#I love adding such type of angst to characters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 7 months ago

Text

BET

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)

ᯓ★ Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene

ᯓ★ AU: college au

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows he’s going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, which—based on the collection of red solo cups by their feet—might be a while.

They’re all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Bucky’s arm, catching his attention.

“Bet you couldn’t last a month with someone like her,” Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.

Bucky glances up, following Sam’s gaze until he spots you. You’re perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. He’s seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. There’s something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know he’s more the type to go for a party girl—someone loud, someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

“What, the bookworm?” Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends don’t let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.

“You’re always chasing the same type,” Steve chimes in. “What are you afraid of, that she’d actually challenge you?”

Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge that’s always lurking just beneath his smirk.

“All right,” Bucky finally says, shrugging. “I’ll do it. One month.”

His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomach—a feeling he’s not used to. He brushes it off. It’s just a game, a challenge. It’s not like he’s actually going to care.

The next day, you’re tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesn’t match the usual quiet of the space.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.

You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’ve seen him around campus—he’s hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.

“Sure,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. You’re used to people mostly ignoring you here. It’s your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.

“You look like you’re buried in work,” he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. “What’s got you so busy?”

You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. “Just…assignments. Trying to keep up with everything.” You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.

“What’s your major?” he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people don’t bother to ask; they assume or don’t care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, you’re telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.

It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into you—at the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, you’re wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.

And Bucky? He’s surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. There’s a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like he’s someone worth knowing.

He tells himself it’s just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows he’s starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.

It’s been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, he’s found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself it’s harmless—he’s just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows he’s lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.

One night, back at the frat house, he’s lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.

“So, Barnes. How’s it going with the bookworm?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings.”

Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. “It’s going fine. Like I said, a month’s no problem.”

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, you’ve got to take it further.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “Further?” He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Buck. You’ve been hanging out with her, sure, but we’re talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you know—” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Sleep with her,” Sam adds bluntly, laughing. “Seal the deal, and there’s two hundred bucks in it for you.”

Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself it’s just a stupid bet. He’s done things like this before—gotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. He’s Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesn’t do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feel…off.

“Fine,” he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty he’s trying to ignore. “Two hundred bucks. Done.”

The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.

When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. It’s been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since you’ve felt genuinely excited about someone. Bucky’s been different from the start—warm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You’ve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.

After a second, you type back, Yeah, I’d love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.

The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“You look amazing,” he says, his gaze warm. There’s something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldn’t have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.

The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon you’re strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date this nice,” you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.

He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I guess I’ve just never…met anyone like you before.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.

But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what he’s doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He’s never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. “You trust me, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. “Good,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if he’s going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it matters—that he won’t let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows he’s lying to himself.

The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like they’re happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like there’s this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.

Every time you’re with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if he’s sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when he’s not looking—at the way his jaw clenches when he’s lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you can’t quite name.

It’s after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you he’s got some old movies you’ve probably never seen, and, honestly, he’s right—you’d never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but that’s exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon you’re sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.

The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.

“You can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.

Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until you’re tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent that’s becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.

Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more dates—little coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.

One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, he’s stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you can’t help but notice how natural this feels. It’s terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if he’s always been there.

You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.

“You’re terrible,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though you’re laughing too.

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious,” he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “I just…can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. He’s there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. He’s there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he can’t believe his luck.

One night, you’re back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. You’re nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and he’s quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.

“Bucky?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Being with you…it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like he’s savoring every second. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally safe with someone, that this is something real.

But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. He’s never felt this way before—this calm, this…connected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.

He’s supposed to ask for more. That’s what Sam and Steve were expecting, weren’t they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he can’t turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that he’s crossing a line he can’t uncross.

He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he can’t bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe you’ll never have to know.

One evening, as you’re lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft.

He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.

She deserves the truth.

That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that he’s in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much he’s risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but he’s terrified—terrified that this fragile, beautiful thing you’ve built together will shatter, that you’ll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.

In the morning, he makes a decision. He’ll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.

So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft. “It is.”

But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows there’s a chance he’ll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.

For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, you’ll understand.

The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if it’s his own. He knows he should say something—that he needs to say something—but the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever he’s built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.

As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.

Once you’re inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than you’ve ever seen it. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

“I want to,” you say, the words escaping before you can even think. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.

Bucky’s eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s softer than any before. It’s unhurried, tender, as if he’s savoring every second.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.

Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. There’s a gentleness to Bucky’s movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He’s slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.

You nod, feeling breathless but certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feel—safe, wanted, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, you’re exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.

Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

You’re both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something you’ve been holding back, something you hadn’t planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “I…I want you to know that this was my first time.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that he’ll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“Your first?” he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah…I wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like he’s just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, as if he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. “Thank you, Bucky…for making it so special.”

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid to let you go. “I’d do anything to make you feel special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.

But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he’s kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness you’ve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that he’s already crossed a line he can’t uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truth—soon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.

But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.

The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.

He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Morning,” he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.

The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of him—the playful, thoughtful side—is something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.

You’re both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.

It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like you’ve found a place that’s safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.

But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if there’s something he’s not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You don’t press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if you’re seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something you’re not yet ready to confront.

As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. There’s an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isn’t the end.

Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book you’re pretty sure you’ll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. You’re nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.

As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Bucky’s laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voice—Sam’s—cutting through, low and joking.

"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Sam’s voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if he’s talking about something trivial.

You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.

"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, “don’t act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.” You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. “So? How was it?”

Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice casual, light. “It was… good.”

You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet don’t move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.

Steve’s voice joins in, chuckling. “Well, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?”

“No clue,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “And hey, bet’s a bet,” he says, and then there’s a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. “Two hundred dollars, as promised. Can’t say you didn’t earn it, though—you even managed to get her into bed. Didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are!”

Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Bucky’s earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust you’d handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.

Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You don’t let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.

Hours later, you’re back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe there’s an explanation you’re missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Bucky’s voice calling your name softly from the hallway. It’s just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that something’s wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.

When you open it, Bucky’s eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. “Or were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?”

Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell you what? I—I don’t understand.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Don’t play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.”

He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. “Y/N, I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. “So, it’s true, then? All of it? This whole… this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?”

He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. “Y/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasn’t like that, I swear. It started that way, but then… then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we shared—it was real.”

You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. “Real? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought… I thought you cared about me.”

His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“Wanted to tell me?” you interrupt, your voice shaking. “When, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.

“Do you even realize how humiliating this is?” you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I trusted you with something… something I’d never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.”

His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “It was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” you repeat, laughing bitterly. “You lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to… to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. “Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Just stop,” you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make me feel sorry for you when you’re the one who lied.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, just… give me a chance to make it right.”

Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you don’t know if you can ever look at him the same way again.

“I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N… I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that, but it’s the truth.”

You don’t reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.

The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like you’re on autopilot. It’s as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if you’re okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each time—a nod, a small smile, and an assurance that you’re just tired. It’s easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.

Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when he’d whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Bucky isn’t doing any better. In fact, he’s a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptiness—it lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didn’t know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesn’t blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy they’d known for years, looks hollow, as if he’s carrying a weight he can’t shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Bucky’s bed.

Bucky doesn’t react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.

“What’s up, guys?” he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.

“We should be asking you that,” Steve says, his tone softer than usual. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, it’s like… you’re a completely different person.”

At the sound of your name, Bucky’s face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s because I am.”

Sam frowns, studying Bucky’s expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. “Look, man, we didn’t mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared… why didn’t you just tell her the truth from the start?”

Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I was scared, I guess. I knew I’d screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just… couldn’t. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Not stupid, just… a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you’re not the first guy to mess up. You’re just… Bucky, this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s because I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I can’t even fix.”

Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So what are you gonna do about it? You can’t just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to her—and to yourself—to try and make it right.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s empty, hollow. “And how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t deserve another chance.”

Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, “Maybe. But you can’t just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that you’re not just the guy who hurt her, that you’re willing to fight for her. And if she doesn’t take you back… at least you’ll know you tried.”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve it.”

Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. “Look, man, I get that you’re hurting. But don’t you think she’s hurting, too? She’s probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.”

Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows you’re hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didn’t deserve. And knowing that he’s the reason for your pain… it’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that he’s truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. He’s terrified, but he can’t ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesn’t know if you’ll listen, doesn’t know if you’ll even give him a chance. But he has to try—to give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that you’ll give him the chance to show you that he’s not the man who hurt you—that he’s ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.

The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to pull you from your thoughts. You’ve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty that’s almost heartbreaking. He’s gripping a small notebook in his hands—your notebook, the one you left in his room—and his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation you’ve never seen before.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice guarded.

He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. “I, uh… you left this. Thought you might need it.”

You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. “Thanks.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Can we… can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost pleading. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you have every right to hate me,” he starts, his voice barely steady. “I know I messed up in ways I can’t even fix. And I know… I know what I did was horrible. I just—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. When we started this… when we first got close, I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I did.”

You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. “But it was a bet, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You… you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.”

He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. “I know. I won’t make excuses for it—I was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started… I started caring about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. I was terrified that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now, that I’d lose you. I know that doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe… maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.” He looks down, his voice breaking. “But that was stupid. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything he’s saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. “I trusted you, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought what we had was real.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. “It was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that he’s truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, “I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and it’s going to take time for me to get past that.”

He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesn’t look away. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I just want the chance to prove to you that I’m more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we can’t go back, I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you can’t rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, he’ll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. “Maybe we can start as friends. Just… friends. No promises, no expectations. If you’re willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up… then maybe, someday, I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it. I’ll prove to you that I can be better. I’ll prove that I’m worth your trust.”

You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s small and fragile, but it’s enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that he’s serious about making things right.

Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something precious he thought he’d lost forever. It’s in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.

One day, as you’re both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. “I know we’re just friends right now, and I’m okay with that. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if it’s just like this.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “For not giving up. For being patient with me.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lost—a tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person he’s trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know there’s a long road ahead, you’re finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he won’t let you down.

The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. It’s your first time back here since everything happened, and you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels different—Bucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.

Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. He’s proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. He’s become someone you can lean on, someone who’s earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between you—something deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.

When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, They’re harmless.

“Glad you came tonight,” he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. “I was worried you might skip.”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Well, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. It’s the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even better—because you’re finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. He’s attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure you’re comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.

At one point, as you’re talking with a friend, you feel Bucky’s hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. “Want to get some air?”

You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s thought about this moment a thousand times. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N… being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing that’s been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.

“Bucky,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I… I feel the same. It’s been hard, letting go of the past. But I think—no, I know—I’ve forgiven you. You’ve shown me who you really are, and… I like that person.”

His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure you’re truly ready for this.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, “I promise, I’m not going to mess this up again. I want this with you—for real, no games.”

You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, it’s real.

maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol

2K notes · View notes

grandline-fics · 11 months ago

Text

Nightmare Wedding

DESCRIPTION: They have a nightmare that you marry someone else

WARNINGS: slight angst and some insecurities but with comfort and happy endings in all

CHARACTERS: Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Kid, Katakuri | Law, Zoro | Luffy, Usopp

WORDS: 3,014

A/N: I loved this idea and couldn't help but do another. Of course as soon as I posted the last one an idea for Ace finally came to me. Added Ace and Kid for @breadlover6969 and Mihawk, Shanks, and Katakuri (who also won the poll) for @kabloswrld

Hope you all enjoy!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

ACE

Ever since you and Ace became a couple, Ace noticed that he slept amazing when you were beside him. The nights you had to sleep apart however, brought restlessness, sometimes strange dreams that left him feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all, but it was worse when he had to suffer through nightmares. Tonight, he reluctantly went to bed while you had to stay in the infirmary while you recovered from a sickness. It was just a precaution to avoid you infecting the others but Ace needed more convincing than the others. He didn’t care if he got sick and would have risked it but you managed to talk him around, promising it would be just one night and it would make you feel better to know he was safe and healthy. Reluctantly he climbed into the bed and pouted at your empty side until his eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed him.

“Ace how do I look?” You asked him in his dream and he broke out into an overwhelmed smile, taking in your breathtaking appearance. You were all but glowing, dressed for a wedding; your wedding. Slowly he reached out to cup your face before taking your hand to playfully twirl you and take in your outfit with growing appreciation. Unable to hold back, he pulled you into a tight hug. “You look amazing, you always do.” He whispered, pulling back to see your eyes light with joy as you you looked down at your outfit, smoothing the fabric into place.

“I’m glad. I hope Marco thinks so too.” You beamed up at him, unaware of Ace’s expression dropping into one of confused dread. Marco? What did Marco have to do with it all? He quickly snapped out of his thoughts when you quickly took his hands into yours and leaned in with an excited smile. “Ace, will you walk me down the aisle? It’d mean so much to me!”

“B-but…aren’t you going to marry me?” Ace asked with a frown, his heart sinking when you tilted your head in confusion before laughing.

“Ace, don’t be silly!” You grinned, giving him a playful shove. “You know I’m marrying Marco, come on I can’t be late!” Before he could react, you grabbed his wrist and hurried down a corridor that seemed unending. Finally the corridor shifted to reveal a filled room, your hand was no longer in his and you stood with Marco at the altar.

His stomach lurched and Ace let out a yelp as he landed on the floor of his room, tangled in the bedsheet and head swimming as he tried to let his brain catch up with the fact he was awake and what he’d just witnessed was a horrible dream. Scrambling to his feet, Ace bolted out of the room and hurried to the infirmary, hearing the sound of you coughing when he neared the door. Quietly he entered and walked quietly to your bedside. “Ace? You should be in bed.” You told him weakly.

“No, I should never have let you talk me into leaving you.” Ace said as he climbed into the bed with you, pulling you close to let you rest against him. His fingers lightly moved over your back, soothing your aching body while also finding your presence soothing him from the nightmare he’d had. “We’re a team right? Through thick and thin…sickness and in health.”

“Aren’t those wedding vows?”

“Are they?” Ace asked innocently but you could hear his heart pick up speed slightly. “Must have been a coincidence…”

SHANKS

Before meeting you, Shanks never saw himself as the settling down type. He was more than content to live his days exploring and enjoying himself with a lover in every island should the mood take him. Then you came along and changed his life in every wonderful way imaginable. You were the adventure he’d been missing and hadn’t even known he was searching for. He couldn’t imagine ever being apart from you. You might have fallen for his charm and flirtatious smile first but he fell for your warmth and beautiful soul so much harder.

So when he dreamt of himself standing at the front of an altar, he knew you would be the only other possible person his subconscious would conjure to join him. Shanks felt excitement gather in his chest and then in a blink he saw Beckman appear beside him. “This is a big thing, Captain. You sure you can go through with this?” His right-hand man asked with a grin before continuing. “I mean you’ve never preformed a wedding ceremony before, will you be able to handle it?”

Shanks felt his excitement fizzle out and it was quickly replaced with confusion and apprehension. Yes, as Captain he would be the one to marry members of his crew but he couldn’t possibly be the one to get married and preform the ceremony at the same time. It didn’t make sense and as much as he wanted to know, he dreaded what the explanation would be because he already knew it wasn’t going to be something he’d like. “Benn! Shanks!”

Both heads turned and Shanks’ chest felt like it was going to explode with adoration and pride as he saw you hurry to them. He waited for your hands to reach for him but instead you merely smiled at him and hurried to Beckman’s side, eagerly letting his arms wrap around you and hold you close. “Sorry I’m late but we can start now.” You beamed, your gaze settling on Shanks’ face expectantly. “Whenever you’re ready Captain, I can’t wait to marry this man!”

With a jolt and gasp, Shanks woke to the calm, dark silence using the sound of the gentle waves hitting the side of the Red Force to help calm his breathing. He glanced to down to see you curled up on your side, your back against him and your arms loosely but just as possessively wrapped around his arm. Shanks let out a small huff as he silently laughed at his stupid mind for conjuring such a ridiculous scenario. Rolling onto his side, Shanks pressed a kiss against your temple, stilling when you began to shift. You turned as you began to wake, curling into his chest and let out a sleepy smile when his now freed arm tightened around you, keeping you close. “Everything okay?” You mumbled.

