.

“You remember that stray cat? The one you used to leave food for down the block?” His voice is low, rougher. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

You don’t respond but your fingers twitch. Sukuna stares at the side of your face. The line of your jaw, clenched tight, the blankness in your expression.

But inside, you’re fracturing. You don’t know what it is — this urge to hurt him, to dig in the knife and twist, even if it hurts you too. Some side of you that’s simultaneously sadistic and masochistic, that wants to sabotage everything good, that enjoys the mutual pain.

You suppose that like your uncle, you have a cruel streak somewhere within you as well.

It's been a full week now.

Sukuna lingers in the doorway of your room, like he’s debating whether to say something or leave. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes low. He doesn’t look like himself, not in the way you’re used to — no sharp smirk, no biting comment ready to tear into you.

Just that annoying silence again. Heavy and hesitant.

“You doing okay?” he asks, eventually.

You don’t look up from your notebook. “Fine.”

“...You eat anything?”

“No.”

A pause. You let it stretch out, wanting him to leave. Or maybe, secretly, you want him to stay and try harder.

“I made soup,” he says. “You could’ve just—”

“I didn’t want it.”

He tenses — not a lot, but enough that you notice. It makes you feel that rush of power, laced with bitterness. With hurt. And somehow you can’t stop yourself.

So instead you flip a page, scribble down a word you don’t care about.

He exhales sharply. “Look, I didn’t do it to punish you. I thought... if I didn’t give you a push, you’d never try. You’d stay here. Get stuck. With me.”

Now you glance over your shoulder, barely. “So you thought hurting me was a favor?” Your voice is flat, almost bored. It stings.

He clenches his jaw. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You finally lower the pen, clipping it to the side of the notebook to close it and keep it down. Then, you turn — calm, composed, lips pressed tight.

“No,” you say coolly, “I think you meant every word. That I’m a burden. That I should get out of your hair.”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in. “It’s fine. You want me to move on, right?” You smile a bit. “I have a date tonight, by the way. Don’t wait up.”

It lands exactly where you intended it to. Sukuna goes still. A slow, bitter kind of stillness, the kind that simmers behind his eyes. You walk past him without another word.

And behind you, he doesn’t follow.

Your date is forgettable.

Some guy from a dating app you downloaded on impulse a few nights ago, during a moment of defiance or loneliness — you can’t tell which. He talks about cryptocurrency the entire time. You nod along, barely listening, more focused on finishing your ramen than the words coming out of his mouth.

When the check comes, he glances at it, then at you. "Want to split?"

You don’t even bother sighing, just slide your card forward and nod.

On the way home, the silence in the train feels more like relief than emptiness. You realize it then — the whole outing was a quiet attempt to prove something. To yourself, or to Sukuna, you’re not sure. All it proves is that he’s still the one you think about, even when you're sitting across from someone else. He would never ask you to split the bill. And for reasons you don’t want to examine too closely, that thought makes your chest ache more than it should.

You unlock the front door quietly, out of habit. The home is dark except for the low flicker of a lamp. You toe off your shoes, slip inside, and pause there for a moment — unsure why.

He’s not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. You glance toward his closed bedroom door

You expected to feel…something. Triumph, maybe. Validation. Or at the very least, distraction. Instead, there’s only that dull, familiar ache settling back in your chest as you wash your face, brush your teeth, change into pajamas..

You should get to bed, sleep it off. Pretend the date meant something, that it helped.

But you don’t.

Instead, like some quiet pull you can’t resist, you drift toward his door, knock once — barely audible — and let yourself in without waiting for an answer.

He’s in bed, half-asleep or pretending to be. The soft glow of the lamp beside him casts shadows over his face. He doesn’t say anything when you approach, just watches you through lidded eyes.

You hesitate at the side of the bed. Then, without a word, you crawl in beside him — careful, uncertain.

His body is warm, solid. You don’t touch him at first. Just lie there, facing away, the space between you sharp with tension. Then, slowly, you feel the mattress shift. A hand brushes your back, barely there.

You don't speak; you don't need to. Eventually, your hand finds his, and holds.

Not an apology. Certainly not a resolution. But something.

You wake up before him.

It’s still dark out, just the faintest grey bleeding into the corners of the sky through the window. His room smells like sleep and the faint woody aroma of whatever soap he uses. You’re curled toward him, one arm tucked under your head, the other resting lightly near his chest.

Not touching. Just…close.

For a while you just lie there, heart aching and quiet. You hadn’t meant to come to him last night but now, in this slow, blurry moment, you realize it was the only place you could’ve ended up.

He shifts a little in his sleep and a quiet sound escapes him, the kind that makes your throat tighten for no good reason.

Finally he speaks, voice low and groggy. “...You came home late.”

You don’t answer. Just breathe slowly, carefully.

His arm shifts, hand brushing your back again tentatively. “Was he any good?”

You let out the smallest breath of a laugh. Not amused, just tired. “No,” you whisper. “He was boring as hell.”

A long pause. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t press. “Good.”

Another beat. You almost laugh again, but it catches somewhere painful in your chest. So instead, you let your eyes fall closed again and say nothing. His fingers linger on your back, warm and uncertain.

Still no resolution. Still no answers. But somehow, the silence between you feels less like distance — and more like a thread slowly weaving itself back together. You fall asleep like that, side by side.

A couple days pass.

Things don’t go back to normal, not completely, but the ice isn’t as sharp as it was before. You’re both still circling each other, careful, cautious. But the air between you is a little less brittle now.

It’s late morning. You’re in the kitchen, halfheartedly eating some toast, still in your sleep shirt. He walks in, dressed and ready to head out, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He says nothing at first, just grabs a bottle of water and downs half of it.

You keep your eyes on your plate, but then, casually — maybe too casually — you ask,

“You working today?”

His brow lifts, ever so slightly though he doesn't turn to face you right away.

“Mmh,” he hums, wiping his mouth. “I am.”

You nod once, like that was all you wanted to know. But the smallest flicker of something akin to disappointment flashes across your face, and he catches it. He leans against the counter, watching you for a beat too long. “…You gonna miss me or something?”

You roll your eyes without looking up, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grins faintly — just a hint of smugness there, but it’s gentler than usual. Almost soft. “Mm. That’s not a no.”

You snort under your breath and finally glance up at him, just for a second. He’s already turning toward the door, but there’s something lighter in the way he moves now like maybe your question meant more to him than it should’ve.

And maybe your asking it meant something to you, too.

You don’t say anything else as he leaves. But when the door closes, you sit there with your half-eaten toast and feel the quiet press of his absence in the apartment. And this time, it doesn’t feel like punishment.

It just feels like… missing.

You don’t plan to wait up. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You clean up the kitchen after dinner. Do a face mask, scroll on your phone. You even get in bed at a decent hour, lights off, pretending you're tired enough to sleep. But you don't; instead you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in too many thoughts and too much quiet.

You hear the front door open sometime after three in the morning. The soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off and keys landing in the bowl.

You could stay in bed. You should. But before you can put thought into it, you're getting up and padding out into the hallway quietly, not sure what you're doing, until you catch sight of him in the living room — jacket off, sleeves rolled up, rubbing his neck like it’s been a long day.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. You hover a moment, then casually speak up, your voice quieter than you intend. “Late.”

He glances up, just a little startled. But his gaze softens when he sees you — rumpled from bed, arms loosely crossed like you’re pretending this is some kind of ambush and not the result of waiting for him for over three hours.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“You didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you. There's a quiet tension that might’ve been awkward once, but now just feels…careful — like both of you are trying to speak without saying the wrong thing.

Then, after a moment, he gestures with his head toward the couch. “Wanna sit with me for a bit? We can watch TV or something.”

You hesitate but only for a second. “…Yeah,” you murmur. “Alright.”

You curl into the corner of the couch, and he sits down beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulder brushes his when you shift. You just sit there silently, some late night talk show on the screen that neither of you are really watching, the clock ticking on the wall.

Neither of you says it, but you’re both thinking the same thing. That this… is better. You missed this.

The room is dim, the air thick with the remnants of the night. You can feel the weight of his presence even without looking at him. It’s strange, how the space between you doesn’t feel empty tonight.

You sit, stiff at first, then relax, just enough for the warmth in the room to seep into you. You can hear him breathing — slow, steady, and soon the quiet becomes comfortable. He’s the first to break it, his hand still lingering in the air, hovering above you, before he drops it to his lap.

“Go to bed if you’re tired.” His voice is low, almost absent, but there’s something in it — a softness you don’t expect from him.

You don’t answer at first. Instead, you just feel the weight of your own exhaustion settle in. The events of the night, the day before, everything else—all of it starts to catch up. You never realized how much you needed this quiet.

“Not sleepy,” you mumble.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Then just let me.”

Your eyelids flutter, and the weight of sleep tugs at you, slow and irresistible. You try to fight it, but your body betrays you and involuntarily you lean back, just a little, and your head slips sideways.

His presence is warm, familiar, an anchor that you can’t seem to pull away from. Before you realize it, you’re not just leaning against the couch anymore. Your cheek is against his shoulder, your body curling slightly in towards him.

You don’t move. His hand is still resting near you, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin if you shift an inch. You want to move away, to keep that distance, but you’re too tired. Too drained. And, despite everything — despite the fighting and the sharp edges between you — you feel safer here.

You don’t notice when you finally drift off, your breathing evening out in rhythm with his. Sukuna watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the top of your head. He doesn’t move, even as you shift slightly in your sleep, closer to him.

His hand hovers for a beat before he rests it on your head, just a light touch, like he’s afraid of waking you. Or maybe afraid of needing you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He shifts slightly, adjusting his own position to make you more comfortable, but he doesn’t push you away or force you to go back to your room. For the first time in a while, he simply allows himself to be in the moment with you, even if nothing is fixed.

Slowly, your odd relationship begins to rebuild itself. Almost like nothing’s changed. Which feels good, but you know is probably ultimately bad.

There isn’t much left for you to do regarding your college application now other than wait, which works in both your and Sukuna’s favors since he doesn’t have to ask you about it. And for a little while, you can both pretend like it doesn’t exist, like there isn’t a definitive end to all this.

You once again start bugging each other in that way, where it becomes a game to push each other’s buttons. The subtle jabs, the teasing remarks — it feels familiar, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. Comfortable, easy.

One morning, you deliberately make a mess with the breakfast dishes, leaving them in the sink just to see if he’ll say something. He doesn’t disappoint.

“Spoiled,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the unwashed plates before he grabs his coat to head out for the day. You’re about to say something snarky back, but he catches you off guard when he pauses by the door. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to eat. Don’t make me come back here to check on you.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something behind it that catches you off guard.

You don’t even reply, just raise an eyebrow as he walks out.

The day stretches on, and as usual, you find yourself stuck between the feeling of wanting to be left alone and the pull of his presence — a silent, strange comfort.

A few days later, you’ve had enough of your own thoughts spinning in circles. You’re lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone when Sukuna walks in, the air shifting the moment he steps through the door.

“Made yourself comfortable?” he remarks dryly, nodding to the mess of books and papers scattered around the coffee table. You shrug, not bothering to answer, but he continues, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re avoiding me again. Good to know I’m still that important.”

You roll your eyes but a tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Oh? And how am I avoiding you?”

“You’re still keeping your distance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you today. Less guarded. Almost vulnerable, though he’d never admit it.

You don’t respond immediately, the tension in the air thick. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then, the game kicks in. You look up from your phone, tilting your head with a feigned innocence. “And what about you? Still not asking about my college stuff? You’d think you’d care by now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he smirks in that infuriatingly smug way. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to care? But I’m leaving it up to you. All of it.” His voice softens just a bit, and for a second, the tension fades. “Just don’t waste the chance.”