“Never better.” Shanks affirmed with a smile, pressing another kiss against your cheek. As much as he knew it was a ridiculous dream and that things between you both were beyond amazing, Shanks considered that maybe he was worried in some part that someone may take you from him someday. “Promise me you won’t marry Beck, okay?”

“Why, you wanna marry him?” Even half-asleep you were still able to make a joke and help your lover relax.

“The only one I want to be committed to is you.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

MIHAWK

“Clown, what is the meaning for all of this…fanfare?” Mihawk asked, looking around the extensibly decorated circus tent. Brightly coloured ribbons adorned the ceiling, flowers were displayed in grand, flashy, and quite simply ostentatious arrangements that just screamed ‘Buggy the Clown.’ None of it was to Mihawk’s taste but it was clear the clown was up to something. The figurehead of Cross Guild spun around, dressing in a bright suit and his painted smile, spread wide in triumph.

“Mihawk! So glad you’ve arrived. We were worried you were going to miss the festivities. They’ll be writing about this in the papers for weeks.” Buggy declared with a laugh, allowing his hands to detach from his arms to gesture widely as confetti seemed to rain down from nowhere. Mihawk’s eye twitched at the useless theatrics, he’d asked a question and wanted an actual answer. Thankfully he didn’t need to repeat himself because Buggy cleared his throat and stepped to the side to show the altar Mihawk could have sworn wasn’t there before. “It’s my wedding obviously.”

A wedding? This was the first Mihawk heard about it. As far as he knew, Buggy hadn’t had a serious relationship in a long time, certainly not serious enough to warrant a wedding. So who was the clown’s secret betrothed? The answer came instantly when he heard footsteps behind him. Mihawk turned and did a double take when he saw it was you. The look in your eyes was filled with so much excitement and joy they practically sparkled. He began to reach out for you but you slipped past him and continued with conviction until you were proudly beside Buggy. Disbelief gripped Mihawk at the scene in front of him. No, this was impossible. Letting his instincts take hold, he reached for Yoru and charged for Buggy.

“Mihawk, no!” You pleaded, stepping in front and stopping his attack mid-swing with just your voice. “Please it’s my wedding day. Promise there’ll be no fighting. For me okay?” Mihawk snapped awake immediately and let out a sigh of relief to see he was in his own quarters and not a garish decoration in sight. Despite having slept, the nightmare he was forced to endure had left him exhausted. Part of him was reluctant to try and fall back to sleep out of worry of what other hellish thoughts his mind would conjure for him.

With a sigh he reached out your side of the bed and only now he noticed it was empty. Yet it was still warm, you’d only just risen but it was still late at night. Just as he was about to rise and search for you, the door opened and you silently crept in, pausing to see Mihawk was awake and watching you. Now seeing you had no need to be stealthy you smiled and walked back towards the bed. “I was getting a drink of water. Did I wake you?”

“No, love.” Mihawk answered, holding out his arms to pull you close against him, his eyes closing when your fingers slipped into his hair. “Had an awful dream you married the clown and wouldn’t let me cut him to pieces for it.”

“How strange…” You mused with a yawn. “Although I’m not opposed to the idea, truth be told.”

“Marrying the clown?” Mihawk leaned back to look at you, unable to hide his disgust as the images from his dream came flooding back.

“No!” You laughed pressing a kiss against his cheek. “Marrying you. Although people consider us married anyway.” Mihawk chuckled, it was true. Mihawk supposed now that it had been properly brought up, it was worth considering to finally propose. His golden eyes observed you carefully and saw your eyes were growing heavy. That was a conversation best saved for the morning.

KID

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Kid shouted as he looked at you standing hand in hand with none other than Strawhat Luffy, both of you dressed very clearly for a wedding. At his outburst you both turned to look at him in shared confusion. “Him? You’re seriously going to marry him! He’s a moron!”

“Only sometimes.” You shrugged before smiling dreamily at the Strawhat pirate. “He’s also super strong, and funny, and he’s King of the Pirates now so-”

“What? No he’s not!” Kid argued angrily trying to charge forward but every step he took kept him firmly on the same spot. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be happening. You were with him! You had no interest in the pipsqueak Captain of the Strawhats like that. You weren’t as shallow to only be with something because of their title, you weren’t like that. You saw the good in people, you’d seen the good in him and you loved him. Of that much Kid was certain of. This just had to be some awful dream. He just needed to wake up and everything would be okay.

“Kid!” Kid jolted upright with a yell meeting your bewildered gaze. “What is it? You were calling my name over and over. Are you okay?” You hesitated from touching him as out of fear he was still clinging to the nightmare he was waking from, not wanting to overwhelm him but you had to speak to him, to reassure him your were here. You watched as Kid steadied his breathing and reached out towards you with his good arm. Quickly you took his hand into both of yours and guided his fingers to rest against your collarbone so he could feel your steady heartbeat under your skin and feel the rise and fall of your chest, hoping he would copy the steadied breaths and calm. “I’m here, we’re safe in our room. What do you need?”

“Kill Strawhat.” Kid ground out tightly as he calmed, his fingers flexing around yours just a little tighter to ground him in the reality. Finally he let out a long, heavy sigh and shook his head. “Nah, he’s not worth my time. Just need you babe.” You let out a sigh of your own, soft and relieved to hear him speak and inched closer, smiling when his hand moved up to curl behind your neck and thread into your hair, pulling you in for a soft and gentle kiss. Parting he lay his forehead against yours, finding his ability to be vulnerable around you to be proof of the love you both shared.

“Promise me, even if that little runt becomes King of the Pirates and asks you to marry him, you’ll say no.”

“Kid, you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You reassured him softly. “Don’t care about titles or any of that stuff but if you want to give me a ring and let me call you husband if it makes you feel better we can do that?”

“Did you just half-ass a proposal to me?” Kid asked with a grin, all worries from his dream vanishing instantly.

“Not at all, Captain. Was just letting you know you can half-ass propose to me if you want.” With a laugh and a playful shove, Kid considered taking you up on the offer but now he had to wait for a while so that when he did propose, it would seem like it was all his idea.

KATAKURI

Another tea-party, another celebration filled with people and a feast of the finest food imaginable. Katakuri stood firmly in place, watching all of the guests and his family occupy the space, prepared for anything to happen. Like everything else, nothing would escape his sight and nothing would ruin his mother’s carefully planned party, he always made sure of that. Across the large garden he caught sight of the extravagant mountain-sized wedding cake and now he felt confused, he hadn’t known this was a wedding. Curiously he looked around, searching for his siblings to spot who would be the bride or groom. But then that thought went out of his head when he saw you of all people standing at the altar at the top of the cake.

His heart all but skipped when he saw you but that led him to become even more confused. If you were up there and waiting to get married, why was he all the way down here and standing watch? He was madly in love with you and you loved him, so why were you both apart? Then you turned to face someone who was on top of the cake with you. Katakuri watched in dismay to see his brother Perospero take your hand in his and grin at you. Behind his thick layers of his scarf wound around the lower half of his face, Katakuri’s lips curled in a tight snarl and he gripped his arms tightly to control the mounting anger. Why was this happening?

From behind him he heard his mother’s loud laughter, delighted by the ceremony taking place on the cake she couldn’t wait to devour. Katakuri lowered his gaze and took a deep breath, of course. Big Mom did enjoy arranging marriages for her children and this was clearly one of her arrangements but he couldn’t help but feel the pain of how you’d been taken from him and he couldn’t do anything to intervene. Worse still, you didn’t even look like you wanted him to be in Prosperous place.

Katakuri woke instantly, his eyes snapping open and his mind clearing just as fast. As though sensing the change in his body, you stirred from your comfortable place on his chest. As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned, Katakuri’s hand fell over your back, making sure to keep you comfortable knowing that your mind was still hazy and body was still heavy as it clung to the need for sleep. If he reassured you all was well quickly, you’d fall back into your own pleasant dreams in no time. “Kata…what’s the matter?” You mumbled, managing to crack your eyes open slightly to look at him.

“Just a bad dream. I’m fine now.” Katakuri informed you simply, never needing to lie to you.

“Hm, what kind of dream?” You asked, absently running your fingers over his chest as you listened to his steady heartbeat that always lulled you to sleep.

“Dreamt mother had arranged for you to marry Perospero.” He explained, rubbing your back in response to your soothing touches. “I could only stand by and watch.”

“Sorry you had to dream such a thing but don’t worry that won’t happen.”

“If mother demanded it, I couldn’t fight against her wishes.” Katakuri mumbled, feeling his own mind grow hazy once more as your radiating warmth was coaxing him to sleep. He blinked when you abruptly pushed yourself up to frown at him in the dark. “What?”

“Katakuri…we’re already married.” You reminded him, lifting your hand to show the band of metal on your finger glinting in the moonlight. With a tired, amused huff at your husbands momentary lapse in memory you flopped back down onto your husband’s chest.

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ama3003 · 1 month ago

Note

hi! is there any way you can write a pt 2 of a pawn once more? maybe turn it into a series? i just read it and LOVED it, your writing is beautiful!

Ask and you shall receive!!!!!

A Pawn Once More (2)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're trying to figure out if you should listen to your heart or follow your head.

Part 1: Here

Part 3: Here

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

I honestly wasn’t expecting this to get so much love — thank you all so much! I've seen a lot of people asking for it to become a series, and the truth is, I actually started this one-shot right in the middle of everything. There’s so much more I can write — backstory, missing context, and I could even take it all the way through Mockingjay Part 2 and beyond.

Let me know what you want to see, and I’ll gladly make it happen!

My inbox is always open and y'all I love your comments! Soooo please comment!!!!!!

You couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t just the bodysuit—though it clung too tightly to your ribs—but the panic.

The cold, creeping panic of being back. The fear you thought you'd buried, the ghosts you thought you'd left behind—they were all clawing their way back to the surface.

How unlucky were you, really? To be given a second round of memories. A cruel encore.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe." The words barely made it past your lips, more breath than voice, a desperate mantra as you stepped into the Chariot Staging Area.

You just needed to find Haymitch.

If you could hear his voice, meet his eyes, feel his presence—maybe then the terror would loosen its grip. Maybe then you could breathe.

“You look stunning!” your stylist chirped, smoothing your hair and flicking back a few stubborn flyaways. Her hands were quick, practiced, and utterly unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You were dressed in a sleek black bodysuit, tailored like a second skin. Woven into the fabric were delicate fiber-optic threads that pulsed in slow, elegant waves, mimicking lightning bolts across your body. A walking storm.

“This beautiful number responds to movement,” she said proudly. “The lights will shift and pulse with every gesture. I’ll be operating the pattern controls—you just need to wave and look pretty.”

You nodded absently, your attention already drifting, eyes scanning the room like sonar.

You needed to find him.

“Little bird looking for me?” You turned, and there he was—Gloss, standing with that signature smirk, arms crossed like he owned the room.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, eyeing the suit with an appreciative nod. “I swear, you’ve got enough power in you to light up all of Panem.”

A genuine laugh escaped you, small but real, and you stepped forward to pull him into a hug. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” you said, voice lighter. “But it’s good to see you, Glossy. Where’s Cash?”

“Here I am!” a familiar voice called.

You turned to see Cash striding over, flanked by Enobaria and Brutus. A wave of warmth surged through your chest. You moved quickly, gathering them all into a hug.

These weren’t just allies. These were your people. Friends who understood the weight behind your eyes. The ache in your chest. The blood on your hands. Because they were the exact same way. As broken as you were.

Once, when you were young, it seemed impossible to be asked to kill strangers. And now? Now you were being asked to kill your friends.

“How are you all?” you asked, voice soft. “I’m sorry I missed the last hangout. I had food poisoning. And I’m even sorrier that this is how we’re seeing each other again.”

You gave them a sad smile. The kind that meant more than words ever could.

“This was definitely a turn of events,” Enobaria muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Never thought I’d have to set foot back here as a tribute,” Cash added, shaking her head.

Everyone nodded grimly. You all had the same unspoken thought: peace was promised. And then peace was stolen.

Brutus looked across the room, tipping his chin toward the group. “So? Should we expect you and Mason to join us?” You raised an eyebrow. He went on.“I doubt we’ll offer that to District 4. I love Mags, but this isn’t about friendship. It’s about survival. Or are you planning to side with the newbies for your husband’s sake?”

You met his gaze, firm and unflinching. “You already know the answer to that, Brutus. Those kids? They’re basically his. Which means… they’re mine, too.”

Enobaria let out a slow sigh, stepping closer. “Just don’t put their lives above your own. And don’t forget about Mason. You have to think about him. Plust those kids…” Her next words hit harder than you were ready for. “--they’re the reason we’re here. If just one of them had died... we wouldn’t be back in this arena and we all know it. And look at us we’re stuck here once again and now we have to kill each other.”

The silence was immediate and suffocating.

No one spoke.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

It was the truth everyone avoided speaking out loud—but now that it hung in the air, you all had to face it.

Bitterness curled in your stomach, uninvited but undeniable. You hated feeling it. Hated that it made sense.

“Hey,” Cash cut in sharply, eyes narrowing at Enobaria. “Stop. Whatever happens, happens. We keep it fast. We keep it painless. Right?”

Everyone nodded. Even Enobaria.

Then Cash turned to you, her voice lowering.

“I would really love for District 5 to join us,” she said. “We love you. And we love Mason. But I get it. You’re looking out for your husband. That’s not cowardice—that’s loyalty. It’s love. Just… if anything changes, you’re always welcome here.”

She gave you a tight hug and stepped away. Gloss winked and followed. Enobaria gave you a rare side hug. Brutus patted your shoulder, rough and sincere, before the group slipped into the crowd.

And then you were alone again. Not alone in the room—but alone in the way that mattered.

Your eyes scanned once more, heart pounding harder now.

For him.

And then you saw her—Katniss. Standing with Peeta. Not speaking. Not blinking. Just... watching.

You hadn’t spoken yet. You and Haymitch had always kept your relationship quiet, tucked away where the Capitol couldn't twist it. Mentors by day. Lovers by night. The other victors knew. Your families knew. But to the Capitol?

It had to stay hidden.

Some things were too sacred to put on display.

Last night had nearly shattered that wall. You’d broken down behind a closed door, only to feel their eyes on you through the crack—Katniss, Peeta, and even Effie.

But Haymitch had pulled you away, shielding you from their stares. From their pity.

And now, Katniss was watching again.

You met her gaze, steady and calm, and offered a soft smile. A small nod.

She mattered. They both did.

You needed her to trust you.

Because Haymitch did. And you saw it—how he cared for them. The soft way he spoke to them. The cracks in his armor, carefully hidden but real. He was letting himself feel again.

He was learning to love. Openly. Fiercely. Just like you had always wished he would. And because of that, you would do whatever it took to protect them. By your life… or by your death.

Katniss gave you the smallest of nods. Then turned away.

You exhaled—slowly, shakily.

A small victory.

Maybe the only kind left.

A warm hand caught your arm. Mason.

“You ready for this?” he asked, helping you up into the carriage.

You nodded. “Smile and wave,” you said softly.

The chariots began to roll and the sound hit like thunder. A roar of applause, cheers, screams. Your lungs tightened. The noise pressed in from every side. Your hands trembled. Sweat gathered along your brow. You felt like you were drowning in the sound.

Mason’s grip on your hand tightened. He could feel your fear. But he wasn’t the one you needed.

You needed Haymitch.

His voice. His eyes. His strength.

You scanned the audience, heart hammering wildly. Too many faces. Too much light. Too much noise.

And then—there.

You found him.

He stood behind the others, half-hidden, quiet as always. But his eyes were on you.

Only you.

You felt your shoulders drop. Your breath returned. You smiled softly

And he winked.

Just like that, the panic loosened. The thunder of the Capitol became background noise. The trembling in your fingers eased.

You could do this.

You could finish the parade.

Because he saw you. Because he was there.

And that was enough.

*******

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror. You always had. Especially after the Games.

Back then, at sixteen, you’d stare at your reflection and search for something—someone—you recognized. But all you ever saw were the eyes of the people you killed, their final moments etched behind your own.

You didn’t see a girl. You didn’t see a victor. You saw a murderer.

And now, nearly a decade later, here you were—twenty-five years old, staring into the same damn mirror, in the same damn room, waiting to face the same horrors.

Except this time, you weren’t naïve enough to believe you’d make it out.

You knew the moment you volunteered.

This was your end.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts. “Darling, we need to go,” Mason’s voice called gently from the hall. “We need all the training we can get.”

You looked at yourself one last time.

A murderer. A lunatic. A dead man walking.

You blinked away the tears, jaw tightening. Then you tied your ponytail higher—tighter—like it might hold you together a little longer.

You stepped out to meet Mason.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with that familiar worry. He always worried. Especially about you. You were the little sister he never had—and now the two of you were walking into hell all over again.

“Well enough,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “But it’s fine.”

He didn’t believe you. But he nodded.

You were grateful, at least, that you’d never really stopped training after your Games. You were constantly on edge, and staying active had become your only way to keep the nightmares at bay. The gym had always felt more familiar than your own home.

The Training Center was exactly how you remembered it: the scent of metal, sweat, and Capitol sterilization. Clean and gleaming, like death dressed up in a ballgown. Everything here looked expensive. Perfect. Soulless.

You and Mason stood shoulder to shoulder on the rising platform. The doors opened, revealing the training floor—wide, cold, and humming with tension.

Tributes filled the space, moving like restless ghosts. Silent, watchful, already assessing one another like it was the arena.

You tensed immediately. The smell. The sound. The weight in the air. It all pulled you backward, to the first time. The fear. The blood. The moment everything changed.

You scanned the floor, searching for him. For Haymitch.

But he wasn’t here.

Mason nudged you gently. “He’s probably hungover. He’ll be down in a minute.”

You nodded, but your mind was still spinning. You didn’t want to be here. Not really. You didn’t want to spar or strategize or throw knives at holograms. You wanted to find Haymitch. You wanted to hold his hand and talk about nothing. You wanted to remember what it felt like to be alive before the arena took everything again.

But the odds were never in your favor.

“I say we stick with the Careers,” Mason murmured, arms crossed over his chest as he nodded toward the familiar pack from Districts 1, 2, and 4. “They’ve got numbers. They’re predictable. We know how they move, how they think. We get in, stay close, bail when it gets ugly. And hey—if we do die, at least it'll be quick and painless.”

You didn’t respond immediately.

Your eyes drifted across the floor, landing on Katniss and Peeta as they entered the room. Their posture was stiff. Guarded. Haymitch still nowhere in sight.

You sighed. “We can’t.”

Mason’s brow furrowed. “We can’t what?”

“We can’t team up with the Careers.”

You turned to him fully, voice steady, even as your heart pounded. “We need to stick with District 12. With them.”

He stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Are you serious? Y/N, come on. They’re kids. They won out of dumb luck.”

You met his stare. “We all won out of luck.”

“You know what I mean.” He stepped closer, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Everyone here won. They’re strong. Dangerous. But you want to team up with the wide-eyed girl and her boy toy? Compared to the Careers? Darling, please.”

“I’m not asking you,” you said quietly. The edge in your voice cut sharper than you meant it to. “I’m telling you. I’m staying with them. You can make your own call.”

There was a pause. Not anger—just tension. Thick with history. With grief.

Mason’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t like last time, Y/N. This isn’t your Games. This isn’t about heart or honor or—whatever the hell you and Haymitch have going on now. This is survival.”

You looked him straight in the eye. “Exactly. And it’s their survival I’m fighting for.”

His voice dropped. “And what about you?”

You hesitated, but he caught it. Your silence was louder than any answer.

“Look,” you began, softer now, “I’m not asking you to follow me—”

But he cut you off, stepping closer.

“You don’t have to! We’re partners. I’m sticking by you. I always have.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I just want you to think. Really think, before you throw yourself into a losing bet. There’s a smarter play here. You know that.”

“I do,” you said. “But sometimes the smart play isn’t the right one.”

He exhaled harshly and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You want to help Haymitch. I get that. I do. But we both know it was luck that those two made it out. Pure, stupid luck. But you. You can win. You can make it back to your family. I’ll help you get there.”

You were about to say something to Mason—something half-formed and already losing shape in your mouth—when you heard his voice.

“Y/N! Mason!”

Your head turned faster than your heart could catch up. And there he was.

Your husband.

That familiar flutter of your heart. Like it always did. You hadn’t seen him in a day? But even now, with him just a few feet away, it felt like a lifetime had passed. You missed him deeply.

Trailing behind him were Katniss and Peeta.

“I want to formally introduce you to my victors,” Haymitch said, stopping in front of you. “Katniss and Peeta. Guys, this is Y/N and Mason. District 5.”

“Hey,” Mason said, flashing that strained, too-polished smile he always wore around new people. He gave your shoulder a quick pat. “I’m gonna go see what Gloss and Brutus are up to. Grab me when you’re done.”

Then he leaned in, low enough for only you to hear. “Please… think about what I said.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He gave you a look—worried, conflicted—and walked off.

You turned back to the trio.“Sorry about him,” you said with a soft exhale. “He’s… under pressure…but aren’t we all?”

Your gaze lingered on Haymitch for half a second longer than it should’ve. You didn’t need to explain more. He already knew.

Then you looked at Katniss and Peeta, offered a small smile, and reached out your hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you both. What you did—how you handled everything—it was impressive.”

Peeta was the first to move. His handshake was firm, warm. His eyes kind. “It’s good to meet you. We, uh… we watched your Games last night.” He hesitated, then smiled a little. “You were incredible. And also… slightly terrifying.”

You actually laughed. “Don’t worry,” you said. “If things go well, you won’t have to be scared of me.”

Haymitch cleared his throat, arms crossed, already watching the storm gather in Katniss’s face. “I was telling them you and Mason would be good allies. They seemed open to it.”

Katniss turned sharply toward him. “No, we didn’t.”

You blinked, trying to keep your expression neutral, but her words stung.

She folded her arms, looking you up and down like she was trying to see beneath your skin. “How are we supposed to trust you if you’re still with him? He clearly wants nothing to do with us.”

Your voice was quiet but steady. “I can handle Mason. He’ll follow my lead. He won’t be a threat.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, turning away, “I don’t trust you either.” And just like that, she was gone. Peeta followed, his face apologetic but silent.

You stood there for a beat too long, your hand still halfway raised before you let it fall.

Haymitch ran a hand down his face. “She’s scared,” he muttered. “She’s trying to protect him. She’s paranoid—on edge.”

You shook your head, arms wrapping around your chest like armor. “I get it. I really do. But if she won’t trust me, Mason’s going to dig in even harder. He’s already eyeing the Careers, and they really want us. They’re not taking District 4.”

Haymitch glanced toward where Mason was sparring with Brutus, the clang of metal echoing through the air like thunder. He winced.

“You thinking of going with them?”

You turned back to him slowly, locking eyes. “You really asking me that?”

Silence.

“I’m here,” you said. “With Twelve. With you. That’s not changing.”

He nodded, but you could see it—the guilt. The weight of what he was asking from you. Of what he couldn’t promise in return.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said finally. “I’ll get her to see reason. But you’ve gotta keep Mason from jumping ship. We don’t win this if he flips.”

You followed his gaze. Mason was grinning now, laughing at something Brutus said. “He can go if he wants,” you said quietly. “I told him. But my alliance is here. I made that choice.”

For you. You didn’t say it out loud. But Haymitch knew.

The noise of training continued around you—grunts, shouts, weapons clashing—but for a second, it all felt muffled. The pressure building behind your ribs was harder to ignore by the minute.

You looked at Haymitch again and tried not to let the fear show. But he saw it. He always saw it.

And that was part of what made this so unbearable.

“How are you feeling?” He asks the question softly, like it’s the only one that matters. You know his eyes are tracing the lines of your face, trying to read the answer that you’re not saying out loud. The panic attack you’d had with him still lingers in his mind — a tightness in his chest he can’t shake. He’s scared, just like you are. The separation, even this small distance between you, feels like a raw wound. Every second without you feels like it’s eating at him from the inside out.

You shrug, doing your best to sound nonchalant. “I’m fine enough. Haven’t had another panic attack... yet. But it gets close sometimes.” You try to offer a half-smile, but it’s hollow. You can feel it — the weight of everything about to happen. And it’s suffocating.

His fingers twitch, almost as if he’s reaching for you before realizing he can’t. The frustration is written all over him. He needs to touch you. Needs to hold you, but everything feels like it’s out of his reach.

“You’ve only got a few days left until—” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. You both know what’s coming. The suffocating fear. The arena. The uncertainty. But for a second, you don’t want to hear it. Not from him.

“I walk into my death?” You let out a shaky laugh, trying to break the tension with humor that doesn’t quite land. “I promise to make it as epic as possible.”

You turn to look at him, but his eyes are hard, like he’s trying to hold it all together, and he doesn’t like what you’re saying.

“What?” you ask, but you already know.

“Don’t say that.” His voice is low, urgent. His brow furrows as he steps closer, his gaze sharp. “Never say that.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, a dull pain spreading through you. “I’m sorry.” The words fall out before you can stop them, but it feels too late to take them back.

“I need you out of that arena.” His voice is raw, like it’s the one thing he can cling to. “I don’t know what I’d do if you don’t.”

You know that’s the truth. You can see it in his eyes, that quiet desperation. He’s already lost so much. He can’t lose you too. But you’re not sure how to make him understand that you’ve already made peace with the reality.

You turn your body toward him, not daring to reach out because of the eyes on you both. But this — this moment — this conversation, it’s just between the two of you. You need him to see you, to know you’re still there, even when it feels like everything is about to come crashing down.

“Haymitch,” your voice is softer now, the lump in your throat growing. “We’re going to be fine. No matter what happens, okay? In sickness and in health. In better or for worse. Death won’t do us part.” Your breath hitches, and you try to hold back the tears, but they spill anyway. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

There’s a tremor in his eyes, like he’s holding something back. But it’s his voice that cracks this time, just a little. “And I love you,” he says, his words lingering between you both. “Which is why I don’t like that you sound so defeated.” His voice is a whisper now, almost lost in the space between you.

It’s true. He’s only seen you three times. And all those times, you’ve looked at him like you’ve already accepted your fate. And that’s the part he can’t handle. The part that tears at him in a way he’ll never be able to explain.

“It’s not defeat.” Your voice is stronger now, though it still trembles. “I’ve accepted it. I won’t be as lucky as I was the first time around. And honestly, I don’t think I want to be. Not with them.” You gesture to the others around you — the tributes who would be in the arena with you. “And definitely not if it’s against your kids.”

He bristles at the mention of them, his expression hardening in that way you’ve come to know well. “They’re not my kids.” His tone is sharp, defensive.

You roll your eyes, though the sadness creeps back in. “You’re letting them into your heart, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” You smile, but it’s bittersweet. “It’s such an honor seeing the light shine back into your eyes.”

His gaze softens, but his voice drops, rough and honest. “I’ve had light from the moment we kissed. You are my light. And that’s why I need you to stop talking like you’ve already lost.” He steps closer, his hand hovering like he wants to touch you but is afraid to. His breath is ragged. “The Abernathy’s don’t give up.” He’s trying, trying so hard to convince you both. But the truth is, you’ve already decided.

“They don’t.” You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And that’s why, whatever happens, I’m going to need you to remember that.”

How could you still try to take care of him when you were the one who needed the comfort? You were supposed to be the one being held, not the other way around. But he was still trying to do it — trying to take care of you in whatever broken way he could.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says, his eyes burning with determination. “Trust me, okay? I’ll figure something out. And both you and the kids... you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” He reaches for your hand quickly, squeezing it tight. You can feel the heat of his palm, the raw, frantic pulse beneath his skin. His eyes meet yours for just a second, and he gives you a wink, a shaky attempt at something like normal. “Now, I have to go find where that girl ran off to. I swear, she’s becoming more of a pain in my ass this time around. And Peeta’s following her like a lost puppy.”

You chuckle softly, the sound breaking the tension between you both. “But you love them.” You smile up at him.

He shakes his head, his smile small but real. “But I love you more.”

And in that moment, you know he means it. Even if you’re both standing on the edge of an abyss. Even if you don’t know how you’ll survive the next few days, or if you’ll survive at all. Haymitch’s love is the only thing in this world that feels like it might be enough to hold you together.

But you can’t say that. You can’t say anything. Because the truth is, you’re terrified.

And you’re not sure you can be brave enough for both of you.

Next Chapter

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Taglist ( I hope I did this right)

@nikki-is-a-nerd , @quantumorquanta, @starvedhoe, @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream , @andthevillainshallrises , @how-am-i-serpose-to-know , @honeybunnyboobear , @dedicatedfangirl2001 , @godwhyamionhere , @yoursrosie , @darylmysavior , @crossfandomslut , @passionkillerphil , @fallout-girl219 , @ramennudel , @onlyrealjoy , @narliesstuff

#Haymitch #Haymitch Abernathy #Haymitch x reader #the hunger games #Humger games fanfiction #hunger games x reader #haymitch x y/n #haymitch x you #Haymitch Abernathy Angst #thg haymitch #Haymitch abernathy x you #Catching fire #Haymitch Abernathy x reader #hunger games #thg catching fire #sotr #thg sotr #sunrise on the reaping

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artficlly · 2 months ago

Note

hi !! i love ur work <3

ok i had an idea for a one shot but it’s totally fine if u don’t want to do it!

so reader and bucky break up (bucky dumps her) bc he thinks she can do better or whatevs and instead of feeling sad, reader is kind of getting off to how bad bucky is doing without her 😜😜 this is obviously inspired by my kink is karma from chappell lmao. anyways ends in fluff or smut and a lot of how much bucky missed her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😛😛

thank uuu !!

BITTER [one-shot]

modern marvel au vet!bartender!bucky x reader Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, sexual themes, angst, hurt/comfort, major character death, ptsd, bucky barnes needs a hug, bucky barnes has issues, bar fights, alcohol, smoking, swearing, stucky (historical), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: heya nonnie. this isn't exactlyyy what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway. i'm technically on hiatus rn but i felt bad leaving your ask unanswered for so long. i've been working on this between classes, i'm not super happy with it but i thought i'd post it anyway, it got a bit longer than i was expecting. i have like 5 million things due at the end of the month so i might be gone for a bit so here is a treat in the meantime! much love! ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

permanent taglist: @civilbucky @globetrotter28 (i swear there was someone else who wanted to be added, pls let me know if that was you i lost your comment)

main masterlist

The first thing Wanda had told you about Bucky Barnes was to beware.

Proceed with caution.

You were the type to fall in love easily, it was one of the first things you had confessed to Wanda, wine-drunk only a week after moving into her dodgy shoebox of an apartment, where the previous tenant's mail still showed up—and so did their debt collector. You were new in the city, bright-eyed and overly romantic about all you encountered, including the suspicious stains on the carpet courtesy of Wanda’s old roommate, who she only referred to as ‘that nightmarish cunt’. Wanda was cool, chic yet edgy, her voice dripping a Slavic accent and always armed with a dangerous look in her eye. She worked downtown as a sous chef at one of those mid-tier restaurants that you considered fancy, but anyone even marginally higher than your pay grade wouldn’t look twice.

Her boyfriend, Sam, worked at a bar across the road. Howling Commandos. He co-owned it with his buddy, the infamous Bucky Barnes. They had met while serving in the army, both retiring early from service. Sam was discharged after an injury that rendered him ‘useless’, and Bucky was discharged shortly after on grounds of mental health.

And maybe that was the allure—the myth of Bucky Barnes.

He was handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed, the usual fairy-tale rom-com affair. He was brooding, damaged goods, and had a real chip on his shoulder since his discharge. He poured a good drink, kept the bar running smoothly, and was big enough to intimidate drunk frat boys who occasionally wandered in looking for a fight. But apparently, he didn’t do relationships. He would fuck anything that moved if it caught his fleeting attention for long enough, but that was it.

Wanda had confessed it all to you on that dreaded wine-drunk night, hummus and carrot sticks forgotten as the TV blared Wanda’s Spotify playlist on loop. She’d had a friend, one who had moved away now, but that friend had slept with Bucky. Said it was the best lay of her life.