It stings. Not because of the words, but because you know they’re true. And deep down, you’re not sure if you’re ready to make that choice.

Sukuna won’t admit it, but he’s secretly thrilled at the way you’ve started to cling to him again.

It begins with you sometimes crawling into his bed at night, asking if you can sleep with him. He agrees, and soon the asking eventually just turns into you announcing that he’ll be sharing the bed with you.

And then the casual, domestic bickering returns full time to your daily life. One morning you’re sitting at the breakfast table, innocently eating leftovers from last night as he opens the fridge to grab some milk from his coffee.

The carton is suspiciously light, but he tries his luck anyway, unscrewing the lid to pour some into his glass.

A single drop falls out.

He catches you trying not to look at him, clearly hoping to escape the reprimanding that’s about to come your way.

“Seriously? Can you just throw away the damn containers when they’re finished?”

You sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it next time.”

“You say that every time.”

“Okay what do you want me to do? Go back in time and throw the carton away? I just forgot.”

He narrows his eyes. Maybe he’d buy into it a bit more if he didn’t see how well you could really do things, when you weren’t talking to him. Weaponized incompetency - that’s what this is.

If you’re not acting like some poor woman’s kind of shitty boyfriend, you’re acting like a spoiled pet.

You stand in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over your chest. Sukuna is bent over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He doesn’t look up at first, but you can feel his awareness of your presence, as always.

“I’m bored,” you announce, breaking the silence.

Sukuna barely glances up. “Do I look like your entertainment?”

“Not really,” you mutter, stepping closer. “But I’m here, so I thought you might want some company.”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches until you can’t stand it any longer. You move behind his chair and sit down on his lap without asking. He freezes for a moment, but doesn’t push you off. His hands remain on the paperwork, not acknowledging the shift in your position.

You lean in slightly, eyes flicking to the paper in front of him. “What’s this? Planning to buy something else you don’t need?”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind. “I’m working.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your weight a little to grind—barely—against his thigh. “It must be hard to focus when you’re this uptight,” you say, deliberately lazy in your tone.

He glances at you sideways. “I’m not the one climbing into someone’s lap uninvited.”

“Don’t need an invitation. It’s my birthright as your only niece,” you reply with a half-smile.

His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t bother responding. Pen scratching against the page like he’s willing himself to ignore you.

You want his attention, maybe something more — to get a peek into his head. But you know him; he never gives anything away when asked outright. That’s fine, you’ll go for the side door instead.

After watching him for a moment you lean in a little, voice laced with provocation. “Let me guess—you think this is annoying. That I’m clingy and that you’d rather be alone.”

He pauses just for a second, but you catch it. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Push a bit further.

You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you’re just trying not to care too much. Wouldn’t want to make things messy, right?”

That’s when his pen stops moving. His jaw tightens, just enough to make you smirk.

“You don’t know anything about what’s going on in my head,” he mutters, low and sharp.

There we go.

“Well, maybe you should share then,” you respond casually.

He leans back in his chair slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and you feel your breathing quicken. Your pulse stutters—God, you’ve missed this. Missed him like this. Sukuna grins slowly, in that way that tells you he’s up to no good as his hand finds its way to the curve of your hip.

“You really wanna know what’s going on in my head?” He shifts beneath you, just enough for you to feel it—hard and rising under your weight.

“Guess I do,” you breathe, feigning calm.

“I’m thinking,” he says lowly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “That the shipping clause in the new procurement contract’s gonna screw us if customs get nosy in Kobe again.“

You blink before your face settles into a scowl of irritation. “God you’re fucking insufferable,” you mutter, looking away.

“What, did you want me to say I was thinking about you?”

You give him a dry, biting, pointed look that makes him smirk even wider.

“Well I was thinking about you too….”

You freeze for half a second.

“…And how you still haven’t bought the milk you finished without telling me. Or taken out the goddamn trash.”

You turn away, trying not to let the dejection get to you. Sure maybe you’re horny but it was more than that too — you wanted him to want you like that again. To feel that he still desires you in the way you know he shouldn’t.

So you begin to get up with a sigh, when he pushes you back down abruptly before casually adding, “Oh and how I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock right now-” He grabs your hips, grinding your throbbing cunt right onto where his bulge is straining against his pants, “So I can fuck your throat till you choke on it.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitching a little in surprise. Exactly the reaction he wanted, clearly, considering how it makes him smirk.

“Is that the kind of thing you wanted to hear? Huh?” he teases.

Yes, it is, but you’re feeling a bit more bratty after the way he just messed with you.

So you purse your lips, trying once again to climb off him. “Nope. Not anymore at least. I think I’m gonna go take out the trash actually since you were so concerned about that—“

His gaze darkens and before you can even catch the movement he’s gripping your wrist. “Knees. Now.”

You shoot him a glare. “And give me one good reason I should do that after that shit you just pulled?”

Of course the thought of getting to feel his cock in your mouth for the first time is more than arousing, but your penchant for demand avoidance proves to be just as stubborn.

“Because you waltzed in here practically begging for my attention—and now you’ve got it,” he says smoothly, thumb brushing along your lower lip, hand cupping your jaw. “Interrupting me while I’m working…”

His eyes drag over your face. “Might as well make yourself useful. Help me burn off some of this stress...”

You don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. He watches you, waiting. When you still don’t move, his hand trails lower—fingers wrapping around your throat with deliberate pressure.

“Get on your knees.” His voice drops, grip tightening just slightly. “I won’t ask again.”

You swallow hard, eyes locked on his. Then you move. He releases you as you shift, lifting yourself off his lap and lowering to the floor between his legs, gaze never breaking from his. Sukuna’s eyes follow you, widening his thighs a bit more so that you have better access to the bulge now at your face level.

And before he even has to ask, you’re reaching forward, unzipping his fly to expose the swell in his boxers. He exhales softly when you finally pull down the waistband, freeing his erect cock, already flushed and leaking at the tip.

You swallow again, this time louder, the sound exaggerated in the quiet between you. He hears it, clearly, and lets out a low, amused snort.

“Nothing to say now?”

You give him another half-assed scowl, before returning your attention to his dick. His skin is tan against the dark pink of his hair, a contrast that draws your eyes before anything else. And when your hand finally wraps around him, the weight of him is undeniable—solid, warm, real.

His cock is just as imposing as the rest of him. No wonder he acts like that.

“What do you want me to do?” you murmur, giving him an experimental pump of your fist, before bending forward to lick the pearlescent bead of pre gathered at his slit.

A little salty, maybe even sweet, ever so slightly.

Sukuna breathes a bit sharply at the touch, though his voice stays composed, condescending and arrogant as ever. “Suck it? Give me a blowjob? Want me to say it in another languag— ah, fuck,” he hisses when you deliberately stiffen the tip of your tongue, firmly prodding into his slit.

Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to probably feel uncomfortable. You lift away, stroking his length gently with a small satisfied smile.

“Was that good?” you ask innocently, knowing few things annoy him as much as your weaponized incompetency.

“Just open your mouth and let me fuck it since you can’t do it right yourself.”

You place one hand on his thigh, the other bringing his tip back to your lips to give it another kitten lick. “In a moment.”

You tease your tongue around his frenulum, sliding your tongue up and down with soft, almost curious licks. He lets you explore dick as you borderline inspect it, lifting his shaft to peer at the heavy balls sitting below before running your tongue along the seam with almost reverent carefulness. Sukuna’s breath deepens, as you feel his hand coming up to knot in your hair.

“What’s this all about? Never sucked a dick before or something?” he murmurs, though he stays patient, letting you go at your own pace.

“I have. Just not yours,” you mumble, as you bring your lips back up, rubbing it against his sensitive glans just to see what it feels like.

Soft, so soft, almost satin-like.

You’ve sucked dick before, yes, but never felt the need to get so familiar with another man’s intimate areas, to take your time like you’re trying to permanently imprint the memory of it in your brain. You find yourself wanting to memorize every vein you trace with your tongue, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth.

Perhaps you understand now why he was so adamant on wanting to see every inch of your own pussy. Not to mention no other man’s ever leaked as much precum as he is right now, oozing from his slit as you coat your lips with it in a slick sheen. Sukuna’s muscles are visibly tensed beneath you, you can tell he’s reaching his limit from the steady tightening of the hand gripping your roots. Good.

But you want to push him further, just a bit. So you look up at him as you collect spit in your mouth, before parting your lips to drip it obscenely over his tip. And then, you blow on the wettened skin, ever so gently.

A notch forms between his brows, jaw clenching as it does when he gets irritated. Suddenly your head is yanked back, scalp stinging from the harsh tug.

“Enough,” he growls. “Stick your tongue out like a good slut.”

You do as you’re told, and soon he’s taking his cock and rubbing it against the flat of your tongue as you gaze up at him.

“That’s it.” He slides cock off your tongue, and onto your face, slapping it against your cheek with a wet noise, your saliva sticking to you skin. “Now open up.”

You widen your jaw and take a deep inhale through your nose right before he slides his girth in, inch by inch, feeding it into your throat. Immediately your gag reflex kicks in as he goes deeper than you’d expected, sooner than you’d expected.

Sukuna only snickers meanly when he hears you choke a bit, your throat convulsing around his cock. “Too much?”

You narrow your watering eyes in defiance, inhaling again through your nose before remembering a trick you’d heard somewhere about squeezing one of your thumbs so you don’t gag.

So you ball your left fist around your thumb as hard as you can, and strangely enough, it works. With that you hollow your cheeks and push your head down until your nose reaches the coarse hairs on his pelvis, taking in how tight your throat feels around his cock sheathed fully inside.

He smiles as you still a bit, the grip in your hair loosening so that he can stroke it instead, as he murmurs pleasantly surprised, “Oh, good girl. You learn fast, huh?”

Before he can do it himself, you begin moving your head back before sliding back down again, feeling the velvety skin of his shaft brush along your tongue as you bob your head up and down. Slick, squelching noises fill the study, your throat making wet clicks as it moves around him. You can feel your saliva starting to drool out, dripping down his shaft, some smearing on your lips and chin.

It feels sloppy, even more when you hear him groan in pleasure as he grips your hair again, the noise sending an unbearable warmth down to your core while you try to focus on keeping your teeth out of the way and breathing through your nose.

“Mmh, just like that baby, your throat feels so fucking good,” he rasps.

His praise goes right to your head, feeling much better than it had any right to. It’s enough to make you push away the aching pain flaring in your jaw from holding it open, just to hear more of it, to show him how well you can please him. You unclench the fist you were squeezing to fondle his balls, caressing and massaging them delicately while you work your throat around him, rubbing your tongue along his length and letting more of your spit drip out and onto his cock as you swallow around it.

You know Sukuna. You know beyond a certain point of pleasure, his lust will morph into something worse, something vicious that likes to ruin.

And you know it's what compels him to abruptly grip your hair so tightly it stings, and thrust his hips so hard into your mouth with a guttural noise that you make a muffled squeak of surprise, losing your rhythm and feeling you gag reflex claw up your chest, trying to push him back out of your throat. He grins wickedly, cock only twitching in excitement when he feels you struggling to take him, only encouraging him to go harder, fuck your skull till tears are streaming down your face and spit froths at your lips and dribbles down. Strands of your hair stick to the mess, but he’s too busy bruising the back of your throat to care enough to peel them away.

“Hah, I think this is your birthright as my niece,” he sneers between pants, as you try and regain some semblance of control, fingers trying find some purchase on his thighs to steady you a bit. “Finally putting that fucking mouth of yours to proper use.”

You’d be annoyed normally, but in the hazy mess your mind is in right now, with nothing existing but the wet heat of your throat engulfing his cock, the musky scent of him and the stiff pain in your jaw, you’ve been reduced to a primal need to devote yourself to his pleasure. So you relax, and let him use your throat, gazing up at him through teary eyes, drinking the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, brows pulled together, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Surrender.

Maybe he can sense the moment you finally do so because then his face is crumpling and you feel his hips stutter as he pulls back so his tip rests heavily on your tongue.

“Oh, fuck-“

Spurts of seed spread across your tongue as he fills your mouth, warm and viscous, as he fills your mouth. He finishes finally, pulling out his wet dick from your mouth with a satisfied sigh.

You don’t swallow; instead you keep his semen in your mouth for a bit, tasting it, feeling it, as he tucks himself back in. The texture is somewhere between saliva and diluted syrup, and under the saline taste there’s a strange sweetness — warm, earthy, almost like the smell of skin after sex. You chase it with your tongue, savoring the taste not because it’s objectively good, but because it’s his.

And then, an idea comes to mind.

Before Sukuna can react, you’re getting to your feet and climbing onto him. You tilt his jaw towards yours, muffling his surprised grunt as you abruptly kiss him, pushing your way through his lips, guiding the slick taste into his mouth with the tip of your tongue

You more than half expect him to push you away, but he catches you off guard when he kisses you back instead, deepening it and groaning softly as sucks the cum off your tongue, some of the white fluid leaking down the corners of your lips. When you no more is left, you pull away, breaking a thin strand of fluid connecting your wet lips.

You sit there for a moment, flustered and out of breath, before wiping your lips and face with your sleeve, scowling when he smirks at you completely unfazed.

“Was that supposed to be revenge? Because it kinda turned me on instead.”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re a fucking freak,” you comment dryly.

“Guess you got it from me.”

You glare at him again, pushing against his chest. “I’ve had enough of you.”

But Sukuna’s hand is trailing up your waist, coaxing you to stay there.

“Aw, and here I was thinking about rewarding you for your good work,” he purrs.

“Rewarding me?” you repeat, suspicious but a bit intrigued.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Get on the desk.”

Your brow furrows as you peek at the desk behind you, still covered in documents. “What?”

“You can move the papers to the side.”

You don’t move yet. “For what?”

Sukuna sighs. “Just do it. And take off your pants.”

And for some reason you comply, getting off him to hastily swipe the papers to the side before shrugging your pants down your legs and sitting on the desk in front of him.

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want you to turn around. I’m gonna eat you out.”

Oh.

You’re certainly not going to fight against that. Sure he’s never eaten you out from the back before and the position makes you a bit nervous, but then you remember you only get him like this for a few more months and soon you’re climbing up all the way onto the desk.

You feel a bit more vulnerable like this with your cheek pressed against the cold hardwood, your ass presented to where you can’t see him.

“Perfect. Just stay still now.”

You hear him moving and a warm palm squeezes one of your cheeks, kneading the pliant flesh before his second hand joins on the other side.

“Okay…” you mumble, “Just don’t try anything …weird.”

He doesn’t respond, but you think you catch a light laugh under his breath. Not a good sign, but you’re too far in now.

And then your panties are being pulled down your ass till right above your knees, and you can already feel how wet you are just in anticipation.

Sukuna doesn’t waste any time, and immediately his tongue is caressing at your damp folds, before slipping in and gliding through them till your clit. You moan softly as he begins lapping at your pussy, tingling heat building between your thighs as he licks you firmly, suckling on your clit in between.

Sukuna’s certainly talented at eating a woman out, you’ll give him that, because not even five minutes later you’re whimpering and shaking as the pressure in your clit builds till you cum on his tongue.

A few breathless moments and then you feel yourself loosening up again, coming down from your high, feeling much better now than a few minutes ago when you were sure he had some devious plans in mind.

“Shit, that was good,” you mumble as his tongue pulls away from your sopping cunt.

The relief you were basking in is ripped away when suddenly you feel him gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart.

Uncomfortable.

“I said no weird stuff—” Your words end in a squeak of surprise when you feel something warm and wet press against the tight rim of your asshole. Heat quickly rises to your face in indignation as you shift, trying to get away from the ironclad grip he has on your ass. “Oh my god, do not do that—”

A sharp slap to your ass shuts you up as you wince in pain instead. “You should really try new things, you know that? It’ll get you a lot farther in life.”

“Uncle!” you cry out in mortification when you feel his tongue back on your hole, prodding at it. “Do we really need to do this?”

“Yes,” his answer comes between small licks at your hole, making you flinch when he abruptly spits on it. “How else will you take my cock up here if you can’t even take my tongue?”

“What!?” You squirm, twisting your head to try and look at him. “No, no, that is definitely not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Why does it have to!? Is my pussy not good enough for you?” You can barely see him behind you from the way he’s holding your ass firmly in place, but that won’t stop you from trying, even if it makes your neck hurt a lot.

You hear him audibly sigh. “Do you always have to fucking argue with me?”

And then maybe as punishment, or just because he likes to torture you, he presses the tip of his tongue firmly enough against your puckered hole that it actually breaches through. You yelp at the odd, visceral sensation

He pulls it back out just to laugh at you. “If you can go three minutes without moving around or fucking bitching, I’ll let you go. How about that?”

“You better put a goddamn timer.”

Sukuna sighs, but he agrees, setting the time on his phone before putting it back on the desk. “Now shut the fuck up.”

It is still far from comfortable, this strange new sensation, and at first you’re still fighting to try and not squirm, especially when his tongue presses teasingly into your entrance again, before probing a little deeper. You’ve never done this before, not even with your own fingers, really.

His tongue feels delicate and invasive at once- even though he’s barely in deep, it’s somewhere untouched. Yet somewhere along the way you stop tensing and just let him play with your hole, and when his tongue pushes a bit more insistently against the tight ring of muscle, a quiet whimper falls from your lips.

Then his fingers are joining by pushing into your wet pussy, and the feeling of him massaging your walls as his tongue works diligently at your other hole is enough to make you moan and melt into the touch.

You hate it. That’s he always right. That he really, definitely, knows what he’s doing if he’s actually able to make you enjoy this despite the discomfort and your initial reluctance. And fuck, it feels good- dirty and sinful enough to make your arousal drip down his fingers and your hole clench around his tongue. But then the shrill ring of the alarm cuts through, startling you and yanking you before you can fall deeper into the haze. You don’t even realize you’re panting till he pulls away and you turn to look at him, feeling a bit conflicted.

“You can…keep going,” you mumble. “It felt kinda good.”

And to that, Sukuna looks at you with amusement as he licks his lips.

“Oh, would you look at that? My dirty little niece actually likes getting her ass eaten,” he coos as you stare at him venomously.

“But,” Sukuna leans back into his chair, grinning lazily. “The timer rang, and I promised I wouldn’t go longer than that remember?”

Irritating, infuriating man.

But you did say that, so this one’s a bit fair, even if you always feel like he’s setting you up on purpose every single time. You don’t say anything, just huff and roll over to pull your panties back up before sitting and getting off his desk, putting your pants back on.

Sukuna stands and stretches with a low grunt. “I’m gonna wash my hands. Then I’ve got work to finish.”

You nod, shifting a little where you sit, and watch as he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the quiet room for a moment, then cuts off. When he returns, drying his hands on a towel, his gaze flicks to you—still lingering where he left you.

He drops back into the chair, spreads his thighs, and pats one. “Come here. Sit.”

“Do you always have to talk to me like I’m a dog?” you mutter under your breath, though you quickly move to make yourself comfortable on his lap, resting your head against his chest as he gets back to work like you still can’t taste the faint astringent aftertaste of his cum in your mouth, or the dampness on the gusset of your panties.

Your relationship not only returns to what it used to be, but becomes something even more—evident from the fact that you now regularly sleep with him at night. Hours of tossing and turning trying to fall asleep turn into minutes as soon as you’re next to him. But with him next to you, the restless ache that builds in your body each night has nowhere to go—and you can’t exactly handle it the usual way with him lying inches away.

After a few nights, Sukuna can’t take it anymore. You crawl into his bed again, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, and he lets you in without a word—again. You curl into him like you always do, seeking the warmth and safety he pretends not to offer. And as always, he runs his hand down your back, lets you rest your head against his chest, even pulls the blanket up over your shoulders without complaint. But then it starts- the shifting. The sighing. The squirming.

He can feel every frustrated twitch of your body, every little exhale like your skin is too tight to hold in whatever’s stirring inside. He cracks an eye open, jaw clenched. You’re on your back now, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally offended you.

He waits. One minute. Two. Then—

“You done?” he mutters.

You glance over, sheepish. “Sorry… I just—can’t sleep.”

“No shit,” he says, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “And you’re making it my problem too.”

You try to apologize, genuinely feeling kind of bad. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is—“

Sukuna just sighs and then his hands are sliding to your hips, pulling you closer against him.

You don’t say anything. Words are never needed with him — he understands what you need, even before you do. How to offer you some relief. He notices how your breath hitches, thighs shifting as he slips his fingers under your top, skimming along your skin. He notices all the things you try to hide.

“What’re you…” Your voice trails off as his fingers dip lower, beneath the waistband of your pajamas.

“Shut up,” he murmurs gently, hands slipping fully into the waistband of your panties.

Lower and lower, till they brush against your slick folds.

“You really need me to do everything, huh?” he muses, his voice low and lazy. “Can’t even get yourself off like a big girl?”

“Sukuna,” you whisper, flustered now, but your legs shift again—nervous, needy.

“What?” he taunts gently, like he’s scolding a pet. “You want to toss and turn all night like a brat, or do you want to cum so hard you pass out?”

You glare at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re such an asshole.”

He smirks, leaning down, mouth brushing just under your jaw as he deliberately dips a finger into the arousal collecting at your entrance, before puling it back out to smear your slick across your folds. “Yeah. And you’re wet for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh, just giving in, relaxing your body into his and letting him take over. One of his fingers slips inside you at first, and he presses it right against the spongey part of your wall. He can feel a throbbing under the sensitive, swollen flesh there, like your heart is literally beating in your cunt.

It makes blood flow to his own cock, but he ignores that for now.

He fingers you under the sheets, your juices spilling and dampening your panties, though you don’t really care. Soft, wet noises are audible from under the blankets, amidst your small whimpers and mewls, grinding into his hand for more.

Finally you cum with a small cry, and when Sukuna pulls his hand back out his fingers are covered in a glistening glaze. And just like he predicted, your body stays lax, satiated, no longer restless and squirming, and he can feel you starting to doze off against him.

But he’s Sukuna, so right before he lets you fall asleep he sticks his cum-coated fingers into your mouth abruptly. You make a muffled noise of surprise, and agitation.

“Clean them,” he says plainly. “You made a mess.”

You’re too drowsy to really fight back anyway so you lazily suck his fingers clean, tongue licking at the crevices in between , the taste of your own arousal coating your tongue before you swallow it down.

And when you decide you’re done, you pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, turning your head away in quiet defiance. He snorts under his breath, wiping the damp fingers on your cheek just to get a rise out of you.

You groan, muffled against the pillow. “Can you not?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, unbothered, like you’re the one making a scene.

You try to swat at him half-heartedly, but your arm's too heavy with sleep, and he easily catches your wrist, pinning it lazily to the mattress.

“Such a brat,” he mutters, voice low and warm near your ear.