So, Wanda had said, voice dipped as she gave you a drunken, sloppy grin over her Pinot Gris, the two bottles she had pinched from work now empty. If you want the night of your life, go for it, but don’t expect anything more.

That was the rule with Bucky Barnes:

Don’t get attached.

So, maybe foolishly, when Wanda had roused you from a hangover-induced nap the following day by asking if you wanted to join her at the Howling Commandos and continue your bender from the night before, you had taken the leap.

–

Howling Commandos didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

It had the look of a place that had seen one too many late nights and even more bad decisions. Exposed brick walls, low-hanging lights that shrouded the room in a dim orange glow, and a row of pool tables tucked in the back behind a collection of stained wood tables and chairs. It was edgy, kind of dark and mysterious, much like the infamous bartender who now stood before you in the flesh.

You and Wanda had descended upon the bar at half-past nine, arms linked, laughter spilling between you. You’d gelled quickly—your soft, unguarded friendliness balancing out her wicked smirks and razor-edged sarcasm.

She swung into a barstool with the ease of someone who belonged here, peeling off her winter coat and tossing it onto the counter, shaking the snow from her auburn hair. Across from her, Bucky barely spared her a glance, his mouth set in a line that could have been annoyance or indifference.

“Wanda.” His voice was low, unimpressed.

That was all he said. No hello, no warmth. Just her name, like it was something to be tolerated.

Wanda only grinned, leaning her elbows onto the bar like she had all the time in the world.

“Sam’s out back,” Bucky added, eyes flicking toward the door before sliding right past her, landing on you instead. “Still picking up strays, I see.”

You grinned before you could help yourself, slipping into the seat next to Wanda. As you shrugged off your coat, neatly sliding it into your lap, Wanda let out a mock-horrified gasp on your behalf.

“So rude, this is my new roommate.” Wanda’s eyes slid over to you, head tilting as she gestured towards the scowling Bucky. “And this dickhead is Bucky. He’s co-owner with Sam.”

“I remember.” You replied with ease, your gaze and smile unwavering even as Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, turning away to continue polishing the glass in his palm.

Wanda, unbothered by his callousness, leant in. “I’m going to be honest, I need a drink ASAP. I’ve got an awful headache, and you know what I always say! Best way to beat a hangover? Drink even more.”

“Does Sam know you’re an alcoholic?” Bucky cut back, not even bothering to turn around.

“Awwh, Buck, is that genuine care?”

“Not for you.” Bucky snipped.

Wanda made a mock pout face, fingers drumming across the bar. “But seriously, put me out of my misery here—”

“Your usual?” He cut over her.

Wanda didn’t skip a beat.

“Pretty please,” she purred, her tone sweet and syrupy, dripping with exaggerated charm. As she settled more comfortably into the stool, her gaze flicked to you with a knowing gleam. “What do you want? On the house.”

Before you could respond, Sam’s voice rang out, thick with amused exasperation. “Baby, you can’t go offering drinks on the house to everyone—” He appeared from the back, a box of bottled spirits cradled in his arms,

“She’s my roommate—” Wanda began, but Sam cut her off, raising an eyebrow as he set the box down with a thud.

“Oh yeah? I haven’t forgotten the last one that you also insisted could have free drinks, and she turned out to be—”

“Don’t! Don’t bring up that cunt—”

You tuned out the conversation as Wanda slipped from her seat, weaving around the bar with the kind of effortless grace that came with knowing she belonged. She leaned into Sam’s space without hesitation, her laughter slipping through the low hum of the bar, threading between the murmur of voices and the scratchy tune spilling from the jukebox in the corner.

It wasn’t until Bucky slid a glass of dark liquor across the bar—precisely where Wanda had been sitting—that you finally tore your gaze away from them.

His eyes found yours, expectant, unmoving.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you assured him, reaching for your wallet, but his unimpressed stare didn’t waver. His silence stretched, almost as if he were waiting for you to back down first.

You didn’t. “Gin and tonic.”

No acknowledgement, not even a nod. He simply turned, reaching for the bottle of gin without a word.

Wanda reappeared beside you, collapsing back into her seat with a dramatic sigh, a sound that quickly dissolved into a giggle as Sam pressed a quick kiss to her cheek on his way past. The small moment of affection made you smile, your gaze trailing after him as he made his way toward the pool tables. He moved with familiarity, exchanging greetings with the patrons, his presence met with easy grins and back pats.

“He’s cute,” you hummed, watching him settle into the space like he owned it.

“I know, right?” Wanda smirked, pulling her drink closer.

You propped an elbow on the bar, your curiosity piqued. “How’d you meet?”

She took a slow sip, savouring the taste before setting the glass down. It looked like rum and coke. Smelt like it too. “He used to come to my work all the time when they were fixing up this place. We just got to talking one day and—”

Bucky set your drink in front of you with the same quiet precision as before, cutting off Wanda’s sentence mid-thought. You turned your attention back to him, offering a bright smile that didn’t falter, even as he met it with a frown.

“I’ve never liked those,” Wanda barely spared him a glance, instead eyeing your drink with mild disdain. “Not sweet enough for me.”

“Well, I like my drinks how I like my men,” you replied, the words coming with a smirk that you directed toward Bucky, holding his gaze longer than you probably should have. “Bitter.”

—

Shivering in the back alley by the dumpsters probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, you were committed.

You and Wanda had knocked back one too many drinks—again. It was becoming a habit, one that Sam was starting to take personally, considering he was the one who had to cut Wanda off after she got a little too liberal with her chatting and nearly convinced a stranger to let her wear his coat home. You, on the other hand, had managed to slip out gracefully, settling your tab before Wanda was carted out back to be babysat and force-fed water.

Neither of them had been thrilled at the idea of you walking home alone. Buzzed, barely dressed for the weather, and just reckless enough to make poor decisions, you’d assured them you were fine. Which, technically, was true. What you had failed to mention was that you hadn’t actually made it more than a few feet out the door before deciding to truly test the limits of your dignity.

The cigarette hanging from your lips wobbled slightly as you tried—unsuccessfully—to light it with numb fingers. You swore under your breath, stuffing the useless lighter back into your pocket just as the back door of Howling Commandos swung open.

And as fate—or some cruel, all-seeing god—would have it, it wasn’t Sam or Wanda who stepped outside.

Bucky emerged, a black trash bag slung over one shoulder, his usual scowl fixed in place. His stride slowed slightly when he caught sight of you, his expression unreadable.

“Thought you went home,” he muttered. “Sam and Wanda already left. If you need a ride, I can call you a cab.”

You tilted your head, watching as he moved, efficient, mechanical. The back door groaned shut behind him, its echo swallowed by the muffled city noise beyond the alley. Dumpster lid up, bag tossed in, blue eyes flicking back to you, waiting.

“I don’t need a ride.”

His gaze swept over you, unimpressed. “Sure about that? You look outta your damn mind right now.”

You exhaled, breath clouding the frigid air as you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets. The wind bit through the alleyway, slithering beneath the fur-trimmed collar and creeping up your spine.

“Well, when I had this brilliant idea, I was still drunk,” you admitted, shifting your weight on unsteady legs. “Now that alcohol’s worn off and it’s cold as shit, I can’t even fuckin’ light a smoke ‘cause my hands are shaking so bad.”

You lifted your fingers to prove your point, stiff and trembling from the cold, flashing him a lazy grin. He did not look impressed.

“This a cry for help? I don’t know what it is with Wanda and picking up crazy fuckin’ roommates—”

“I wanted to get your number.” You shrugged, unbothered by the scepticism in his tone. “Didn’t want to do it in the bar, figured you’re a private kinda guy, don’t like putting your business out for the world. I can respect that.”

He blinked, once. Then, slowly, “So you thought the next best option was to wait in a back alley in the snow—?”

“Hey,” you cut him off with a laugh, shifting your weight against the wall. “I said I was drunk when I came up with it… never said it was a good plan.”

Something flickered across his expression. Dry amusement, maybe. Then, to your surprise, he huffed out a short laugh, his breath visible in the cold air curling between you.

You smirked. “C’mon, I’ve been out here for like… an hour. Least you can do is give me your number.”

He took his time looking you over, slow and assessing. Despite the heavy winter coat hanging off your shoulders, you were still grossly underdressed for the weather. The short, tight-fitting dress clung to you like a second skin, courtesy of Wanda’s slut-shaming is sooo 2016 speech. A poor choice in hindsight, considering the temperature was bordering on unbearable.

“I’ll do you one better.”

You arched a brow. “Yeah?”

His voice dipped lower, something rougher curling at the edges. “How about I lock up, and you sit your pretty little ass in my car? I’ll drive you back to mine.” A beat. “Sound good?”

Now, this was the Bucky Barnes Wanda had described—the dangerous one, the elusive ladykiller. The shift had been minuscule, yet you already found your panties were wet.

You smiled. “Well, now you’re talking my language.”

—

"We should stop seeing each other."

Bucky sat hunched on the edge of his bed, forearms braced against his knees, fingers laced tightly together as if he were holding himself back. He didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his mouth a firm line, but that wasn’t what unsettled you—it was the tension in his shoulders, the restless bounce of his leg, the way he exhaled through his nose like he was already regretting this conversation.

That first night had been the spark, but the fire never quite burned out. It carried on in flickering embers, nights tangled in his sheets, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, bodies moving in time with the city’s restless heartbeat. If you had to put a name to it, fuck buddies was the closest fit, though even that felt too familiar, too warm. There were no tender morning-afters, no texts outside of arranging the next meeting. You met him in the alley after closing and let him drive you back to his place. Though sometimes, you never made it that far. Sometimes, it was the backseat of his car, windows fogged, streetlights streaking across his skin as you clawed at his shoulders. Other times, it was rushed and desperate, your palms braced against crates in the storeroom, breath hitching between half-suppressed moans before either of you had the sense to lock the damn door.

But as winter thawed into spring, something shifted.

The first crack in the foundation came when Bucky, against all odds, accepted your half-hearted invite to grab a bite to eat. You’d won a cheap voucher for a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place around the corner from the bar, fully expecting him to wave you off. But he hadn’t. And somehow, the two of you had ended up crammed into a booth, sharing a pile of nachos, snickering into your drinks as you watched a group of college kids make absolute fools of themselves. You wouldn’t have called it a date—Bucky sure as hell didn’t—but something about it felt different. Easier. The way he’d nudged his plate toward you when he noticed you eyeing his last taco. The way he leaned just a little too close, voice dropping low in your ear, murmuring some dry remark that made you snort into your margarita.

You weren’t sure when the line blurred. Maybe it was when your not-date nights became just as routine as your hookups. Or maybe it was at Wanda’s birthday dinner when Bucky—without thinking, without hesitation—draped his arm across the back of your chair, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the bare skin of your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed at first, too caught up in conversation, but Wanda and Sam sure as hell had. They shared a look, one of those wordless exchanges, tight-lipped and knowing. Like they were bracing for the inevitable. Like they could already see the fallout creeping on the horizon.

And they were right.

Because after a year of effortless, reckless bliss, Bucky finally reached his limit.

You should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known that letting Wanda rope you into planning his surprise birthday party was a mistake. That something so personal, so full of effort, would make him withdraw. It was all too much. Too close. Too intimate for someone who spent his life keeping people at arm’s length.

And just like that, the fire snuffed out.

Your grip tightened around the box in your hands, the crinkling of the wrapping paper comically loud in the quiet room. The laughter and chatter from the party outside felt like a world away, muffled through the walls of his bedroom. You had pulled him aside to give him his present in private, and now it sat between you like a hand grenade, pin already pulled, waiting for the explosion.

“Are you going to open your present? Hand-picked by yours truly, I made sure not to let Sam meddle with those prank gifts of his—” You ignored his words, shoving the brightly wrapped box towards him. He barely glanced at it before waving it off, his scowl deepening.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Bucky interrupted you, expression nowhere near impressed

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you serious?” The sigh that left you was excessive, the once bubbly and sweet aura you wrapped yourself up in so tightly melting away in an instant.

You should have known.

He had been off all week. Distant, restless. He’d stopped waiting for you in the back alley after his shifts ended, ignored your texts, and let your calls go to voicemail. Hell, he hadn’t even invited you over to fuck in two weeks, and that was the foundation of whatever this was between you. You’d told yourself it was the late winter blues—snow had been falling thick for weeks now even with spring looming closer by the day. Maybe, you had told yourself, it was some kind of early mid-life crisis with his birthday looming.

But deep down, you’d known better. You’d felt it in the way he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore, how his touch had cooled from burning to indifferent. It was like a switch had flipped, turning lust into something close to disgust.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said, exhaling like the conversation had already exhausted him. He rubbed a hand down his face, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder as if looking at you would make this harder. Or maybe easier. “We should stop… whatever this is.”

The present now sat on the bed, abandoned between you. You placed it down with deliberate care, fingers smoothing over the edges as you mulled over his words. Beyond the walls, the party raged on, voices rising in drunken harmony as Sweet Caroline blared over the speakers. A chorus of shouts—touchin’ me, touchin’ you—mocked the silence stretching between you.

You knew there was no point in arguing, not when Bucky had already made up his mind, disillusioned or not. But the question still burned its way up your throat before you could stop it, raw and sharp as you met his gaze.

“Why?”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

However he had expected you to react, this clearly wasn’t it. Maybe he thought you’d cry. Maybe he thought you’d yell. But you had never been the type for tears or begging. You just wanted the truth. The cold, ruthless reason why this wasn’t working anymore.

“Yes. Why? What’s changed?”

Bucky hesitated, something flickering across his face. Hesitation, regret, guilt, maybe all three. Then, his jaw tensed, and he forced the words out like they tasted bitter on his tongue.

“You’re… You’re just too much. You’re too much for me.”

Your head tilted slightly, observing him. He still wouldn’t meet your eye.

“Too much, huh?” You echoed, voice steady despite the way your stomach twisted. “And how exactly am I too much?”

He sighed, exasperated. “You’re just… overbearing. You always want to text or call, or stop by the bar. You’re always asking after me with Sam and Wanda. It’s all just a little too much, doll. This was supposed to be a casual thing.” His fingers flexed at his sides, his frustration palpable. “You’re just—”

“So, you’re punishing me because I care?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying, Bucky?” Your voice sharpened, and your patience unravelling. “That I’m clingy? That I’m suffocating you? Is it such a crime that I want to spend time with you—”

“You’re just—fuckin’ everywhere.” His voice rose, and you arched a brow, arms folding over your chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I swear to God. Every thought I have, everything I do—you’re there. I dream about you. And sometimes, I swear I smell that goddamn perfume of yours even when you’re not around—”

“Bucky.” You took a step forward, searching his face for something, anything. “Have you ever considered that maybe this is happening because you like me? Not because I’m some overbearing burden in your life—”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his entire body stiff.

“I don’t do relationships.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “So, what then? You’re just gonna cut me off? I got too close, didn’t I? Too close to you—to the real you, the one you hide under all that brooding, tough-guy bullshit—so now you’re pushing me away?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

You exhaled sharply, your patience splintering under the weight of his silence. “You know, Wanda warned me this would happen. Sam too. Hell, just about everyone out there did.” You gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the muffled chaos of the party beyond his bedroom. Laughter and music seeped through the walls. “Your friends, your colleagues. They all warned me. Guess I’m the idiot for thinking it’d be different, huh?”

His gaze flickered. A barely-there flinch. You pressed on.

“They told me you throw people away when they get too attached.” Your voice softened, but not with kindness, with something hollow, something resigned. “Or worse, when you do.”

His breath hitched, so quick and so subtle that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you would’ve missed it. But you saw it: the crack, the hesitation, the battle waging behind those sharp blue eyes.

For a second, it almost looked like he might break. Like he might finally say what he was really thinking.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone. His expression hardened, every ounce of warmth draining from his face.

“I don’t need you.”

And just like that, the last ember of hope inside you burned out.

You swallowed against the ache in your throat, but your voice came steady, unwavering. “Is that the truth?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Or are you just telling yourself that to feel better?”

His eyes darkened, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“Get out.”

—

You weren’t sure why you came back to the Howling Commandos.