You don’t bother answering, just sigh, turning your face into his chest instead, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing pull you down. His hand lingers at your back, a quiet weight as you fall asleep and neither of you realize it's the first time you've addressed him by his name of your own accord.

There’s something about growing up with very little family. No buffer—no siblings to confide in, no cousins to rely on, no grandparents to balance things out. Every relationship carries extra weight.

In your case, it’s your parents. In an ideal world, this would’ve drawn you closer. A small, tight-knit family. But in reality, emotional absence from either parent creates a gaping void—whether you name it or not.

For you, it’s a paternal wound. One that only becomes glaringly obvious when Sukuna slips into your life, uninvited, into the role of a pseudo-guardian.

It isn’t some cliché Freudian desire to date your father; it’s something deeper. What draws you to Sukuna isn’t the simple need for a father figure—it’s how he fills a hollow space inside you. And the quiet resentment that he wasn’t there to do it sooner.

But there are downsides to filling a wound. You haven’t forgotten that moment—the horrible, embarrassing moment the morning after he took your virginity. When, raw and vulnerable, you snapped, calling him "your dad."

Neither of you ever brought it up again. And maybe that’s for the best, because the implication was too real. Because while the sense of protection from him draws you in, it also comes with expectations you never asked for. Sometimes, when Sukuna acts like he cares, it feels like a leash—an invisible tether you never wanted, but can’t escape.

You don’t look too closely at it. You don’t ask questions. You don’t dig into why it feels this way, because deep down, you know that if you did, you’d start trying to excuse it. And that feels worse.

So you let it haunt you quietly instead. You let it settle in your bones, a constant undercurrent of discomfort that you’ve learned to live with. And you don’t question it.

Not even when, one evening, in the middle of one of your usual bickering sessions, Sukuna announces—out of nowhere—that he’s taking you on a date. Especially since, according to him, your last one was pathetic.

You’re pretty sure it’s just his way of proving a point, another game to pass the time.

But still.

Your stomach flips. That giddiness bubbles up, childish and bright, almost shameful in its intensity—not because you crave male attention, not just because someone chose you.

But because he did. Because it’s Sukuna, and everything he represents.

The one person who never had to care, who didn’t owe you anything—but still chose you, regardless. And even if his gesture is wrapped in sarcasm and ego, it feels surprisingly pure. Like something tender buried beneath something cruel.

It disarms you.

Especially when he adds, almost carelessly, that you’ll need a new dress, proper heels, maybe even a little makeup.

“If I’m doing this,” he says, “I’m doing it right.”

Of course, you try to laugh off the part about him buying you things. You’ve been trained to never take from others, to never be the one who gets lavished with attention, and you don’t know how to accept it anymore. Or maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe you’ve never known how to let yourself be spoiled.

Sukuna, however, just gives you that look—a sharp, unamused stare—and tells you to shut up.

So you do. You nod, face flushed, trying to hide the way your chest tightens. Not just from excitement, but from something heavier, something sharper. The ache of being cared for in a way you were never shown how to care for yourself. Something dangerously close to wanting—no, needing—to be wanted in a way you never learned how to ask for.

Sukuna means it when he says if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right.

Which is how you end up at the store that weekend, standing in front of an employee assigning you a changing room. You hold out the dresses draped over your arm—four of them—for her to count.

“Ooh, those are great choices. What’s the occasion?” she asks, smiling.

And then Sukuna appears behind you like some large, intimidating shadow, and you swear you can see her recalibrating behind that smile—trying to figure out if he’s your dad or an older boyfriend. She definitely lands on the worse conclusion when he smirks and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“She has a date tomorrow night,” he says.

You force a small smile, shifting under his touch, laughing nervously. “Yeah.”

“Lucky guy,” she replies—now clearly convinced he’s your father. "You can take that big stall at the end,” she adds with a knowing look.

You blink, eyebrows knitting as you glance between Sukuna and the girl. “Oh, he’s not co—”

“Thank you,” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, steering you away before you can finish your sentence.

The second you're out of earshot, you twist out of his grip, shoving the door to the stall open. “There is absolutely no need for you to come in with me. Just stay out here. I’ll show you each one when I try them on.”

Sukuna tilts his chin toward the bench inside the stall. “See that? That’s for uncles supervising their bratty nieces. Tradition.”

He gives you a grin so filthy you nearly combust.

“Oh my god—shut up.” You glance around, mortified. “Don’t say shit like that. People’ll get the wrong idea.”

“More like the right idea. Hope they all know you suck your uncle’s—”

You slap him before he can finish, cheeks blazing, and yank him inside by the wrist as he laughs.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter.

The door clicks shut behind you. You hang the dresses up one by one, studiously ignoring him as you grab the first one off the rack. Sukuna sprawls on the bench like he owns the place—and you. Legs wide, arms folded, eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror.

You peel off your top, then pause at your waistband. “Can you, like…close your eyes?”

He opens his mouth—no doubt ready to say something disgusting—so you cut him off before he can get the words out.

“Ugh, never mind. Forget it,” you mutter, yanking your pants off anyway.

Now you’re hyper-aware of the mirrors. Of the lighting. Of the man sitting behind you who doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Can you not ogle me like some creep?”

He doesn’t blink. Just watches, then slowly palms himself through his jeans.

Your mouth drops open. “Seriously?!”

You yank the dress down over your chest, catching him trying not to laugh, which only infuriates you more.

“Need help?” he drawls.

“No.” You drag the dress into place and turn toward the mirror.

At least he’s stopped groping himself. But his gaze still drags over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“Well?”

Sukuna tilts his head, chin resting in one hand. “Cute. But the next one’s tighter, right?”

You roll your eyes—trying to ignore the flutter in your chest—and grab the next dress. The tightest one. Black, short, zipper up the back. You strip off the first dress without looking at him and step into the second.

It hugs you like a second skin. The zipper, of course, sticks halfway up. You grunt, trying to reach around.

“Sure you don’t want help?” he murmurs, smug.

“I said no.”

There’s a pause. Then you hear the soft creak of the bench as he stands. Your breath catches, as you feel him behind you before you hear him. His fingers brush your spine lightly through the fabric.

“Stop squirming,” he murmurs. “You’ll jam it.”

He tugs the zipper up—too slowly, too deliberately, the gliding motion grazing your skin like a tease.

“There you go,” he murmurs as you look up.

The dress is black silk, soft to the touch and sinfully tight. It hugs every single curve without shame, the fabric catching the light in a way that makes shadows dance across your body. The neckline plunges just enough to make your pulse quicken, and the back dips scandalously low, exposing the gentle curve of your spine.

It stops mid-thigh—short enough to tempt, long enough to tease. The sleeves are off-shoulder, barely clinging to your upper arms, adding that extra edge of vulnerability, like the dress could slip just a little too far with one wrong move.

Sukuna’s gaze is unreadable as he takes in this one, but you’re too focused on one small detail to even worry about that.

Your hands pause at your lower stomach, fingers brushing the slight bump that feels more noticeable in this lighting, in this mirror, in front of him. You tug the fabric subtly, trying to flatten it, your face twisting with discomfort.

Sukuna’s eyes catch the motion immediately. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, just keep adjusting, suddenly wishing the lights were a little dimmer. “It fits weird here. Makes me look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts clean and low, that stern, irritated tone.

You glance over at him, and his gaze has shifted—no longer teasing, no longer just looking for fun.

“You look good,” he says simply. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop pulling at it.”

You try to deflect with a shrug, suddenly warm in the face. “Whatever. I just don’t like how it fits right here—”

Sukuna steps closer, towering behind you as his hands slip down to rest at your waist. His fingers settle exactly where you were trying to hide, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

“This part?” His voice dips. “It’s hot. Not sure who put those silly ideas in your head.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror—not looking at you, looking through you, like he wants you to see exactly what he sees.

“Wear this one tomorrow,” he says, already deciding.

“What about the other ones—”

“No. This one.”

You try to argue, but the words feel thin. You just nod.

You make it out of the changing room alive—barely—and he lets you breathe for a while.

The next stops are easier. He picks out a pair of heels you actually like, lets you test them with a spin, and even hums approvingly when you twirl for him. Then he lets you drift toward the makeup section like it’s no big deal, arms crossed while you test swatches on your wrist. He even pays for everything without blinking, which should annoy you more than it does.

It’s... almost domestic. Almost.

Too domestic. Which is exactly why the second your guard drops, he grabs your wrist again.

“Wait—where are we going now?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. Just smirks and steers you with that same annoying confidence you’ve learned to hate. And then you see the store sign. Lace everywhere. Soft light. Satin mannequins. Entire walls covered in things no sane person wears unless they plan on not wearing them for long.

Your stomach flips. “No. No, no, no—absolutely not—”

“You owe me- I sat through the whole makeup segment like a saint,” Sukuna says, voice low and lazy. “Besides what do you think we’re gonna do after I take you out to dinner? You didn’t think it was just that, did you?”

“Wh— First of all you were on your phone the entire time! Second of all, that’s not what I thought,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I mean—I didn’t think anything! And you could’ve warned me, you psycho!”

It doesn’t help that the saleswoman gives you a courteous, knowing smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, already plucking something red and lacy off a nearby rack.

He starts picking things out way too fast—like he’s been here before, like he already knows exactly what he wants to see you in. A red lace set that’s mostly straps. A black sheer bodysuit with strategic cutouts. Something so small and silky you’re not even too sure what it actually is.

Your mouth opens. “Are you—seriously?”

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you. “You said you’d try something on. Don’t get shy now.”

“I didn’t say I’d try on whatever sadistic thing you pulled off the wall,” you hiss, snatching the red one from his hands. The thing barely weighs anything—it’s just lace and suggestion.

He finally glances at you, eyes flicking down to the scrap of fabric in your hands, then back up to your face. He smirks. “You’d look good in it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I know your size.” He grabs another hanger. This one is deep wine-colored and... crotchless? You choke on air.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“No,” he says easily. “You’ll keep that one for later.”

Your entire face burns.

But there’s that spark again—the one he always knows how to strike. A tiny thrill under your ribs, curling somewhere low and secret. You hate how easily it lights up around him, how much worse it makes everything. Your parents would skin you alive if they saw you come home with things like this.

And sure, maybe the lingerie is scandalous. Obscene, even. But it’s also… beautiful. Beautiful in a way that makes you nervous. Erotic in a way that feels like it wasn’t meant for someone like you. This is what people wear when they want to be seen. Worshipped.

Adored.

You’re not used to that, not sure you believe it’s something you’re allowed to want. Maybe that’s why it unsettles you so much. Why you keep glancing away from the mirror, like you’re afraid of catching your own eyes. Why you deflect—tell him he’s a total perv for wanting to see you in all that stuff, pretending to be offended with each skimpier set he picks out.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to care. He ends up with half a dozen pieces slung over his arm—lace, mesh, satin, straps.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, trailing after him as he heads straight for the fitting rooms.

“Thank you,” he says, unbothered.

You glance around the store like someone might save you. The girl at the register doesn’t even blink as you pass by. Clearly, she’s seen worse.

You make it to the fitting room and try—again—to shake him off.

“I’m going in alone,” you say, palm flat against his chest, blocking the door. “You don’t need to supervise everything, freak.”

He doesn’t budge, just glances over your head toward the row of fitting rooms, eyes flicking until he finds the one he wants.

“This one,” he mutters, guiding you toward the end of the row. You start to protest again, but he’s already turning the handle and nudging the door open with his foot like he owns the place.

“There’s a seat,” he says plainly.

You freeze. “There’s what?”