You were beginning to suspect that Wanda and Sam were scheming something. She was constantly begging you to visit the bar every night off she had with the promise of free liquor. It had taken a few weeks after Bucky’s birthday meltdown for you to finally budge. Maybe it was the way Wanda had pulled you along, her arm hooked through yours like she could drag you away from the weight of it all. Maybe it was the way she made you laugh, tipping her head back, auburn hair catching in the bar’s dim light, her wicked look as she shrugged off her coat and flung it onto the counter. Maybe it was because you knew he would be here.

And, maybe, just maybe, you wanted that.

Bucky stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw tight as he poured a whiskey neat without looking up. He must’ve heard you come in like he always did, but his eyes never once lifted from his work.

You perched upon one of the barstools beside Wanda, the wood sticky beneath your elbows, the orange glow from the bar’s lights catching in the condensation on your glass. A gin and tonic. No words exchanged, no request needed, just Bucky’s hand sliding it across the table without so much as a glance in your direction.

It was almost funny, the way he refused to look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge you beyond the ghost of a touch as his fingers brushed the glass. And yet, he still remembered your drink. Still took the time to slice a bit of lemon for the rim, just the way you liked it. Never mind that he’d once grumbled about how much he hated customers who ordered anything that meant extra cleanup at the end of the night.

“You gonna sulk all night or actually have fun?” Wanda teased, knocking her knee against yours.

You took a slow sip, letting the cool burn of gin settle on your tongue before answering. “I am having fun.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, not buying it for a second.

But the night wasn’t all bad. You were feeling good, maybe a little too good, laughing at Sam’s exaggerated retelling of a story you’d already heard a dozen times, Wanda snorting into her rum, the buzz settling in like a second skin.

But the uneasy peace did not last long, as chaos had a way of following Bucky Barnes like his own shadow.

Two guys, a little too confident, a little too eager. You felt them before you even turned, whiskey on their breath, a practiced smirk tugging at the lips. The kind of men who smelled like cheap aftershave and overconfidence, sliding into your space with easy grins and empty compliments. One leaned in too close. “Didn’t think someone like you would be drinking alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who says I’m alone?”

He took the bait, smirking. “That right? Where’s your boyfriend, then?”

“Don’t have one.” You replied, tone disinterested.

He grasped your arm, and you yanked it away, nearly elbowing Wanda beside you in the process. “Oh yeah? I could change that for you sweetheart—”

You didn’t have time to answer before you saw the bar flap shoot up in your peripherals.

“Hey, man,” Sam warned, barely getting the words out before Bucky was there, a cloud at the edge of your vision, muscles wound tight beneath his shirt. He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the storm rolling off him in waves, the tension singing through his frame.

The guy didn’t even have time to react before Bucky shoved him back—hard enough to knock him off balance, sending his drink sloshing onto the floor.

“The fuck?” Whiskey-breath scowled, stumbling forward like he thought he had a chance.

Bucky stepped in, jaw clenched, fist already curled like a promise. His voice was smooth, even. “Out. Now.”

The guy scoffed, straightening. “Oh yeah? What are you, the bouncer?”

“Nah.” Bucky tilted his head. “I fuckin’ own the place.”

Sam was rounding the bar, slipping beneath the bar flap. “One rule, Bucky! We have one rule!”

“No assholes in the bar?” Bucky deadpanned, flexing his fingers.

“No. No punching customers—hey!”

Too late.

The first punch landed with a sickening crack, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of conversation. A brief, stunned silence settled over the bar, glasses paused mid-air, a cue ball rolling to a stop on the felt. Then, a gasp. A sharp inhale. Someone let out a bark of laughter.

The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw, blinking like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. But instead of learning his lesson, he surged forward, swinging blindly in a desperate attempt to save face.

The impact came from the right. A solid hit, knuckles cutting against Bucky’s brow. His head snapped slightly to the side, strands of dark hair falling loose from where they’d been tucked behind his ears. The second punch followed fast—less precise, more frantic—but it clipped him along the cheekbone, just enough to split the skin.

A thin trail of red welled up, tracking down the sharp line of his face.

Bucky stilled.

A slow, dangerous exhale. Then, before the guy could so much as blink, Bucky struck. A brutal, efficient one-two, fist slamming into ribs, then an upward cut that sent the man sprawling. His friend hesitated, torn between pride and self-preservation, before grabbing a fistful of his collar and dragging him toward the door.

Bucky flexed his fingers, shaking out his hand like he was testing for damage, like he barely felt it. The cut above his brow was bleeding, a slow trickle of crimson trailing towards his temple, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes flicking lazily towards him, your pulse not even kicking up. Beside you, Wanda didn’t so much as blink; she just swirled the last of her rum and coke, watching the scene unfold like it was a rerun of a show she’d seen too many times before.

Finally, with a knowing smirk, she leaned in, voice low and honey-smooth. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You swirled your gin and tonic, ice clinking against the glass, lips curling around the rim as you took another sip.

“Maybe.”

—

The back room was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, seeping through the exposed brick walls. A single bulb hung overhead, casting a dim, yellow glow over the stacked crates of liquor and the metal shelves lined with bottles. You’d been in here many times, though usually under much more pleasurable circumstances. Bucky sat on an overturned crate, elbows on his knees, blood drying along the ridge of his knuckles. His head was tipped slightly forward, shoulders hunched as he rolled one of his split knuckles between his fingers, like he was testing if it still hurt.

You shut the door behind you.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

You ignored him, stepping past the crates and grabbing the first aid kit off the nearest shelf. “Sit up straight.”

He didn’t move.

So, with a sigh, you pressed a firm hand to his shoulder and shoved him upright. He let it happen, though he shot you an unamused look as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus, you’re pushy.”

You crouched in front of him, flipping open the first aid kit, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. He watched as you poured alcohol onto a clean cloth, soaking it through before pressing it against the cut above his brow.

Bucky flinched, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab your wrist, to stop you. But he didn’t.

“Hold still,” you murmured, dabbing at the wound.

His lip curled slightly, but he stayed put, letting you clean the blood away. His fists clenched on his thighs, shoulders wound tight like he was waiting for something worse.

“You know,” you said, voice light despite the weight in the air, “I heard from Wanda you’ve been losing it lately.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah?”

“She said you’ve been missing shifts, and when you do turn up, you’re, uh…” You smirked, twisting the cloth to clean the edge of his jaw. “Well, these are her words, not mine—a miserable old cunt. Keep picking fights with customers.” You paused, waiting to see his response. His lips remained sown shut, his gaze cold, and he did not quite meet your eye. With an arch of your brow, you continued.

“Apparently, someone broke into your car, and you’re getting kicked out of your apartment because your landlord wants to sell it to some construction assholes.” You tilted your head, studying him. “I mean, some of that isn’t your fault, but it sounds like karma to me.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed. “Why do you care, doll?”

“I don’t,” you said easily, wringing out the cloth before pressing it against his brow again. “It’s like… watching a car wreck. Kind of captivating in a way.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You’re fucked up.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” You shrugged, barely glancing at him as you grabbed another clean cloth. “But I think, deep down, maybe I just pity you.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “Why are you so normal about all of this? Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be, I don’t know, freaking out? I was the one who dropped you, not the other way around.”

You paused, the cloth still pressed to his skin. You considered his words, then slowly and calmly, you replied. “It’s your own heart that you’re breaking, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

His lips parted like he was about to argue, but instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You sat back on your heels, observing him. The bruises were darkening across his cheekbones, his knuckles still raw, and his body shuddering from the aftermath. But beneath it all—under the cold defiance and the sharp edges—you saw it. The weight of something unspoken, something he wouldn’t admit to himself.

You hummed, tilting your head. “I know a lot.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, wary.

“I know that you take your coffee black, your whiskey neat,” you said, voice soft. “That you always make your bed because it’s a habit from when you served. You prefer to drive stick. You’re a cat person.”

You held his gaze, watching the way his fingers curled. “I know that you wear two sets of dog tags. That there are ghosts following you that you don’t talk about. I know that you realised you were getting attached to me. That it scared you so badly you dropped me the moment it clicked.”

“I know that you still ask after me,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that deep down, you care about me.”

Silence settled between you.

Bucky stared at his hands, dried blood caking along the ridges of his knuckles. He was still for a long time, so long you thought maybe he wasn’t going to respond at all.

“This… this thing between us.” His voice was rough. “It was a fling. Nothing more. A moment in time, not to be repeated.”

You inhaled slowly, disappointment evident, then stood.

With an easy motion, you tossed the bloodied rag onto a nearby crate.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you murmured, stepping back.

Bucky looked up at you, something flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You just smiled.

“Because I know,” you said simply, turning toward the door, “that in the end, you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“I won’t.”

You glanced over your shoulder, the corners of your lips curling.

“Okay.”

—

The cemetery was quiet, save for the whisper of wind through bare branches and the distant hum of traffic beyond the iron gates. The last bite of winter still clung to the air, spring struggling to take hold, leaving the sky an endless stretch of pale grey.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you stepped out of Sam’s car, boots crunching against the gravel path. Wanda climbed out from the passenger side, rubbing her arms against the cold, while Sam exhaled sharply, tilting his head towards the small gathering of headstones up ahead.

“He’s already here,” he murmured.

Bucky stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his back to you, his head slightly bowed toward the grave. Even from a distance, there was a tension in the way he held himself—like he was bracing for impact or maybe just trying to keep from unravelling.

You tightened your grip on the flowers in your hand and followed Sam and Wanda towards him.

Bucky didn’t turn when you approached, but you saw his shoulders shift, the slight tensing of his jaw when he realised there was one more person than expected. He still didn’t say anything, though, just kept his eyes on the headstone.

Steve Rogers.

The name was carved deep into the stone, clean and straightforward. No rank, no medals, no accolades. Just a name. A man who had meant something to them.

You hadn’t even known Steve existed until Sam mentioned him offhand a few days ago, his voice softer than usual, the usual humour dimmed. He hadn’t given many details—just that Steve was an old friend, someone he and Bucky had served with, and that the anniversary of his death was coming up. It hadn’t been an invitation, just a passing remark, but something about it stuck with you. Maybe it was the way Sam glanced at Bucky afterwards, concern hidden beneath his easygoing demeanour or the way Wanda’s expression darkened slightly like she’d been expecting it. You didn’t know anything about the man they were mourning, but you knew Bucky, and you knew the kind of grief that sat heavily on a person’s shoulders. Maybe you wanted to pay your respects. Perhaps you just wanted an excuse to get eyes on him, to see how bad the damage was. Either way, when Wanda and Sam left for the cemetery, you were in the car with them.

You stepped forward and crouched down, laying the flowers gently against the grave. The wind tugged at the petals as you stood, moving back beside Wanda, who sent you a glance but didn’t say a word.

Sam was the first to speak. “Damn, Steve. I hope you know we visit you even in the freezing fuckin’ cold.”

A small chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, barely there. “Yeah.”

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, I think about that time in training when Bucky dared you to climb the roof of the barracks, and when you actually did it, Bucky nearly had a heart attack ‘cause you realised he’d have to go up there to get you down.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “Idiot did a victory pose at the top. Almost fell straight off.”

Sam laughed. “Man, I wish we had taken a photo of you, dumbass.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories, some funny, some quiet and unspoken, shared only through small glances and nods. Wanda stood beside you, hands clasped in front of her, while you listened, letting them have their moment. She hadn’t known Steve either, just fragments of memories and stories Sam had told her over the years.

Eventually, the cold started to settle in deep, and Sam clapped his hands together. “Alright, I don’t know, but I think Steve would be personally offended if we froze our asses off standing here like idiots instead of heading home.”

Wanda nodded, already turning back toward the cars. You followed, but before you could take more than a few steps, Bucky spoke.

“I’ll take her home.”

The words were short, and clipped, but they made Wanda and Sam pause.

Sam lifted a brow, glancing between the two of you, then exchanged a look with Wanda, one of those unspoken conversations between lovers that didn’t need words.

But neither of them argued.

Sam just gave a small, knowing shrug and started toward his car. Wanda followed without a word, though you could’ve sworn the auburn gave you a subtle smirk.

You exhaled softly, then turned towards Bucky’s car.

The drive was quiet.

Outside, the world blurred past, fields and roads stretching under the grey sky. You kept your hands close to the vents, soaking in what little warmth the car offered, your fingers still stiff from the cold. Bucky’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles pale. He was wound up, his shoulders rigid, and his jaw locked. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he shifted gears, and every so often, he exhaled sharply like he was biting back something sharp.

Minutes passed, the ghost of unspoken words swirling between you.

Then, suddenly—

“Fuck this.” Bucky muttered the words under his breath, his grip on the wheel tightening before he jerked the car off the highway. The tyres crunched over gravel as he turned onto a narrow backroad leading toward a small, empty picnic area near a river. The place was deserted, picnic tables dusted with half-melted frost. Too cold for anyone to be out.

You sat there, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. The sky outside had darkened, clouds pressing down low on the horizon as the river lazily wound its way through the mist. Bucky’s hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes fixed on the view outside.

“How did you know about Steve?” The question left his lips quietly, almost like an afterthought, but it was sharp all the same.

“Sam.” You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “I kind of put the pieces together. It’s his dog tags you wear, right?” Your voice came out soft but steady.

Bucky gave a single, sharp nod. “Yeah.”

You sighed, glancing out the window for a brief second. The weight in his voice, the way he carried it like an old wound, told you this was something fragile, something that had never quite healed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just…” You trailed off, the words dying on your tongue, uncertain, too small for the grief that lingered between you. Your gaze flickered to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

His voice, when it came again, was quieter than before. “Steve... Steve, he wasn’t just my friend. He was my partner.”

Something inside you stilled. The breath you’d been meaning to take got caught in your chest. “You were… together? Dating?”

“Yeah.” His voice wavered, unsteady in a way that made your stomach twist. “We were, uh, in love, I guess.”

The words hit you like a cold gust, Something in your mind clicked into place, pieces of him you hadn’t understood suddenly making sense. You stared at him, taking in the way his brows furrowed, the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced now, like he’d aged in the last few minutes.

“Did Sam know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, jaw tight. “A few people did. His family, mine. A few friends.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallowed, trying to push past the lump forming in your throat. The words felt inadequate, almost meaningless. “I know my words don’t mean much or change anything, but I truly am sorry that you lost someone that important to you.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, the leather creaking beneath his hold. His eyes stayed locked on the river, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was somewhere else.

Then, barely above a whisper, “He stood on a landmine.”

Bucky’s voice was rough, worn thin. “He was dead before… before he would have even realised he’d stepped on it. They never really recovered all of his body. He just kinda… turned into mist.”

You felt your stomach drop. A slow, creeping horror curled around your ribs, sinking its claws in deep. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky, that’s horrific, I—” You felt your words die in your throat. What was there to say? There was no comfort for something like that. No words that could make it hurt less.

Then, slowly, his head turned, an empty, haunted gaze meeting yours. “That coffin out there, it’s empty. We do this every year, but it’s like talking to the wind.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the rawness of it. Slowly, you reached across the console, your fingers brushing against his arm. “He didn’t suffer.”

“No.” Bucky's voice broke for the first time. “No, I suppose I should be thankful for that.” A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with a rough, almost impatient hand. But he didn’t pull away from your touch. Didn’t move to hide the way his hands shook, fingers still locked in a vice grip around the wheel.

You didn’t comment on it.

You kept your hand on his arm, a steady presence against the tension coiled beneath his skin. There was nothing to say—at least, nothing that would make any of it easier. He had already said enough, and you weren’t going to insult him by pretending there were magic words to fix it. So you simply stayed, grounding him in the quiet, hoping that maybe, just maybe, letting even a sliver of it out might lighten the weight he carried.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that settled in the space between two people who understood each other without needing to fill the gaps with empty words. A sharp gust of wind rattled against the window, slipping through unseen cracks and sending a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours, raw, searching, like he was looking for something he wasn’t even sure existed. His throat bobbed, lips parting as he exhaled a slow, uneven breath. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “For what?”

“How I’ve treated you these past few weeks.”