He gestures inside. And sure enough—tucked in the corner like some kind of luxury upgrade—there’s a little bench. Padded and polite.

Utterly unbelievable.

“Why the hell is there a chair in here!?”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unfazed. “Probably for men like me. The ones who pay.”

You scowl. “You’re not coming in.”

But it’s already too late. He steps inside before you can close the door, brushing past you with that arrogant ease like this is just his natural territory. The lock clicks behind you, and suddenly the space feels smaller. The room is too pink, the lighting too warm, too sensual. Too many mirrors.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, lingerie in your arms, staring at him like maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.

He doesn't. Instead he sprawls on the little bench like it’s a throne, legs spread wide, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His gaze is lazy, almost amused, as he watches you, and it grates on your nerves more than it should. You yank a hanger free, desperate to get this over with. You don’t even look at the tag, just grabbing the first thing that catches your eye—something black and sheer, satin and silk, its fabric soft but undeniably revealing.

You take a closer look. A chemise.

But not just any chemise. The front has an open bust, leaving little to the imagination, with two thick ribbons dangling at either side—meant to be tied over your breasts. You can't help but cringe; the ribbon looks thick enough to cover just your nipples probably, leaving everything else exposed.

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you are."

You sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, and take off your top, holding the chemise against your torso, trying to get an idea of how it might fit.

“You need to take your bra off too," he adds smugly.

Your face burns, and you’re almost certain you can feel the heat creeping all the way to your ears. You hesitate, the chemise still pressed against your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily in your stomach. You can feel the faint pulse in your throat, and despite the sharp burn of embarrassment, your fingers move to undo your bra, almost without thinking.

Sukuna watches you, the air around him thick with that same, unreadable calm. The amusement never leaves his expression, but it feels like there’s something more beneath it, like he’s watching a very private performance.

You pull the bra off, leaving you bare chested as you pick up the chemise to put it on. Your nipples stiffen in the air, and you try not to look at the way his eyes are drawn to them, how he licks his lips.

You slip it on, the fabric soft and delicate as it caresses your skin, till the underwire sits right below your breasts. Heat prickles all across your skin, and somehow you feel even more exposed with the lingerie outlining your nakedness.

With another swallow you lift the ribbons to your chest, across your nipples, when—

“Let me,” he says, voice low and smooth.

Intense, but not biting. Soft, almost, though the look in his eyes certainly is not — closer to something much hungrier, instead.

But your beyond bound of arguing, not when you feel so vulnerable, so you turn around and timidly walk up to him till your breasts are in his face, holding the ribbons out for him. He takes them from your hands without asking, holding them gently across your bare nipples. The fabric brushes your skin—soft, deliberate, teasing. Then he slowly begins to tie them.

He pulls the satin taut until the soft weight of your breasts spills out around it, obscene and almost delicate, like a gift he’s unwrapping in reverse before finishing it with a bow, neat and centered. You stare at your reflection, heat blooming across your chest, your neck, your face.

“I look ridiculous,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

“Ridiculous,” he repeats, like the very word offends him. His tone turns low, almost lazy. “Then how come”—he takes your hand, guides it lower—“you’re doing this to me?”

He presses your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. Firm, heavy and real. Your breath catches as your thighs tense. Your panties grow damp as your mind short-circuits, shame and arousal folding over each other like waves.

“Gonna call me a creep or a perv again?” he teases, almost gently. Almost fond.

No. Because those were only reflections of your own discomfort with yourself, weren’t they? Because right now you feel desirable, so his arousal makes you want more.

Surrender.

You give in, not caring that you’re in a public changing room, as you straddle his lap and settle, guided more by instinct than thought. Your lips find his—hot, searing, desperate—and he kisses you back with that slow, claiming hunger that always makes you feel like you’re being owned.

But even in that closeness, something twists under your ribs. A voice.

Not loud, but constant, like pressure behind your eyes. It always shows up when you're too close to him like this, when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling dangerous.

It reminds you, as it always does, that this isn’t forever. That it can’t be, even if there wasn’t that goddamn deadline.

Because what you have isn’t just complicated— it’s illicit. Unnatural. Wrong.

Something that can’t have a future, not with what he is to you and what you are to him. Because of that twenty-five percent. That shared part of you that ensures this can never become love, only shame and ruin.

It aches, sharp and splintering, like a thorn working its way deeper into your heart. You know you should pull back. That you should start untangling yourself now, before you sink too deep into something you’ll never escape cleanly.

But his mouth is like a sedative, his touch a kind of sweet anesthesia that dulls your self-preservation into a low, useless hum.

And so you don’t stop. Because in this moment, he makes you forget. Forget what’s right, what’s wrong, who the hell you’re even supposed to be.

#tw inc*st #cw incest #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #sukuna fic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk au #jjk dark content #dead dove fic #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna jjk

730 notes · View notes

hearts4hughes · 9 days ago

Note

That ex!rafe fic about reader calling him was so sad🥹🥹☹️ can we get a blurb where the reader calls him to hook up again because she misses him. Even though she leaves as always in the end, she’s soft during the hook up when he’s trying to be rough with her to not get too attached, like he’s so rough and pounding into her and then she’s giving him soft little kisses and caressing him.

warnings: emotionally complicated sex, rough sex w soft moments, unprotected sex, possessive!rafe, crying during sex, 18+

he doesn’t pick up the first time or the second. but the third time, when your name lights up his screen again at 12:47am., he answers like he’s been standing by the phone all night.

“where are you?” he murmurs into the phone. his voice is lazy. he runs a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. you don’t say it, but he already knows. he trudges towards the window, pulling the curtains back to see the porch light illuminating your silhouette. he sighs and stomps down the stairs like he’s on a borrowed time.

you don’t kiss when you come in. you don’t say anything when he shoves the door closed behind you and cages you against it, breathing hard through his nose like he might be angry. he isn’t, not really. just something worse.

your back hits the wood. he fists a hand in your hair like it’s a leash, tilts your head back and stares at your mouth like it’s both a promise and a curse. “you gonna leave right after again?” he asks, voice hoarse. “or you sticking around long enough to pretend you still care?”

you say nothing and he doesn’t wait. he tears off your clothes like a man starved. he fucks you like he wants to forget. like if he splits you open just right, he’ll finally stop dreaming about you. you’re still in the dress you wore to whatever thing you left early to come here, and he pulls your panties down to your knees and bends you over the back of the couch like he doesn’t even want to see your face.

he doesn’t kiss you and doesn’t talk. just grits his teeth and pounds into you like you’re a stranger he’s trying to ruin. and you let him. until, you glance over your shoulder. water builds at your waterline. you begin blinking through tears, desperately reaching back to thread your fingers through his.

“hey,” you whisper, like you’re waking him up. like none of this has to be so mean. even if your motives are. “rafe…”

he freezes because your voice is soft and your touch is softer. when you twist toward him, legs trembling from the pace he set, you look so fucking pretty like this—lips parted, mascara smudged, trying to kiss him when he doesn’t deserve it.

he doesn’t get it. he doesn’t understand you. “why’re you being like that?” he mutters, grabbing your hips harder. “don’t-don’t do that.”

but you’re already kissing his jaw, reaching up to cradle the back of his neck, eyes fluttering shut like you’re just happy to be close. “i missed you,” you murmur. his rhythm falters. he swears. the noise is low and guttural. he nearly pulls out like he’s punishing himself now.

“fuck, don’t say that,” he snaps. “you don’t mean it.”

“i do.” you pull him closer. lips brushing his cheek, his temple, the edge of his mouth like it’s something tender and holy and not wrecked. “just…for right now.”

he kisses you then. it’s sloppy, angry, hungery. he knows it’s borrowed time and he’s furious at how much he still wants you. your legs wrap around his waist as he picks you up, fucks into you deeper, harder, chasing the high and hating it. but you’re still soft with him. still tracing your fingertips over his shoulders. still kissing the corner of his mouth between broken gasps.

finally, he breaks. he doesn’t finish inside you until you’re both crying. the room is filled with quiet and breathless gasps. you’re against each other like it means something again.

you leave an hour later, like always. but this time, his shirt’s still clutched in your hand. when the door shuts, he doesn’t move. he just stares at the dent your body left in the couch and tries not to call you back.

again.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #ex!rafe cameron #ex!rafe

503 notes · View notes

moesthoughts · 7 days ago

Note

hear me out... smut with post!crash nat who sees her ex girlfriend at a club with her new bf and nat doesn't like that at all, and takes it upon herself to show up on readers doorstep later that night and remind her who she "belongs to" so to say

(this may or may not have been heavily influenced by like i would by zayn LMAOO)

ೃ࿔ one way or another

After getting rescued from the crash you wanted a new life, a blank slate. You distanced yourself from everyone, moved to the city, and even got a new boyfriend. One year after you were rescued, you and your boyfriend went to the club, you would never guess your ex girlfriend would be paying you a visit after.

pairing 𝜗𝜚 natalie scatorccio x fem reader

warnings 𝜗𝜚 angst, stalker nat lowk, addiction, drug mentions, cheating, smut with plot, fingering, cunnilingus r! receiving, overstimulation, praise kink

The club has always been overwhelming, the strobe lights that give you the biggest headache, the music that drummed against your ears, the heat from the amount of bodies, it sucks. Which is why Nat is sat at the bar, sipping on a cold glass of gin. She came alone, just how she likes it. Small talk with the bartender is all she needs, other than that she enjoys her alone time. Tonight feels different though, the alcohol doesn’t taste the same and the music isn’t as annoying as she remembers. A new DJ? Maybe that is for the better. Nat sets the glass down at the table and pushes it towards the bartender, muttering “put it on my tab”, for the fifth time this week, a broken promise, she won’t pay it till they personally knock at her door.

Nat is planning on leaving, well, she was. Until her eyes land on a familiar figure, she recognizes that body shape from anywhere. That hair, even if it’s grown a little different overtime, that style of clothing you never can seem to let go of, the shape of your nose, the dark red lipstick you wore to every party before that stupid crash, and most importantly that smile that kept her sane during the time in the wilderness. She stops in her tracks, it’s like time froze around her. Everyone around you is moving slow, all the colorful lights illuminate you, and some man beside you. Nat instantly clutches her hands into fists as she watches his hands grab your waist as you grind on him, he could just be some random guy at the club, and you’re really drunk. Her hopes are false once again as you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips interlocking with his. She swears she reads “i love you”, from your lips.

It makes her sick, but she can’t stop watching. You look so fucking beautiful with your makeup and hair done, that short dress that hugs your ass so well. You’re her ex girlfriend, you broke things off with her in the hospital after the crash, she still feels that sting in her heart every time you come across her mind. Now she has to watch you kiss this random dude with a big smile on your face. Nat presses her lips together, and finally pushes herself to leave. But she doesn’t, she sits in her car, lighting a blunt and smoking it, waiting for you and your boy toy to leave. She sinks into her seat once she spots you and your boyfriend get into a car, and leave. She starts up hers and follows soon after.

You live surprisingly close to the club, Nat wonders if you’ve been there at the same time and she didn’t notice your presence. Her eyes follow you as you walk to your apartment, open the door and enter it. She curses under her breath and presses her forehead against the steering wheel, contemplating her decisions. She’s already getting high, and stalked you all the way home. She figures she should finish the blunt, you’ll notice right away anyway. That same dizzy feeling graces her as she smokes, her brain becoming foggy, and her worries disappearing like her dignity. She opens her car door and drops the blunt on the ground, stomping it out. She stumbles over to your door, and knocks on it without hesitation.