“Baby, you don’t need to apologise—”

“No, I do.” He interrupted tone tinged with frustration. “I… I realised that I cared for you. A lot. And it scared the shit out of me. After Steve, well, I swore I wouldn’t love again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t imagine going through that again. Or worse, if I died and left someone behind like that—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though—” he began, but you interrupted him again, your voice calm, sure.

“I forgive you.”

Bucky went still, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking between you and the river, as if weighing something in his mind.

A long, charged silence settled in. Then, just as you thought the moment would pass, he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” You smiled softly. “Listen. I didn’t know Steve, and I never will but… if he cared for you. If he loved you, he’d want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to shut yourself away from love, from feeling.”

“Honestly…” Bucky paused, sucking on his teeth. “Honestly, you’re probably right, doll.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, staring ahead like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

“I still don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Loving someone. Letting someone love me.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Good thing I’m patient.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” Bucky glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, almost too softly to hear, “I want to try.”

You reached over, lacing your fingers through his. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

His grip tightened, just for a second like he was anchoring himself to you. And then, as if realising how ridiculous he sounded, he let out a low laugh, disbelief lacing his tone. “You’re too good for me, doll.”

“Hmm, maybe.” You giggled, leaning towards him, resting your forehead against his shoulder for a brief moment, letting the warmth between you settle. “I think I’ll stick around, though.”

“Yeah?” His voice held a tinge of uncertainty like he was testing the waters. His arm shifted, moving from the wheel to pull you closer to his side. “I haven’t scared you off?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning. “I think you’d have to try a little harder to do that.”

He held you closer, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “So…” He paused, his breath hitching as if the words were caught in his throat. “Would you stick around… as my girlfriend?”

You jolted up, eyes widening in surprise. “Did the Bucky Barnes just ask me—”

“Shush, you.” He chuckled, cutting you off, his finger moving to gently press against your lips.

You smiled, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and he tugged you in closer, his grip firm but not demanding. His lips found yours, slow at first, testing—like he was still convincing himself this was okay, that he could have this. But as you melted into him, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket, something shifted. His hand slid up your back, anchoring you against him, his lips warm, sure, moving against yours with a quiet intensity.

You sighed into him, your breath mingling with his, the space between you disappearing until there was nothing but the press of his body, the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin. His fingers skimmed the nape of your neck, tilting your head slightly, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savouring it like he wanted to memorise the way you felt against him.

The world outside blurred, the hum of the car engine distant, unimportant. There was only this, only him, his warmth, the quiet, desperate way he held you like he was afraid to let go.

When you pulled away, Bucky let out a sharp sigh as if something inside him had finally relaxed. “Thank god, it would be kind of awkward if you didn’t—”

You silenced him with another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

A spark reignited.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #beefy bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel #modern au

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thedensworld · 2 months ago

Text

Villain Origin Story | c.sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x reader

Genre: Conglomerate au! Revenge au!

Type: angst, slow burn, drama

Word Count: 17k

Summary: At the end, Seungcheol is the only one who see you—not as the villain, but the main character of the story he is willing to write.

Seungcheol smiled faintly as he watched the engagement ceremony unfold. His best friend’s big night was going well — laughter echoed through the grand ballroom, and everywhere he looked, there were fresh white florals, soft golden lights, and faces glowing with celebration. It was branded an “intimate” party, but the extravagance in every corner whispered otherwise.

Love was in the air — in the clink of champagne glasses, the exchanged glances, the carefully curated perfection.

And then his eyes stopped.

A shadow against all the light — you.

Dressed in black, perched quietly on the second-floor balcony, sipping wine like you were mourning something the world had forgotten. Seungcheol tilted his head, amusement curling at his lips. Of course you’d show up like this. It was your stepsister’s engagement, after all.

And she was marrying the man you once loved.

Drawn by something he couldn’t quite name, Seungcheol found himself climbing the stairs, walking to your side with quiet steps. From this height, the room looked like a music box — perfect, spinning, artificial.

“Black suits you,” he said, voice laced with a teasing edge. “A little dramatic for your sister’s big day, don’t you think?”

You didn’t flinch. Not even a blink.

That calm, polished stillness — it unnerved him more than any icy comeback.

Your eyes slid toward him, briefly. Cool. Empty. You raised the wine glass to your lips again before elegantly turning away from the scene below, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Seoul skyline like a painting.

The city glittered beyond the glass, oblivious to the party, to the people, to the past.

You sighed — quiet but deep — and drank again. Not a single word escaped your mouth.

Seungcheol leaned beside you, studying your profile.

"How’s life?" Seungcheol asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. He admitted to himself — it had been a long time since he’d seen you in person. Sure, he’d seen your face everywhere: on posters, luxury brand ads, movie trailers. But the real you? The one standing beside him now? Maybe not since college.

"Terrible," you murmured, eyes vacant as they stayed fixed on the city lights beyond the window.

Seungcheol turned to follow your gaze, then leaned his back against the railing beside you. You didn’t look like the girl who used to light up a hallway with drama and perfume. You looked tired. Polished, but hollow.

“You’re a rising star,” he offered.

You scoffed — not bitter, not sad — just... amused in a way that felt cold.

You turned to him for the first time that night, eyes meeting his. “You must’ve missed the latest headline then. Apparently, I’m a homewrecker now.” You raised your brows slightly, your tone laced with indifference. “Dropped just last week.”

Your gaze drifted to the glowing couple in the center of the ballroom — Baek Ara and Joshua, hand in hand, surrounded by the buzz of celebration.

“Not even sure whose home I supposedly wrecked,” you added lightly. Then, your eyes locked with his again, sharp and knowing. “But I have a pretty good idea who orchestrated it.”

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard by the directness. His brows rose. “Me?” he repeated, letting out a scoff that bordered on a laugh. “I don’t have time for that, Y/n.”

You smiled. Not the soft, glowing smile you once reserved for Joshua. No — this smile was the one that used to make underclassmen trip over themselves in the school hallway. The one that promised destruction to anyone who dared cross you.

Seungcheol recognized that smile. He didn’t enjoy the drama you used to bring, but he remembered the chaos — and how much he’d secretly lived for the way it made Joshua squirm back in the day.

He sighed and let his amusement fade, studying you more seriously now. “I heard being a celebrity is hard,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t know firsthand... but I hope you’re doing okay.” He hesitated, then added, “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”

You let out a quiet chuckle — then, to his surprise, it blossomed into a laugh. A full, honest laugh that echoed off the high ceiling of the balcony. Seungcheol watched you in confusion, brows furrowed. You weren’t laughing with him. You were laughing at him.

“It’s funny hearing that from you, Choi Seungcheol,” you said, his full name slipping from your lips for the first time. He stiffened slightly. All those years, you barely acknowledged him. Back then, you were too busy making heart eyes at Joshua to notice anyone else.

You held out your half-empty wine glass to him, an elegant gesture that felt more like a dismissal than anything else. He took it without thinking.

Then you turned, walked down the stairs, and disappeared from the ballroom without looking back.

Seungcheol stood still, staring after you.

That wasn’t the girl he remembered. That wasn’t drama.

That was something else.

And it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

To his surprise, he saw you again just two days later — and in the most unexpected place. The elevator of Choi Group's main building.

He was returning from a business lunch, casually heading up to his office when he spotted you standing by the elevator with someone he assumed to be your manager. You wore an oversized blazer and sunglasses that covered half your face, your posture reserved but poised. You gave him a polite bow.

Seungcheol blinked, unsure why at first — then it clicked. You were an ambassador for one of Choi Group’s skincare brands. Technically under his father’s empire. That explained it.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Choi,” your manager greeted him warmly as you all stepped into the elevator together. He was much friendlier than you, practically oozing eagerness. “I’m Kim Byungho. I’m Y/n’s manager. We’re heading to the marketing department to discuss the revised contract.”

Seungcheol nodded, only half-listening. He glanced at you, who hadn’t said a word.

“I hope we can count on your kindness,” your manager added, bowing deeply as the elevator doors closed. “It’s been a rough week for her, and we’re trying our best to handle the damage.”

Seungcheol frowned slightly, unsure what he was talking about. He glanced toward Jun, his secretary, who stood beside him with a subtle shift in posture — tense.

Before Seungcheol could respond, your voice cut through the space, calm and sharp like a blade.

“Stop it,” you said to your manager. “It’s not up to him. It’s up to his father. So let’s stop begging.”

You didn’t even turn your head, your voice muffled only slightly by your sunglasses. The bitterness was controlled, but not hidden.

Byungho clenched his jaw, clearly frustrated, but didn’t argue further. Seungcheol, still processing the tension, turned to Jun for an explanation — and saw his secretary clenching his tablet a little too tightly.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, you and your manager turned in the opposite direction, heading to the marketing floor. Seungcheol watched you disappear around the corner, your heels clicking against the marble tiles like a metronome marking the slow descent of your public image.

He didn’t say anything until he and Jun stepped into his office.

“She’s the one who’s been rumored to be a homewrecker,” Jun handed Seungcheol his tablet, already pulled up to the article. There was a blurry screenshot of messages — one-sided, emotional texts supposedly from you. The headline screamed “Top Star Ji Y/n Exposed as Third Party in Chaebol Love Triangle?”

“A screenshot leaked. People say she was blowing up the phone of an engaged man — supposedly begging him to break up with his fiancée.”

Clingy. Desperate. Pathetic.

That was the narrative.

"Apparently, she was also a bully in high school," Jun added casually, scrolling through his tablet.

Seungcheol’s brow furrowed. Was she?

He dug through his memory, trying to match that claim with what he remembered of you. You were definitely intimidating — the kind of girl who walked through the halls like you owned them, confidence woven into every step. Popular. Sharp-tongued. Beautiful. But a bully?

He couldn’t recall a single instance of you picking on anyone. If anything, your silence did more damage than words ever could. Maybe people just assumed that someone like you — magnetic and unapologetic — had to be cruel.

“We were in the same high school,” Seungcheol murmured.

Jun blinked. “Seriously? That’s real?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the floor for a moment, lost in a flicker of memory — you in your perfectly pressed uniform, arms looped around Joshua’s like he was yours and the world was just extra.

Jun scoffed. “Damn. I’m honestly disappointed. I was a fan of her acting. But turns out she’s just… a terrible person.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched.

He remembered what you’d said on the balcony just two nights ago — how your voice was low, detached, as if the world had already given up on you and you were only matching its energy.

“Terrible.”

The word had hung between you like a joke only you understood.

Seungcheol repeated it under his breath. “She’s… terrible.”

Jun perked up at the agreement. “Right? I knew it!”

But Seungcheol wasn’t so sure. Something about the way you’d laughed that night — bitter, hollow, nothing like the queen bee from back then — stuck with him. That laugh didn’t belong to someone evil. It belonged to someone hurt. Someone exhausted.

Maybe you had been terrible once. Or maybe… they just needed you to be.

And he was beginning to wonder which was worse.

Seungcheol stood in front of a painting one quiet afternoon, stealing an hour for himself at the museum — a rare act of rebellion against his punishing schedule. It was meant to be soul-searching, a breath of calm before drowning in the flood of paperwork waiting at the office.

The painting was titled Discarded, signed simply, G.

It was achingly beautiful — and heartbreakingly tragic. A woman in a white dress, stained with chaotic swipes of color, sat alone in the middle of a road. People passed by on either side, their faces blurred into motion, ignoring her as if she weren’t there at all. She looked misplaced, messy, like something no one wanted to claim.

Something about it made his chest tighten.

“This is one of her latest pieces,” came a gentle voice beside him. The curator, observant and perceptive, had noticed how long he’d been staring. “She’s been on a long break, but she recently started painting again. If you’re interested, I can show you the rest of the collection.”

Seungcheol turned toward him slowly, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“This one…” he started, but the words stuck in his throat.

The curator smiled knowingly, his hands folded behind his back. “I know. It hits hard, doesn’t it? There’s something cathartic about it. Tragic, yes — but honest. That’s why we saved it for last.”

Seungcheol looked back at the canvas, unable to shake the haunting familiarity of the figure. The mess. The silence. The beauty of being unseen.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It feels like she’s waiting for someone to notice her. But no one does.”

The curator nodded, then motioned gently. “Come. I’ll show you the others from G.”

Seungcheol followed, but not before casting one last glance at the woman in the painting — alone, forgotten, yet unforgettable.

The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of Seungcheol’s office, casting long shadows across the piles of documents on his desk. Contracts, proposals, reports — all neatly stacked, all waiting for his attention. But his pen hadn’t moved for the last twenty minutes.

His gaze was unfocused, distant, pulled back to the painting now carefully stored in the private gallery wing of his home. Discarded.

He bought it without hesitation. The moment the curator mentioned it was available for purchase, Seungcheol wrote the check like it was a lifeline — not for the artist, but for himself.

Because that woman in the white dress, stained and overlooked in the chaos of the world, wasn’t just a figure on canvas. She was him.

He could still see her — sitting in the middle of that imaginary road while people rushed past her, uncaring. She wasn’t screaming or crying. She wasn’t begging to be seen. She had simply given up.

It haunted him.

Because it was familiar.

The shadows in this office were nothing new to him. He had always been someone’s shadow. His older brother, the golden child — charming, accomplished, his father’s pride. Joshua, the favorite among friends — warm, articulate, and effortlessly adored. Even his father, whose name carried the weight of the company, cast a long silhouette across his life.

Seungcheol was there, always. Present, reliable, good — but never bright enough to stand on his own.

He couldn’t even bring himself to hate them for it.

There was no bitterness, just... exhaustion. A quiet ache from being half-visible all the time. Like he was allowed to exist, just not too loudly.

His fingers brushed over a printed memo. He didn’t read it. He just sat there, eyes locked on nothing, remembering the sadness in that painted woman’s posture. She hadn’t given up because no one cared. She had given up because she had cared too much for too long without anyone noticing.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.

It was strange.

Joshua stepped into Seungcheol’s office with his usual easy stride, a cup of iced coffee in hand and a folder tucked under one arm. His eyes immediately drifted to the new artwork hanging on the far wall — subtle yet striking pieces, all seemingly from the same artist.

"You purchased paintings?" he asked, curiosity laced in his voice as he walked closer to one of them. “These are... different for you.”

Seungcheol didn’t look up from his laptop. “Needed some change,” he replied simply, fingers still tapping away before finally pausing to take a sip from his lukewarm coffee. “The walls were too bare.”

Joshua tilted his head slightly at one of the canvases, squinting at the signature in the corner. “They’re all from the same person. ‘G’?” He turned back toward Seungcheol. “You know the artist?”

“Not personally.”

Joshua raised a brow but didn’t press. He set the folder down on the desk, then leaned casually against the armrest of the nearby couch. “How’s everything going here? You look like you haven’t left this chair since Tuesday.”

“Probably haven’t,” Seungcheol muttered. Then, as if remembering, he added, “How’s Ara? Haven’t seen her since the engagement.”

Joshua let out a light laugh, “Busy. Planning things. Overthinking things. You know how she is.”

Seungcheol finally looked up, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “She’s always had a plan.”

“She does,” Joshua said with a chuckle. “Down to what I’m supposed to wear on our honeymoon.”

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before Joshua’s eyes returned to the painting. “You sure you’re okay, though?” he asked, this time more quietly. “You seem a little... distant.”

A pause.

“I ran into Ji Y/n,” Seungcheol said casually, eyes still on his screen.

Joshua blinked. “Really?”

“She was at the company this week. Elevator ride. She’s still the ambassador for the skincare line, apparently.” He tilted his head. “Marketing kept her while the other brands dropped her.”

Joshua looked thoughtful. “Kind of surprised, to be honest. I figured the whole thing would scare off everyone.”

“Yeah, well. Father said she still sells. Numbers don’t lie.”

There was a brief silence between them.

“She didn’t look great,” Seungcheol added after a moment. “Not that she ever talks much to me. But still… she seemed tired. Detached.”

Joshua didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly and tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Then, he sighed. “This whole thing’s messier than I thought.”

Seungcheol gave him a glance, sharp but unreadable. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Joshua didn’t respond — just stood up, smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I’ll tell Ara you asked about her. And maybe bring her some flowers so she doesn’t kill me over the honeymoon wardrobe.”

Seungcheol gave a faint smile. “Good call.”

Joshua paused at the door, hand on the knob, before turning slightly. “I met Y/n... before the engagement.”

Seungcheol looked up, surprised. “Before?”

“Yeah. A few months before Ara and I got engaged.” He let out a slow breath, as if choosing his words carefully. “It… complicated things more than it should’ve.”

Seungcheol raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“Ara’s always been a bit…” Joshua hesitated, then gave a short laugh, “jealous. With her step-sister, I mean.”

Seungcheol leaned back, folding his arms as he watched Joshua.

“I’m not saying it’s justified,” Joshua went on. “She wouldn’t have been, honestly — if Y/n ever acted like a sister. But she never did. Not really. I guess I get where it starts from. That weird invisible tension between them. But… things happened.”

Joshua didn’t elaborate, and Seungcheol didn’t push, though the implication hung in the air like smoke.

“I thought Ara was managing the label now?” Seungcheol said eventually, voice even.

“She is,” Joshua nodded. “It’s technically under her father's group, but she’s been running it since last year. Y/n was already under contract before that. Ara didn’t have a say in it… at first.”

“And now?” Seungcheol asked, his voice just a touch quieter.

Joshua offered a tired smile. “Let’s just say it’s a mess I’ve learned not to get involved in. Or at least, I try.”

He turned toward the door again, tapping lightly on the frame. “Just… don’t mention to Ara that you saw her. It’ll only spiral.”

“Right.”

The door shut behind him with a muted click.

Left alone, Seungcheol stared at the spot where Joshua had stood. The image of the painting—of that woman in white, messy, aching and ignored—flashed behind his eyes again.

And somehow, this time, she looked a little more like you.

Your presence in front of him brought back memories of high school in a rush—moments of crowded hallways, student council speeches, and the way you used to own every room you walked into. You still carried that same quiet confidence, the kind that demanded attention without trying. That main character aura—so distinctively yours—hadn’t faded.

But something was different.

Gone was the loud, commanding prom queen, the sharp-tongued yet respected queen bee of high school. The woman sitting across from him now was Actress Ji Y/n—composed, refined, and heartbreakingly untouchable. A woman who had earned her place in the industry with undeniable talent, not just a pretty face.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice steady, almost too calm. “But I’m leaving South Korea.”

Seungcheol stilled. “Why?”

There was a pause. A small breath. And then you answered, “Some people want me there.”

His mind immediately went to your Hollywood debut—buzzing headlines, red carpet premieres, glowing reviews.

“So... LA?”

You nodded.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “I was about to offer you a job.”

“I appreciate it,” you replied, polite but distant. “But I don’t think you understand—I’m an actress, not just a pretty face for an ad campaign.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they landed with precision.

He watched you carefully. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to soften the blow. There was something admirable about that. The girl he once knew had always been fierce—but this version of you was unshakable.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, choosing his words carefully. “Five-year contract,” he said. “And I’ll cover seventy percent of the debt you owe your label.”

You blinked, visibly taken aback for the first time. The silence stretched between you.

Seungcheol didn’t break eye contact. His voice, steady and low, carried a rare sincerity. “It’s not just about the face. I want to help you survive. You have so much potential, Y/n. More than any of them ever gave you credit for.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. Your gaze dropped to your hands resting neatly on your lap.

“That’s... almost more humiliating, to be honest.”

He furrowed his brows, watching as your smile faltered just slightly.

“To be pitied,” you continued softly. “To be seen as someone that needs saving. I’ve fought too hard to still look like a damsel.”

Seungcheol exhaled, the weight of your words settling heavy between you. But he didn’t backpedal. He understood now—this wasn’t just about pride. It was about dignity.

“I didn’t mean it as pity,” he said finally. “I meant it as someone who knows what it’s like to be discarded.”

That silenced you. For a moment, neither of you said a word.

And somewhere in that silence, something unspoken passed between you—recognition, maybe. Or something dangerously close to understanding.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, touched with something fragile.

Seungcheol took a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “It might be too late to say this,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’ve realized… you might not the person I painted you out to be all this time. You’re not nearly as bad as I convinced myself you were.”

He paused, searching your expression for a flicker of emotion.

“In fact,” he continued, softer now, “I think I was just too proud to see you a little bit clearer.”

After Seungcheol helped you clear your debt—every last Won tied to the label Ara managed—he didn't just stop there. Once your contract officially ended, he introduced you to someone he trusted deeply in the entertainment world. Boo Seungkwan, a sharp-witted industry professional with an eye for comeback stories, offered you an exclusive contract under his rising agency.

Unlike others, Seungkwan didn’t see you as tainted or a risk—he saw potential, resilience, and star power buried under the scandal’s dust. And just like that, after months of silence, rejection, and whispered humiliation, your name began to rise again. Slowly, steadily. New endorsements, indie film scripts, magazine shoots—small steps, but they were yours.

Then came Joshua’s wedding.

You had debated not coming. But Seungcheol insisted. “You’ve earned the right to be in the room,” he’d said. And so, you came—not as a girl wounded by the past, but as a woman who had survived it.

You entered the grand ballroom with your arm looped through Seungcheol’s, the train of your gown flowing behind you like a quiet declaration. The low hum of conversation dipped as people turned. Eyes followed you, the infamous Ji Y/n—once the center of controversy, now the embodiment of elegance.

Joshua turned too.

He was standing at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, awaiting his bride. But when his eyes met yours, something in him faltered.

You looked ethereal. Graceful. Almost untouchable.

And beside Seungcheol, who held himself with quiet strength and calm authority, you looked… safe.

Joshua hadn’t seen you in months. Not like this. Not since the tabloids. Not since Ara's label dropped you after 'quietly' blacklisting your name in industry. Not since he met you before the engagement and complicated everything.

He couldn't stop staring. Because it felt wrong. It felt wrong to be standing at the altar, in a suit tailored for a promise, when his eyes were still chasing a past he’d never truly understood—only judged.

You didn’t look at him for long. Just a brief glance, polite and composed. But it hit him harder than any argument ever had. Because in that one glance, he saw it all:

That you were no longer his.

You sat down beside Seungcheol like you belonged there. Your posture perfect, your smile calm. And Joshua… he stood there, a groom on the verge of vows, wondering if the girl he once left behind had finally outgrown him for good.

Joshua assured himself—he loved Ara. He must love her.

He loved her because she wasn’t you.

Ara didn’t flood him with a million questions when he needed space. She didn’t throw tantrums or cry in the hallway when he didn’t text back. She didn’t show up unannounced to his classes demanding explanations with teary eyes and trembling lips. Ara was quiet, composed, graceful. She stayed in her lane, gave him room to breathe, and never made him feel overwhelmed.

She wasn’t you, and that was the point.

He never once thought of Ara as difficult. Not when he was with you. Because back then, chaos had a name, and it was you. You were loud and alive and far too much for him when all he craved was stillness. Ara gave him that stillness. That peace.

Joshua's mind drifted, uninvited, to that day—the day everything truly fell apart.

College campus, mid-semester, the lecture hall packed. He still remembered the low hum of voices before the professor walked in, the clatter of keyboards, the scent of ink and burnt coffee. He had been seated near the front, flipping through his notes, trying to concentrate. Trying to stay focused.

He was under pressure—his family needed him to step up, to start preparing for his role in the business. His father had just handed him a department to manage part-time. His days were full of meetings, documents, and late-night calls. And there was you.

You didn’t fit into that life the way you used to. You needed more than he could give—more of his time, his attention, his affection. You were fighting for him, but he was too exhausted to fight back.

And then you walked in.

The door swung open with a thud and gasps filled the room. All eyes turned to the girl in the black hoodie and dark jeans, your eyes puffy, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. You didn’t care who was watching. You came for him.

“Hong Joshua” you said, your voice trembling but loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can’t even reply to a single text, but you have time to pretend like I don’t exist?”

He had closed his eyes then, wishing the earth would just swallow him whole.

“Not here, Y/n,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

“No. Here. If this is what you care about most, then let’s do it here.”

You were upset. You were hurting. And you were right. But he couldn’t see it at the time.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I loved you!” you had cried. “I gave you everything, and you’re shutting me out like I’m nothing?”

That was the moment something in him snapped. The pressure, the expectations, the embarrassment—he cracked under it all.

“We’re done,” he said coldly, his voice slicing through the lecture hall like glass. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Silence.

Your expression didn’t fall right away. You held it together just long enough to straighten your spine, to blink away the tears, to lift your chin in that signature prideful way. Then, without a word, you turned and walked out—your head held high even as your heart broke.

He never saw you cry that day. But he knew you did.

And now, years later, as he stood in his wedding hall, waiting for his bride, he looked across the room at the woman you’d become—elegant, untouchable, a thousand miles away from the girl who once begged him to stay.

But he knew better.

He once knew what your love looked like when it was messy and loud and real.

And as Ara walked toward him in white, smiling politely, Joshua’s jaw clenched with the weight of a truth too late to confess.

Ara is not you.

The clink of ice in your glass was the only thing filling the silence for a moment, soft jazz humming in the background of the dimly lit hotel bar. You sat beside Seungcheol on one of the plush stools, legs crossed, a half-finished drink in your hand as you watched the golden amber swirl.

"You were great today," Seungcheol said, eyes on you—not just glancing, but looking. Like he was still trying to figure out how someone could walk into a room full of people who used to love her, used to hate her, and act like she ruled the place.

You took a small sip and set your glass down. "I have no reason not to be."

Seungcheol chuckled lowly, impressed. “Right. Why show the ghosts that they haunt you, when you can just haunt them back?”

You smirked at that, tilting your head toward him. "That’s poetic of you. Been reading my old fan letters?"

He rolled his eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the slight flush at your teasing. “Please. If I had a fan letter for you, I’d hand-deliver it.”

You raised a brow. “Would it come with flowers?”

“Only if you signed a ten-year ambassador deal.”

You both laughed, and for a second, the world felt soft. Comfortable. Familiar.

He watched you silently for a moment after that, eyes lingering a little too long on your profile, the way the bar lights kissed your skin. You turned to meet his gaze, lips parted slightly.

“What?” you asked softly.

Seungcheol leaned back, swirling the drink in his hand before answering, “Nothing. Just thinking how weird it is… that I know the version of you people were too afraid to claim. And now I get to sit here next to the woman no one can ignore.”

You bit your lip—subtle, unintentional, but he noticed. “Sounds like someone’s getting sentimental.”

“I think I’ve earned the right,” he replied, and you weren’t sure if it was the drink or the way his voice dropped just slightly—but suddenly the air between you felt warmer.

Dangerous, almost.

So you turned back to your drink, smirk playing on your lips.

“Don’t fall for me, Choi.”

He tilted his glass toward you. “I don't fall easily, Ji.”

You smirked, lips brushing the rim of your glass. “You didn’t do a very good job at it.”

He finally glanced at you, and this time it lingered. Just long enough.

“I never said I succeeded.”

A beat passed. Tension curled between you two like smoke. He wasn’t making a move, but he didn’t need to—not when the pull between you was this thick, this unspoken.

You leaned in just slightly, voice almost a whisper, teasing but not joking. “Be careful. Ara might start another rumor.”

“I’m not the type to hide behind someone else's narrative,” he said easily, eyes flicking down to your lips and back. “Let them talk.”

You blinked, just once, and leaned back with a soft chuckle. “You’ve changed.”

“Not really,” he said, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just got better at playing your game.”

You didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch with the same thrill of a held breath. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this could end badly—but you also knew you wouldn’t be the one walking away first tonight.

The silence between you stretched through the elevator ride—thick, magnetic, every breath laced with possibility. You didn’t touch, didn’t speak, but the heat simmered in the air like static before lightning.

When the elevator dinged at his floor, Seungcheol stepped out first, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. You followed.

His suite was spacious, minimal, clean. A half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the table from earlier, but he ignored it. You stepped inside slowly, heels tapping against the floor, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked around.

“Still the same taste,” you said softly, running your hand along the edge of the table. “Neat. Expensive. Subtle.”

“Like it?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

You turned around, arching a brow. “You didn’t bring me here to give me a room tour, did you?”

He gave a small, breathy laugh, loosening the first two buttons of his shirt. “Depends. Do you want the full experience?”

You stepped toward him, but stopped just short. “Are you flirting with me, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, eyes meeting yours with a quiet boldness. “Only if you’re going to flirt back.”

The pause that followed was heavy—your heart drumming against your ribs, his gaze never wavering. You stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the air between you barely existed.

Your voice dropped. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m not scared of you anymore,” he said, and there was no cockiness in it. Just truth.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t kiss—not yet. But your hand brushed his arm, slow, and lingered. His eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. His restraint was impressive, but you could feel the tension in the way his shoulders stayed firm, jaw clenched just a little too tightly.

“You look tired,” you whispered, changing the subject just to mess with him.

He smirked, stepping a hair closer, his voice low. “You’re exhausting.”

You tilted your head. “You like it.”

His hand finally moved—fingers brushing lightly down your bare arm. “Maybe.”

Neither of you made the next move yet. But the invitation hung in the air—unspoken, charged, and undeniably mutual.

You turned away first, walking slowly toward the window, your back to him. The city lights outside blinked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You could hear him behind you, his quiet steps, the sound of him undoing his cufflinks.

“I didn’t think you’d let me get this close,” he said, voice lower now, a little rough around the edges.

You didn’t turn around. “You didn’t get this close. I let you.”

Seungcheol chuckled under his breath. You felt him step behind you—close, not touching. His presence was magnetic. You could feel the heat of his body near yours, his breath just brushing your neck.

“You were the storm in every room you walked into,” he murmured. “And somehow tonight, you walked in like silence… and I still couldn’t look away.”

Your breath caught—he noticed.

When you finally turned, his hand moved to your jaw, not quite cupping it, just the slightest touch, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. He was looking at you like he was memorizing the way you’d changed—how your eyes didn’t burn like wildfire anymore, but something softer, something wiser. And yet, you were still you.

“You look like you’ve got something to prove,” you whispered, barely audible.

His smile was slow. “Only to you.”

You tilted your head, letting his hand steady you as you leaned in. “Then prove it.”

The space between you disappeared. His lips found yours—unrushed, firm, like he’d waited long enough and wanted to do this right. It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate. The kind of kiss that said he was still holding back, just a little, because the night was young and you had time.

He pulled away just enough to press his forehead to yours.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. “You already know I don’t.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hands found your waist, pulling you into him. Every step backward you took was guided by his touch, until the backs of your knees met the bed.

Still clothed, still caught in the tension between boldness and restraint, Seungcheol looked down at you like he wasn’t sure if this was real—like after everything, having you here, like this, might still be a dream.

But you were real. And this was happening.

And tonight, for once, neither of you was pretending.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, golden and gentle. Seungcheol stirred, reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed—empty, but still warm.

He opened his eyes slowly, gaze landing on the slight indent in the pillow where your head had been just hours ago. Your scent still lingered faintly on the sheets, and the memory of your skin, your breath, your laugh pressed against his senses like a soft echo.

Then he noticed the phone on the nightstand blinking with a message.

[Y/n]

I had an early shoot. Didn’t want to wake you. I ordered breakfast—it should be arriving soon.

A small smile tugged at his lips. It was such a simple gesture, but it settled something warm in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, still lying back against the pillow.

Peace. That’s what this felt like.

But the next notification made his brows furrow.

[Joshua]

When did you and Y/n get close?

He blinked at the message. No greeting. No preamble. Just straight to the point. A day after his wedding.

Seungcheol sat up, the sheets slipping down his torso, and stared at the screen. For a moment, he didn’t know if he wanted to reply or throw the phone across the room.

He took a breath.

[Seungcheol]

Didn’t realize you were checking in this soon. Everything alright?

A beat passed before Joshua responded.

[Joshua]

Just answer me.

[Seungcheol]

We reconnected. That’s it.

He didn’t offer more. Because Joshua didn’t deserve more. Not after everything.

Seungcheol dropped the phone on the desk and turned toward the room. The bed was still messy from last night, your scent faint on the pillow. He smiled to himself—not because of the intimacy, but because of the quiet trust you gave him.

No theatrics. No clinging. Just you, choosing to stay for a night and go without a scene. Leaving coffee, breakfast, and a piece of peace he didn’t know he craved.