You open the door, unknowing of who’s waiting on the other side to meet you. Nat relishes the sight of your eyes widening, the cute gasp that falls out of those pretty lips. She also observes how you aren’t slamming the door in her face, your eyes glued on her face, with that same thick eyeliner, lined lips, just with different hair. A sort of twisted smile plays on her face. She’s obviously under some influence, she’s swaying side to side when she’s standing still, her eyes look irritated and red. You sigh and grip the edge of your wooden door.

“Hey, pretty.”

Nat breathes the nickname that used to make you weak in the knees. She gawks at the sight of you up close, that tight dress, those familiar hips, your makeup that she wants to remove using her lips, she takes a small breath to compose herself. Unlike you, about to throw up at the sight of Natalie fucking Scatorccio, even if you made such a great effort to disappear from the rest of the survivors. Though, somewhere inside of you, you’re happy that it’s her and not anyone else. You take a glance into your apartment and step out, closing the door slightly.

“Nat— I.. how did you find me?”

Nat rolls her eyes and peeks into the small opening into your apartment, she doesn’t see any movement, she ponders if your boyfriend is even home. You seem so nervous, like you’re about to throw up at any moment. Some sick feeling inside of her likes that, she enjoys seeing you shrink because of her presence, akin to how she felt after that day in the hospital. You’re sweaty, nervous, you feel like you’re about to puke. The gut wrenching anxiety doesn’t leave you at all, you can only stare at her in awe, somewhere inside of you knows she won’t give you a straight answer.

“What? ‘Your boyfriend home, or something?”

She sneers, a toothy smile coming on her face, the dimples that you loved so much adorning her. You can only glimpse away, not wanting to melt at the sight. Nat takes a step towards you, and you don’t make an effort to move. Something comforts you about her presence here, like she is a missing piece to the puzzle you’ve been meaning to solve for over a year. She’s so familiar, unlike your boyfriend. He’s new, not the same as her.

“I— No. I’m alone.”

You stammer, embarrassingly. Nat chuckles lowly, causing you to sink even more into yourself. Her mood slowly changes as she watches you become more nervous, and detached. She softens up, feels bad for dumping herself on your doorstep all of a sudden, it has to be late, at least 2 am in the morning. She reeks of weed, blabbering drunkenly, she drags a hand over her face and averts eye contact.

“Listen— I’m here because of that guy, are you even happy? I mean— A dude? I thought you were into girls.”

She hits a weak point in your heart, and she was dead right with her words. You don’t even like your boyfriend, maybe only the thought of having someone that enjoys you. You purse your lips, trying not to let those pesky tears roll down your cheeks. Nat’s hand rests on your hip, you can only stare at it. She continues when you don’t pull away from her touch. Her other hand travels to your hips as well, pressing you against the door, making it creak slightly open.

“I don’t even know— Nat. I’m gonna be honest with you.”

“It’s okay baby, you remember who can actually make you feel good, right? Let me take care of you..”

You push the door open and drag Nat into your apartment, bringing her into a desperate kiss. She returns it instantly, kicking the door shut with her heavy boot. She paws at your waist like she’s trying to remember how you feel against her hands, that smooth fabric rubbing against her palms encourages her. Your fingers already tangle themselves in that familiar hair texture, the color darker than you recall it being. She moans into your mouth as you pull on her roots, your tongue plunges into her mouth, not bothering to explore, you already know your way around. You guide her towards your couch and fall onto it, taking her down with you. Nat breaks the kiss to catch her breath. She cherishes the sight of you being disheveled, your smeared lipstick that stains your chin now, your eyeliner slightly running down your pink cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.. just how I remember.”

Nat’s voice is husky, you whimper as she bites down on your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. You both missed this, each other’s lips, hands, everything. Your fingers hook under her shirt, she pulls away from you so you can slide it off with ease. She’s wearing a red bra, not the same one, but a lacey one that shaped her chest so well it has you drooling. Nat smirks and unclips her bra, before you can speak she attaches herself back onto your neck. Your grope her, relishing the whimper that vibrates through your neck. She wants to devour you, keep you in her grasp forever. She won’t let you worm out of her life again, she’ll give you a reason to stay and leave that boyfriend of yours.

“Such a pretty girl, I want you all to myself.”

Nat murmurs against your skin as she works your dress down your body. You don’t even have a bra on, small black underwear is all that covers you after she discards your dress somewhere in the room. Her teeth graze your chest while her hands smooth over your now exposed skin, nails digging into the softest parts. She worships your body, she missed how you feel against her palms, how you shiver whenever she caresses you. You realize how much you’ve needed Nat, how your boyfriend couldn’t compare to how she appreciates you as a whole. No boy has made you feel this good, or paid any mind to your pleasure but his own. She rolls your nipple around with her tongue and hikes down your panties, you’re already so wet and she hasn’t even touched near your core. You feel her gasp against your skin as she touches your soaked cunt, she pushes herself up to see you fully. A muttered “fuck” falls out of her lips as she circles your clit with her finger, obsessing over the way you’re already rolling your hips into her touch.

“Shit, you’re so wet.”

She barely speaks over a whisper, you arch your back into her fingers as she pushes them inside of you. Nat’s lips part, she forgot how good you feel around her. Slowly she starts pumping her fingers, moans spill from your mouth shamelessly. She remembers those nights in her hut, her fingers drowning in your pussy, how you’d cover your mouth so nobody could hear you both, she’d whimper like she was actually fucking you. She never got rid of that habit, panting like a dog while she ruins you. She curls her digits in the right spots that make you mewl, how she presses her thumb on your clit makes your toes curl.

“Such a good girl for me, just like that pretty.”

That nickname almost sends you over the edge, your hand wraps around her arm, you almost feel bad for your neighbors, you both have never been this noisy. You missed each other, you want Nat to know how much you’ve been needing her, and she can’t help herself from the noises that come from her mouth. You start approaching your high, that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to burst. She notices instantly, and picks up her pace, rolling her thumb around your clit and pumping in and out of you relentlessly. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around her fingers, stammering out her name in pure bliss. What you don’t expect is her lowering herself down to your sensitive cunt, and licking up the juices, rolling her tongue around your clit instead.

“Wait— Nat.. Not yet—“

“Please, just one more for me, that’s all.”

And you can’t say know to her, all you can do is whimper as she laps your wetness up. It stings, but feels so good. You grind into her mouth, already feeling like you’ll burst again. Nat wastes no time and slides her tongue into your cunt, fucking you with a pace that gradually brings you over the edge. Her nails dig into your thighs, her tongue working on undoing you. You cum instantly, whining from the overstimulation. She cleans you up with her tongue as best as she can, but she stops when your voice starts getting shaky. Nat wipes her mouth while looking at you, tears stinging your eyes. You slowly sit up and bring her into a kiss, it’s hungry, still that same desperation you two had at the beginning. Your fingers graze her jawline in a way that has her melting under your touch.

“God, I missed you.”

You murmur into her lips, your hand putting the right amount of pressure on her back. She pulls away from you and presses her forehead against yours. Memories from the crash flood your mind, but they’re nice ones, the ones that remind you that Nat is someone you can rely on.

“Why don’t we run you a bath?”

“Only if you join me.”

Okay so i’ve been wanting to write for post crash nat for SO LOMG thank you anon🤍🤍🤍 HEARING U OUT ANYDAY

req me!

masterlist

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets imagines #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets imagine #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio imagines #moesthoughts #moeswriting

398 notes · View notes

the-shedevil-writes · 14 days ago

Text

King of Possibilities (Tyler Owens x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Tyler Owens was your best friend once, until he left for college and broke the promise to keep in touch. By the time he tried, your world had already fallen apart, and you weren’t interested in picking up the pieces with him. Years later, fate strands him on your porch with a busted truck and nowhere else to go. WORD COUNT: 5.9k WARNINGS: Childhood friends. Enemies to lovers. Angst (but it gets happy I swear). Emotional hurt/comfort. Confessions. Arguments. Kissing. NOTES: You should give King of Possibilities by Goldie Boutilier a listen :3 MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Tyler Owens had his hands tied. He walked onto the all-too-familiar porch with his hands in his pockets and his tail between his legs. It looked exactly the same as it did all those years ago. The white wooden panels and the porch swing that creaked in the dry wind. The rickety door swung open, and there stood his old friend’s mother. Wrinkles and graying hair had appeared on the woman who treated him like a son growing up, and they suited her perfectly.

“Ms. Shirley, you’re glowing.” He said with that low country accent and charming smirk.

She laughed and slapped her hand against his shoulder. “Tyler. It’s been too long… My, you’ve gotten so big. Come on, now. It’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol out here.”

He chuckled and walked in. Thank god for Southern hospitality. His truck had broken down while passing through his old hometown, and he had nowhere to stay. With his parents having moved to Oklahoma City thanks to his streaming income, he forced himself to buck up and make the phone call. Money was running too tight to book a motel room like everybody else, but he’d never admit that.

Stepping inside, he looked around. The decorations were slightly more modern than they used to be. There were fewer crosses and religious memorabilia than he remembered, and he was sure that the death of her father contributed to that. He had grown so much that the space now felt cramped. It used to look so big to him as a kid.

“Does Y/n know I’m here?” He asked, looking down at the older woman.

She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything. Quickly busying herself with pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge, she let out a quick “Mmmhm.”

He let out a stressed chuckle and shook his head. “I take it she’s not too happy.”

Shirley looked at him with pursed lips and wide eyes. “Well…”

Y/n rode her grey Appaloosa mare, Checkers, down the fields. She told herself that she was making herself useful, making the rounds of the ranch. Scolding the chickens when they’d attempt to peck at the fence and counting cows, making sure none had somehow made it onto the main street. But deep down, she knew she was just distracting herself. All the main chores were already done by this point. There was something… someone who weighed heavily on her mind. She tried to keep her thoughts locked away. But they were like a box of bees, and her mom had just shaken the hell out of it.

When her mother told her that Tyler Owens was staying for a few days until his truck was fixed, she ran to her room and slammed the door like she was that heartbroken teenager again.

She and Tyler were inseparable growing up, and only became closer in high school. She’d go to every one of his rodeos, and he’d stop by and help her out with the ranch. Though ‘help out’ was a strong presumption, they spent most of it running around and laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. Every summer, they were glued at the hip.

So when Tyler told her he was going to college, she didn’t worry. She figured they’d still remain close. Technology was getting better and better. They could text, call, and Skype. Though even then, she was a little teary-eyed, waving him goodbye from her truck as he stood on the steps of the university. It didn’t hit too harshly at first, because she was just so damn proud of him…

But then the texts and calls started getting fewer and fewer. He never had time to Skype. Yet she’d see what he’d post on Facebook and see all the photos of him partying. Riding mechanical bulls instead of real ones. Arms around girls who came and went. She stopped reaching out altogether.

After her father died, Tyler became scorched earth to her. She locked herself up and focused her efforts on the ranch and barrel racing at the rodeos when she could. And when Tyler made a name for himself as the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler, ’ whatever that meant, she blocked all his accounts.

She spread out some feed for the chickens from horseback and steered herself back towards the stable.

That’s when she saw him walking down the back porch and towards her.

Tyler Owens in a white shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat. She hated it. She hated how bulky he had gotten and the facial hair that was groomed on him. She hated how he strode over with a newfound confidence. She hated how he looked good.

“As I live and breathe, someone came crawling back,” Y/n said, looking down at him from her high horse. She did enjoy the fact that she was above him from Checkers’ back.

He didn’t say anything, just looked up at her and took off his hat in almost respect. In almost servitude.

“The Tornado Wrangler finally made time in his packed schedule for little old me.” She said snarkily, “Oh, no. He just needed a favor.”

“You look good, Y/n.”

Rolling her eyes and pretending that it didn’t affect her so much was difficult, but she managed.

“Mama won’t let me make you sleep in the hen house, so you’re sleeping on the couch.” She simply said before turning her horse and riding her into the stable. If it were back then, they could’ve easily shared a bed. Now she’d rather sleep in the hen house herself than share a bed with Tyler Owens.

Once she got under the roof, she climbed down and held onto the lead to guide Checkers into the empty stall. She gently rubbed up and down her muzzle. Checkers was one of the few horses that wasn’t so sensitive to touch, and instead sought it out. It was therapeutic for her. That’s why she never competed with Checkers. She was too special.

Calming down, she didn’t notice Tyler walking in and looking around.

“You renovated the stables.” He exclaimed, startling her.

She turned around with a glare. “Well, without you here to distract me, I started barrel racing. Needed to upgrade.” She looked around at her own handiwork, “So I added the Dutch doors that lead to the pasture and installed the fans. Insulated the roof and walls. Added the ridge vents.”

His brows raised. “You did all this?”

“Hard to believe?” She asked, not even looking at him.

He tentatively followed her as she walked down the stable, checking on each horse. He shook his head. “You never… You never did that sorta thing in high school.”

“Well, that was before Daddy died and before you left.” She said bluntly. Her anger bit into every word.

The silence that followed could kill. It could strangle Tyler Owens till he was nothing but a slab of stone in a graveyard.

“Well… Your mom wanted me to tell you that supper’s gonna be ready soon. And to shower before you sit down at the table.”

Her brows were furrowed as she looked at the horse in front of her, avoiding eye contact with him. “Got it. You can go now.”

With a small defeated huff, he turned around and walked back toward the house. It was then that the heartbreak she had been walling up began to make itself known. She wiped her teary eyes and pretended it was just sweat, just in case Tyler looked back.

After her long, cold shower, she walked out into the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt and gym shorts. The old shirt was a rusty orange with a margarita design and the lyrics to Jimmy Buffett’s ‘Margaritaville.’ On the back in big bold letters was ‘It’s 5’o o'clock somewhere’. She didn’t even remember where she had gotten it.

Yet for some reason, when Tyler saw her from the kitchen table, he smiled knowingly. “I remember that shirt.”

“What about it?” She asked, sitting down across from him, slumped. Why’d their dining table have to be so small? She looked over at her mom, who was putting on oven mitts to grab the slow cooker.

“Play nice, Y/n.” She warned.

Tyler smirked at the interaction. “Used to be mine. Remember?”

She shook her head stubbornly as her mom put the pot roast on a little rubber mat between her and Tyler. She immediately started fixing her plate. Again, not sparing him a passing glance.

“Nope.”

He tilted his head with a look of disbelief and looked over at Shirley and back before going. “We got rained on. We were in town getting seed, and your shirt was white, so I gave you that one to cover yourself up. Walked back shirtless and with chicken feed dripping down my back.”

The memory unfolded before her, and she did remember it now. Freshman year of high school. They didn’t let Tyler into the gas station to grab smokes for his dad. No shirt. No shoes. No service. But he refused to take the shirt back.

She sat silent for a moment as her mom sat down next to her. All the food was placed before them, and even though she had worked up an appetite being outside all day, she suddenly didn’t feel hungry.

“I remember that now.” She admitted softly before grabbing a roll of corn.

“Seems like you don’t wanna remember a lot.” He quirked back, scooping some mashed potatoes onto his plate. Her mom had cooked as if twenty people were coming instead of just Tyler. But between the two of them, they both could eat like dogs.

She squinted her eyes at him. “Only thing I remember is you promising we’ll keep in touch.”

Her mother sighed, “Ya’ll. Let’s keep this civil. Looking at you, Y/n.”

She scoffed with wide eyes. “Mama, am I wrong?” She hated the way she sounded. Tyler being there had aged her back ten years. Even her voice raised in pitch like she was eighteen years old again.

Shirley just shook her head, refusing to comment. After a few more shoveled bites, Y/n got up from the table and cleared her plate quickly. It wasn’t polite. She almost always asked to be excused, but her mother didn’t scold her for that tonight. She clattered the plate into the sink and stormed off.

Tyler looked at Shirley with an ashamed look on his face. The fact that he had hurt her had lingered deep in him for years. He hadn’t meant to. He had been a stupid kid, and found himself swept up in the new adventure of college and making new friends who weren’t the same four people in town. By the time he had thought about reaching out, she had stopped all communication.

“I’m sorry about her, but you gotta understand-” Shirley started.

He shook his head. “No, no… Frankly, I deserve it.” He looked back over at the hallway she stormed down to her bedroom. “She’s still the same spitfire she was back then. Even more so.”

Shirley sighed, “That’s why she’s gonna end up without a husband and forty horses.”

Tyler laughed. “Don’t say that. She’s gonna be just fine. I don’t think there’s a man in town who wouldn’t fall head over heels for her.”

“Until she comes at them with her… fiery personality.” Shirley explained, “We all tried. Tried setting her up on dates and with the other boys in town. But after Ben died, she just chewed them all up and spit them out. Focused on those goddamn horses instead.”

He sat soaking it in. The fact that he wasn’t there when her father passed haunted him. It was during his finals week, and they hadn’t been talking for a while by that point. Sure, he had sent a card, but he was also sure it ended up in the trash.

Shirley saw the solemn look on his face. She reached out and put her hand over his. “Lemme show you something.”

Y/n rolled around in bed. Usually, she’d knock out as soon as she hit the pillow. But the muffled chatter and laughter from the living room got louder and louder. Tyler’s stupid, gruff laugh rang out with her mother's, and it was driving her up the wall.

With a huff, she walked out with her arms crossed and slowly walked over to the living room. Even though she was pissed… she really couldn’t be angry. It was barely nine. So instead, she crept forward, letting curiosity get the better of her.

On the couch sat Tyler and her mom, and a sense of confusion washed over her. She looked and saw a leather-bound album on her mom’s lap. She’d never seen that before.

“Remember that rodeo? You were so upset, but Y/n insisted that ice cream would make you feel better, so she practically dragged the two of us to Sparky’s Parlor ten minutes before closing.” Her mom retold, and as she peered over the couch, she saw the lost picture of her and Tyler eating a banana split. She was mid-laughter as Tyler was mid-bite.

She had thrown that picture out long ago. Actually, as she looked at the album pages, she had thrown out all of those photographs so long ago. They used to hang up around her room, or were in a little folder under her desk. Back when she used to spend all her allowance on point-and-shoot cameras. Her mom had taken a few of them, but it didn’t matter. They were all supposed to be gone.

“Where’d you get those?” Her voice came out small.

Tyler and her mom looked back, surprised by her presence.

“I held onto them. You spent so much money on all those rolls of film, we couldn’t let it go to waste.” Her mom said a little nervous.

But she wasn’t angry. A surprising sense of gratitude fell over her. The memories she had tried so hard to forget were still preserved.

She leaned over onto the couch and placed her head between the two of them. Looking down at the album, she pointed to one of herself wearing a birthday hat, standing awkwardly in front of a frosted cake. Tyler had a grin on his face as he yelled something at her- it was him very enthusiastically singing Happy Birthday.

“Got some use out of all that yelling, huh?” She directed the comment at Tyler.

He chuckled and looked over at her. Their faces were close… But then again, so was her mom’s. “Turns out audiences outside of you like it.”

She shook her head before standing back up. “Put it away, Ma. I look awful in them.” She stated before walking away.

And before she closed the door, she could hear Tyler say, “We’re getting somewhere.”

Seeing Tyler in her kitchen the next morning felt strange. For one, he was up at the crack of dawn, just like she always did. She didn’t let her mom touch an ounce of the farmwork, so that meant waking up early to do the hard jobs before the heat set in.

Secondly, it sent her flashes to her favorite summers, where he was over practically every day. A sense of déjà vu coursed through her.

“Mornin’” Tyler stated holding up a coffee mug as he leaned against the counter like he owned the damn place.

“Morning.” She reluctantly grumbled, opening the cabinet to grab a mug herself, but was interrupted by Tyler sliding over an already steaming cup towards her. She took it. “Thanks.”

The early morning silence was peaceful with the sound of the birds waking up outside. But now there was this tense awkwardness between them, and it was pissing her off.

“Need any help with the chores?” Tyler asked, crossing his arms.

“Been doing them on my own for the past seven years, so no.” She said.

He sighed and took a sip. “You know that the two of us can finish this ranch in half a day. Could do it back then, could probably do it faster now.”

He was right, and she knew it. The day would be done in half the time with somebody else. And especially if that somebody was already well-versed, and probably (most definitely) stronger than her.

She gave him a tense smile. “Well, if you’d like to shovel and scrape the shit out of all the pens-”

“Got it.” He interrupted, and when she was caught off guard, he let out a laugh. “You know that doesn’t bug me. You gotta try harder than that.”

“If you’d like to clean out all the troughs, go right ahead.” She said with a challenging brow. Cleaning out the troughs meant dealing with the great mystery slime of animal saliva and chewed-up food. Sometimes there’d be a dead bird or drowned rat in there on the bad days.

“I’ll do it.” He said.

“Cleaning out all the fly and mouse traps.”

“Consider it done.”

For a moment, she had forgotten everything, and she was simply going back and forth with her best friend. But she didn’t let that nostalgia transfer into a smile on her face. She kept her face cold as stone.

She looked him up and down.

“Good. You’ve got your list for today, then.” She walked out the back porch door.

Tyler was in the middle of changing out a huge fly trap by the stable when he saw her. Y/n rode on an Appaloosa horse that he didn’t recognize. The job was Tyler’s least favorite. He’d rather shovel shit than deal with the heebie jeebies of taking out a wax card of dead flies and mosquito’s. That’s not even to mention the mouse traps. But he was also well aware that it was her least favorite, too. Or at least it had to be. She always squealed at the sight of any bug back then… But it seems she was forced to face it head-on after him.

Being able to watch her was a perk, at least. She looked downright gorgeous on that horse. Her hat shadowed her, and her hair blew back as she strided the horse down towards the chicken coop. She had changed a lot since he had last seen her. He’d see the photos on her mom’s social media, but nothing beat seeing her in real life. Her face calm as she wiped sweat off her brow and took off her flannel, tying it around her waist. This was when she was most beautiful, and he wished that she didn’t look so angry around him.

She threw some feed over the fence, and he could vaguely hear her talking to the chickens as if they were people. It had always made him laugh growing up, and as he let out a soft chuckle, he realized it still did today.

After she finished feeding the chickens, she turned the horse to head in another direction, but saw Tyler. They both froze for a moment, just staring. There was this obvious feeling of missing each other between them, and he wanted to resolve it so badly. It felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A problem he knew that once it was resolved, would fix everything.

He waved, and she took it as a sign to come over. As the horse trotted closer, he got a fluttering feeling in his chest. It was like he’d been noticed by a celebrity. Which was ironic considering that he was somewhat one himself.

Her horse skidded to a halt next to him.

“Having fun, Owens?” She asked with a tight fake smile.

He looked up at her for just a second before hanging his head with a laugh. “So much so, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “When’s that truck gonna be fixed?”

“Two days from now, why?”

An evil smirk lifted her face, and he groaned a little. He’d be doing this collection of the worst possible chores for the next few days, and he knew it.

She shrugged and continued riding on.

Y/n was having too much fun. She got to do all of her favorite parts of ranching while he did all the dirty work. Of course, a part of her felt guilty for making him do that. She wasn’t completely evil, and watching him shovel shit didn’t make her feel as satisfied as she’d hoped it would. But she did hope that it’d at the very least teach him a lesson. Give him a taste of what her life looked and felt like for so many years.

They’d completed everything by mid-afternoon, which was way earlier than she was used to. Usually, she’d walk in just in time to shower for supper at sunset. It was the perfect weather too, with grey skies and rolling clouds that blocked the sun. Tyler would always get so excited about ANY possibility of a storm growing up. So subconsciously, she enjoyed these days too.

She was walking down past the sheep pen and down towards the house when she saw Tyler doing the same thing.

“UH UH, Owens. You’re not walking in my mama’s house trailing in every disgusting substance known to man.” She called after him.

He slowly turned and put his hands on his hips. “Is that not what you do every day?”

A smirk lit up her face again. “I hose off.” And it was true. She’d hose off her hands and her boots before drying them off and walking back in. But she had a better idea for Tyler.

“Really? Show me.” He said, unconvinced. He clearly didn’t believe that she did, and was just using it to get the chance to blast him with water. Which… yes and no.

She gestured for him to come follow her to the side of the house. They walked up to a little tiled-off area with the hose. Towels were already set up on the stool for the following days. There were a few boots that sat left to dry.

Tyler gave a little groan mixed with a laugh. But he just watched as she got the hose and turned on the spout. A gentle stream of water poured through the nozzle.

“It’s just a little water, Tyler.” She said, but a hint of trouble melted over her tone.

He ran his hands down his face and then threw them up. “Okay. Okay.” He sauntered over and reached for the hose, but she pulled it just out of his reach. His brows raised. “Sweetheart, I can hose myself off like a big boy.”

She couldn’t help but widen her eyes in surprise. Jesus Christ. When did Tyler develop a habit of calling people sweetheart? Suddenly, she was wishing he called her that more.

Pulling herself together, she scrunched her brows at him. “I don’t want you wasting water.” It was a flimsy excuse, but they both knew what she wanted to do.

He sighed, knowing she was too stubborn to give it up, and walked towards the tile. His face automatically flinched as he put his hands behind his back.

“STOP ACTING LIKE I’M GONNA SHOOT YOU DOWN.” She couldn’t resist the pure laugh that came out of her. “You’re like a god damn baby.”

“Just do it alread-”

She predictably changed the nozzle to a spray of pressure and shot the water all over him. Cackling as she ran the water up and down him.

“Are you-”

She moved the hose back up to his face, shutting him up. By the time she was done, his flannel and tank top were sticking to his body like wax paper. And his medium wash jeans had become a dark navy blue. She turned the hose off, afraid she had gone a little too far, until he started laughing and running his hand down his face.

He scooped water out from the bridge of his nose. And while he was momentarily blind, she took the second to watch how his shirt had become see-through. Her breath hitched at the sight of his muscles. They both had grown up, and he wasn’t the scrawny boy she used to know. Sure, back in the rodeo days, he had strong biceps and shoulders, but he was so lean. Now he was just… pure muscle.

Tyler suddenly started walking towards her. “Get over here.” He said gruffly with a smile.

She squealed and tried to run away while using the hose to fend him off, but it weighed her down. “NO! NO! TYLER!”

He managed to wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up, grabbing the hose from her hands and dousing her.

“There ya go. Now we’re both clean.” He said through their shared laughter.

They didn’t even notice Shirley watching the commotion from the side window, shaking her head with a nostalgic smile on her face. She turned back in and returned to cook for supper.

She looked up at him as he turned off the hose. They were both completely drenched, their clothes slightly see-through. And Tyler let his arms linger around her waist. Her breath audibly hitched as he looked down at her with those sea green eyes. But after a moment that felt too long, she got her bearings and escaped his grasp. She grabbed one of the towels off the stool and threw it at him.

“I’m showering first.” She said firmly, but her attitude didn’t feel as strong as before. It was like her defenses were slowly being chipped away.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler said, using the towel to dry his hair.

That night, Y/n found herself in her room, having snuck the album her mom had made. She went through the pages, and it felt like someone had broken through her chest and gripped her heart. It hurt. Even though he was in the next room over. It hurt like he was still gone.

She flipped through way too many pictures of Tyler. Him on the walk to school with her. Him with one of her chickens on his shoulder. Him riding her old horse. He was so young in all of them, with a baby face, barely able to grow any facial hair. There wasn’t a single photo where he wasn’t grinning ear to ear.

Those weren’t too bad. The ones that hurt were the ones her mom or somebody else had taken of her and Tyler. Proms and homecomings. They had their separate dates or went as friends, but still always needed a picture together. Birthdays. Trips to the lake. Graduation.

She looked at the last one in the album. It was a picture of her and Tyler on the steps of his University. The last time she had ever properly seen him before this whole incident. Their arms were wrapped around each other. Her eyes were teary, and for the first time, he wasn’t wearing a grin. He had a sad, no-teeth smile on his face as he had his arm around her shoulder.

A tear drop fell onto the plastic sheet of the photos. She didn’t even realize that she had been crying and sniffling like a baby. Stifling a sob, she got up and walked out of her bedroom.

Knowing Tyler was asleep on the couch, she walked briskly past, trying not to wake him. Her hand covered her mouth as she stumbled through the dark to get out through the back porch.

By the time she had shut the sliding door and run towards the stable, she didn’t notice Tyler sitting up, having been awake the whole time.

It was just what she needed to ground herself. Sitting on the floor of the stable stall with Checkers, who lay half asleep, but eager for the random midnight pets. She scratched behind her ears and down her muzzle. Running her fingers through her mane, she was able to finally let out a shaky breath.

The night was quiet and still. Nothing but the hum of the fans and the whirring of the cicadas in the distance. She gently let the back of her head hit the wall.

“Y/n?” A voice called. Shit.

Checkers got up, startled with a whinny. She quickly got up with her and gently put her hands on her muzzle, grounding her again. “Hey hey hey. Shhhhh. Shhhh.” She hushed, calming the horse down.

She didn’t look over at Tyler, standing outside the stall in pajama pants and a grey T-shirt.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook her.” He said, coming closer and leaning on the stall door. He put his forearms on the top and rested his chin on them, watching her. “I don’t recognize this one.”

She swallowed and wiped her swollen eyes with her forearm. “Checkers.” Her voice came out weaker than she had hoped. She just wanted to pretend like everything was normal. “This is Checkers.”

Tyler reached out, and Checkers instantly came over and nodded her head towards his hand. “People lover. I see why you ride this one a lot.” He gently patted the horse's head.

She stayed silent and just watched as he gave the horse some love.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, not looking at her, like she was a scared animal that he needed to gain the trust of.

She coughed. “Nothing. There’s nothing.” She said as she walked out the stall door and down towards another one. The white horse in that one didn’t get up, and instead lay sleeping. It was a common misconception that horses always slept standing up. Only sometimes. And this horse wasn’t as loving as Checkers was.

“You’re in the stable in the middle of the night crying…” He pointed out, and she sniffled, just proving his point.

He pried away from Checkers and meandered towards her at the next stall. Looking down at her, he went to reach out and brush some of her wild hair out of her face, but she turned the other way, dodging him.

“Come on. Y/n, please.”

Her face crumpled up, and her eyes naturally watered to a point where they overflowed. “I hate you. I hate you so much.” Her voice cracked, “You left me. You-you promised we would stay in touch, and you couldn’t-you didn’t even do it when he died.”

His face softened to another level she had never seen before. With big eyes and a soft frown on his face. “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry, it’s not even funny.”

Everything was pouring out of her heart and reaching her face to spill out of her mouth. “I had no one! Dad’s dead, you’re AWOL, mom’s in a catatonic state, and I had a whole ranch to somehow take care of while grieving the one person that came before YOU.” She didn’t mean to yell, but it just naturally came out that way. “You threw me away like I was nothing.”

She didn’t miss the tears in Tyler’s eyes now. He sniffed and pinched his nose to get rid of them.

“You’re not nothing. If I could go back in time, I’d do anything to stop myself from doing that to you. It haunts me. Every day.”

“THEN WHY HAVEN’T YOU REACHED OUT?” She pushed his chest. “HUH? You’re too busy with your whole internet fame? And your groupies and buckle bunnies?” She hated that term. She’d always scold Tyler for using it growing up, yet here she was using it.

Even though she was shoving him and yelling, Tyler didn’t move towards her. He didn’t raise his voice. “Because I knew it was too late. I knew that nothing I did would ever make up for leaving you on your own like that. And while I’m here, I sure am trying. But no matter how many troughs I clean or traps I change, I know it won’t make a dent towards the debt I owe you.”

She hiccuped and put her hand to her chest. Her inhales were sharp, and she looked up at the roof, as if the tears could just go back in her eyes. All the hurt that she had been suppressing had spilled out right in front of her. It was terrifying. There was a silence as she thought about what to say. So Tyler took the chance.

“I don’t want you to ever forgive me for that, okay?” Tyler said, stepping towards her now, and he sighed as she finally didn’t move away.

In the smallest voice possible, like it was a secret she wasn’t supposed to say, she said, “I missed you so much.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she didn’t fight it. Though she didn’t move at first. After a minute, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his trunk of a torso.

Tyler sniffled, tearing up, “I missed you, too.” He murmured into her hair.

Two days later, a rusty pick-up truck drove up and parked on the street beside the house. Tyler and Y/n walked out onto the front porch so slowly, like they were stalling for time. She took in the sight of the pick-up with all the weather gadgets and add-ons to it.

“Wow… Looks like… a hot mess.” She said honestly, which made him laugh.

The last two days were spent working on the farm, and it was like no time had passed. She was still trapping Tyler in milking stations, and he was still trying to sneak hay into her hair any chance he could. Doing the chores together instead of separately made the tasks go by even faster, so that they could spend the rest of the day eating her mom’s cooking and talking on the porch swing as the fireflies whizzed by.

A tan man from the driver's seat of the pick-up truck rolled down the window, “LET’S GO, TYLER! COME ON! GOT SOME CELLS IN THE EAST AND NEW ROCKETS!” His shrill voice called out.

“One second, Boone,” Tyler yelled back with less intensity. He raised a finger to him and turned back to her.

“Sounds exciting.” She said, looking up at him.

He paused just to soak in her face for a moment. “Yeah, well… we’re just going a town over.” There was silence, and he reached out to grab her hand. He squeezed it, and she took in a deep breath. “I’ll be back right after, okay?”

A terrible feeling in her gut returned. The fear that he wouldn’t be back, and that she’d be left in the dust again. And he read her very obvious face with a small nervous smile.

He took his alabaster cowboy hat off his head and placed it on hers. “Take care of this for me. I’ll be back for it.”

It surprised her. She knew he wore that hat all the time. It was practically embedded in his branding for his channels. So the fact that it was now resting on her head gave her a sense of confidence again.

He went to step off the porch, but she gripped his hand before he could take it away. Pulling him towards her, she stood on her toes to connect her mouth with his. Surprised, but very happy, Tyler immediately kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He brought one hand to tilt her hat up and make space for him before returning it to her waist. She hugged him tightly, and he pulled her into his chest, making her back arch into a backwards C. With a small chuckle, she pulled away.

“For good luck.” She shrugged.

“Oh, I’ll be back for more of that, too.” He said, leaning in again.

#twisters #twisters 2024 #twister #tyler owens #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens fanfic #twisters fanfic #glen powell #glen powell fanfic #tyler owens x female! reader

421 notes · View notes