[Joshua]

You never told me.

Seungcheol rested his arm on the windowsill of his office, the city below flickering with late lights. The coffee on his desk had gone cold, untouched since the text from Joshua hours ago. He hadn’t responded further—and didn’t plan to.

But memories had their own way of seeping in. Joshua once told him about you during college. Late one night after drinks, tipsy honesty filling the space between laughter and bitterness.

“She was loud,” Joshua had said, lips curled into something between a smirk and a wince. “Demanded everything. Even in bed. Too aggressive. She wanted to control how I moved, how I touched her, like it was her stage.”

Seungcheol had just hummed back then, pretending not to care. But he remembered how Joshua laughed like he needed to laugh—like he was trying to prove he wasn’t affected. Like he needed to make you smaller, just to feel bigger.

But now, standing here with last night still clinging to his skin, Seungcheol couldn’t relate to a single word Joshua had said.

You were all fire, yes—but not in the way Joshua made it sound. There was no chaos, no demand. Just honesty. Just heat. Just the kind of intimacy that came from finally being with someone who wasn’t scared to want.

You were present. Intentional. Unapologetic.

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol felt seen without ever needing to explain himself.

He smirked to himself, recalling how you'd pressed your lips to his jaw, how you’d texted him about breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joshua had complained.

But Seungcheol had no complaints.

Only a feeling. One that told him—this wasn’t over.

Night after night was spent with you—no pressure, no promises. Just two bodies colliding, wrapped in warmth and need, with emotions neither of you dared to unpack. Whether it was after a sunrise shoot or squeezed between late-night meetings, you always ended up together.

There were no labels. Not lovers. Not even friends, really. Colleagues, maybe—by day, you worked as the face of his brand, smiling in front of cameras and attending sleek product launches. By night, you laid tangled in his arms, limbs heavy with exhaustion, silence filling the spaces where feelings should’ve been spoken.

It was an arrangement. A quiet, sacred escape. And both of you prayed no one would ever know. Let it stay like this—uncomplicated, unspoken, and only yours to understand.

One afternoon, Seungcheol found himself sharing coffee with Ara after a quick business lunch. What was supposed to be a brief check-in had stretched longer, the conversation drifting into the familiar waters of the entertainment industry Ara had been part of for five years.

“You interested in entertainment now?” Ara asked, casually setting down her cup, eyes glinting with curiosity.

He leaned back, expression unreadable. “This isn’t about your step-sister, right?” he said, his voice smooth. “That situation your label made 'helped' her a lot.”

Ara tilted her head, her smile strained. “You’re saying that like you weren’t involved.”

Seungcheol raised his brows. “It was all business. I saw potential. That’s it.”

“But it started with her,” Ara pointed out. “That sudden interest in the industry, the sponsorships, the rebranding… it wasn’t just coincidence.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he let a small smirk tug at his lips. “The entertainment world is complicated. Messy. Political. And layered in ways most industries aren’t. It’s fascinating.”

Ara chuckled dryly. “Well, my husband runs an agency too, in case you’ve forgotten. Maybe ask him for lessons—he’s been in the game far longer than I have.”

Seungcheol met her gaze with an amused glint. “True. But I think you’re more impressive.”

She narrowed her eyes, a faint crease forming between her brows. “What are you trying to imply, Choi Seungcheol?”

His smile didn’t falter, but he leaned forward just slightly, sensing the shift. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re sharp, and you’ve handled your position well. That’s all.”

But the tension lingered. Ara’s tone dropped, voice tighter now. “Her mother married my father for money, Seungcheol. You expect me to pretend we’re sisters and braid each other's hair? Please.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. He only observed her—sharp lines, guarded eyes, that perfectly placed bitterness. There was more to her story. Just as there was more to yours. And maybe that’s what fascinated him most.

“How’s your relationship with Ara?” Seungcheol asked one night, his voice low and rough against the crown of your head.

Your bare skin pressed against his, arms wrapped lazily around him as his warmth soaked into you. The air was thick with the silence that always followed—after he picked you up from the late-night shoot, after the tangled sheets and unspoken feelings. Now it was just his breath, fanning your hair as his fingers traced idle circles along your back.

“She’s…” you hesitated, then exhaled softly, “She’s like a step-sister. A good stepdaughter for my mom, actually. Kind of like Cinderella—except she gets the spotlight wherever she goes.”

His hand stilled for a moment, then continued moving in gentle motions. “I didn’t ask what kind of person she is,” Seungcheol murmured, his voice deeper now, quieter. “I asked about your relationship. Are the two of you... good?”

You paused, searching for the right word, then shrugged lightly against him. “We barely talk. Almost never. But I don’t hate her. She’s just... there. Existing in the same house, the same air, but never really touching mine.”

He didn’t speak right away, but you felt the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his arms tightened around you just slightly—like he was bracing himself for the weight of your truth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, then began, voice barely above a whisper.

“My mom remarried when I was eleven. She didn’t love him, not really. But he had money. A big house. Enough to get us out of the debt my dad left behind.” You paused. “It wasn’t a choice made out of love. It was survival.”

Seungcheol’s thumb grazed over your shoulder gently. You leaned into him more, your words tumbling out slow and soft like they’d been waiting years to be said.

“I never blamed her. But I wasn’t happy. I don’t think I ever was in that house.” You let out a small laugh, bitter at the edges. “It was always Ara this, Ara that. She was pretty and charming and everything I wasn’t. She knew how to smile in front of people. I just... slowly faded.”

He stayed quiet, his hand now resting flat against your back, grounding you.

“I was never seen. Not by my stepdad. Not by his family. Not even by my mom. It was like—I existed in that house as a shadow. And Ara… she shone so brightly. She didn’t do it to hurt me. But... it still hurt.”

You felt your voice shake, but you kept going. “Joshua was the only one who ever looked at me. He was just… kind. He noticed. He talked to me when no one else did. Asked how I was. Remembered things I said. He made me feel human when everything else made me feel invisible.”

That moment lingered for a beat longer than comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Ara said, shifting in her seat across from Seungcheol at the polished table. “It’s… very discomforting to talk about my husband’s ex.” Her words were cool, clipped with a professional courtesy that didn’t quite hide the tension behind them.

Seungcheol nodded, biting back the words at the edge of his tongue. She’s your sister, though. But now he understood. The dynamic between you two wasn’t just complicated—it was detached. Ara didn’t just dislike you. She resented your presence in any form, even as a memory.

Still, he offered a diplomatic smile. “I’m glad you and Joshua married,” he said simply, his tone even, sincere. “He seems happy. Genuinely.”

Ara let out a breath, shoulders softening a little. She nodded, accepting the statement as though it was a gift. “He is. He really is.”

But even as Seungcheol smiled, part of him couldn’t stop remembering the warmth of your skin against his, the quiet sadness in your voice when you said “she’s just there.” And in that silence, he realized—he didn’t want you to be just there anymore.

“You took days off.” You glanced at him as the plane ascended, your voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

The two of you sat side by side in business class, on a flight bound for Jeju. Somewhere quiet—somewhere Seungcheol had planned for the both of you. A much-needed vacation. You had just wrapped your first major project in a while, and he, after endless launches, meetings, and late nights at the office, decided it was time to breathe.

“You, of all people—the workaholic—took days off,” you repeated, eyeing him like he’d grown a second head.

Seungcheol smirked as he leaned back in his seat, arms folding behind his head with practiced ease. “Tell me something I don’t know, Y/n.”

You sighed, mirroring his position, the tiredness finally sinking out of your shoulders. “You’re crazy.”

“I know someone crazier, back in high school.” He turned his head toward you, lips curving mischievously.

“What?” you narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know. She once went after the football game committee and demanded the referee be fired because her boyfriend got injured without the other guy getting carded.”

You groaned, sinking into your seat. “I didn’t technically get him fired. His boss made the decision.”

“After a call from your stepfather’s office.”

You shrugged innocently. “Something could’ve gone seriously wrong with Josh. Someone had to be responsible.”

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “He wasn’t six, Y/n. He was seventeen. You were unhinged.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. “I know,” you murmured.

There was a pause.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you more closely now. “You really cared about him, didn’t you?”

Your nod was small, but immediate. “Of course I did,” you said softly. Then you looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Didn’t you?”

He chuckled at the way you dodged the depth of the question, as always with that playful glint in your eye. He let it slide.

“Has anyone told you how much you’ve changed from your old self?”

You smirked, turning your attention to the screen in front of you, searching through the inflight movies. “I haven’t changed, Seungcheol.”

He raised an eyebrow, expecting the twist.

“I’ve grown.” You threw him a wink before pressing play on the action film you’d been looking forward to since boarding.

Seungcheol didn’t reply—he just leaned his head back and smiled. The kind of smile that stayed long after the words faded.

The resort was everything Seungcheol promised—secluded cliffs overlooking Jeju’s deep blue sea, private villas built with wood and stone, where the wind carried the scent of salt and pine. You stepped onto the terrace, hair slightly damp from a shower, wearing one of the white robes provided by the resort. The breeze kissed your skin, and the sound of waves crashing in the distance melted some invisible weight from your chest.

Seungcheol came out behind you, two wine glasses in hand. He handed you one and leaned on the railing beside you. “You look like someone who finally remembered what rest feels like.”

You sipped your wine with a grin. “I feel like someone who forgot how good silence can be.”

He clinked his glass gently against yours. “To silence, then.”

The night crept in, painting the sky in deep indigo. Neither of you said much. There was no need to. His presence beside you was enough.

Later, in the dim light of your shared villa, you sat on the rug beside the fireplace, your legs tucked beneath you, watching the flames move. Seungcheol sat behind you, his hand gently massaging your shoulders.

“You’ve been tense for months,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear.

“You’ve been watching me for months,” you replied just as quietly.

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its motion. “Someone had to.”

You leaned back slightly into his touch. “Why do you do this?” you asked, eyes still on the fire.

“What?”

“This. Us. It’s not just sex and you know it.”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Instead, he placed a kiss on your shoulder, slow and intentional. “Maybe because I don’t want to be another man who takes and leaves. Maybe because… when I see you, I don’t feel like I need to lie.”

You turned to face him, your gaze sharp. “That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We agreed not to talk about emotions, didn’t we?”

You leaned in, kissed him softly, and whispered, “That’s because we’re cowards.”

The fireplace crackled as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, your robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. Neither of you said anything more that night.

And in the quiet hum of dawn, wrapped in sheets and the scent of him still clinging to your skin, you realized that whatever this was—it was no longer casual.

You were still asleep when Seungcheol stepped out onto the villa balcony with his phone pressed to his ear. The ocean breeze tousled his hair as he leaned against the railing, his body still relaxed from last night—until he saw the caller ID: Joshua Hong.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, then finally answered. “Yeah?”

There was a beat of silence before Joshua spoke, voice flat but tight. “Did you go to Jeju with her?”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a video of her at the airport yesterday. Some media caught it. She was covered up, but not enough.” Joshua inhaled sharply. “You were in the background.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. His gaze shifted toward the bedroom, where the curtains fluttered and the silhouette of your sleeping body could be seen beneath the sheets.

“You’ve been seeing her, haven’t you?” Joshua asked again, his tone sharper this time. “Since when?”

Seungcheol let out a slow breath. “We reconnected. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s all?” Joshua’s laugh was bitter. “You’re sleeping with her.”

“That’s not your business anymore,” Seungcheol said, a finality in his voice. “You’re married. You chose your path. So did she.”

“You know what happened between us—how it ended. You were there when she—” Joshua stopped himself. His voice cracked, either with anger or regret. “I just didn’t expect you.”

“I didn’t expect me either,” Seungcheol replied. “But here we are.”

There was another pause. Then Joshua said quietly, “You’re not just sleeping with her.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the phone. “Goodbye, Joshua.”

He ended the call before the man on the other end could say another word.

When Seungcheol stepped back into the bedroom, you stirred slightly. Your eyes opened, still heavy with sleep, and you blinked up at him with a soft smile. “Who was that?”

He walked over and sat at the edge of the bed, brushing your hair away from your face. “No one important.”

But he knew better. Joshua was important—to you.

And this… whatever this was between the two of you… wasn’t going to stay quiet much longer.

"You did amazing," Seungcheol said as he climbed back onto the boat, water dripping from his hair as he reached over to help you out of your gear. His hands were steady, warm against the cool metal of your breathing apparatus. "Seriously. You did amazing."

You exhaled, catching your breath as you pulled the mouthpiece from your lips. “Really? I was worried I looked like I was flailing down there. It’s been a while since I last dove.”

“I couldn’t tell. You looked calm. Natural,” he replied as you shrugged off the rest of your gear and made your way toward the seating area in search of your robe.

He was already a step ahead, handing it to you as you approached. You murmured a quick thanks, wrapping it around your body, still slick from the sea.

"You were amazing too," you added, glancing at him as he ruffled his wet hair with a towel. "I mean, you’ve been doing this for a while, right?"

Seungcheol tilted his head, eyeing you with curiosity. "How do you know that?"

You smirked lightly. "I remembered Joshua mentioning it once. Something about how you always went diving every semester break. Guess you were coming here?"

He paused for a moment, eyes studying your face like you’d just said something he hadn’t expected. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah… I used to come here a lot. Especially back in high school. The water felt like the only place I could breathe.”

You met his gaze, the silence stretching comfortably between you as the wind tousled both your hair. He broke it first.

“I didn’t think you’d remember something like that,” he said, quieter this time.

You chuckled as you settled onto the bench of the boat, wrapping the robe tighter around your body. “I know a lot of things about people, Seungcheol. I’m not as ignorant as you might’ve thought… and I never was.”

Seungcheol sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I figured that out. But… why didn’t you ever talk to me in high school?”

Your brows furrowed as you turned your head toward him. “I thought you hated me. I mean… everyone kind of did. But with you, I figured you especially didn’t like my presence, so I just—stayed away.”

He shook his head instantly, reaching out to place a hand gently on your arm, grounding you. “No. God, no. Of course not. Did I ever say anything like that to you?”

You hesitated, biting your lower lip, eyes flickering away for a second. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember exactly. Maybe Joshua said something? Or maybe I just inferred it from the way things were.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Joshua told you I didn’t like you?”

You exhaled a short breath. “No. I told you, Seungcheol. I forgot. Maybe no one said it. Maybe it was just... the way everything felt back then.”

A beat of silence hung between you, filled only by the gentle sound of waves lapping against the boat. His hand didn’t move from your arm.

“I didn’t hate you,” he said softly. “If anything, I think I noticed you more than I was supposed to.”

It was a memory Seungcheol never quite managed to forget.

He had just arrived at campus that day, walking leisurely down the hallway with his headphones on, music playing loud enough to drown out the world. But the moment he turned the corner toward class and saw a group of students peeking through the door, murmuring with their phones half-raised, something tugged at his gut. He paused, pulled the headphones down around his neck, and stepped forward.

Inside, he saw it—the moment Joshua broke up with you. Publicly.

Your face was pale, jaw tight, but your eyes didn’t flinch as Joshua stood there, saying things he clearly hadn’t rehearsed enough. His voice was calm, yet his hands betrayed him—fidgeting, twitching, unsure.

“Y/n is so crazy about her reputation. Anything she’ll worry about is how people think about her.”

Those words had echoed in Seungcheol’s head for a long time, not just because Joshua once said them to him in passing, but because they didn’t fit with what he saw that day.

Joshua ended it in front of everyone, knowing full well how much you hated being watched, being judged. Seungcheol had always thought Joshua wouldn’t intentionally humiliate you—but then, why do it like that? He could see it in Joshua’s eyes too—something inside him was breaking just as much.

And then you ran. You rushed out of the classroom, your shoulder colliding with Seungcheol’s chest as you stormed past him. No apologies. Just heartbreak in motion. He remembered watching your figure disappear down the hallway, the faint sound of your heels against the tiles lingering far longer than they should.

Now, sitting across from you with glasses of whiskey in hand, the sea breeze from Jeju brushing in from the half-open window, Seungcheol finally asked what had been sitting at the base of his chest for years.

“How did it feel?”

You sipped your drink slowly, eyes staring into the amber swirl in your glass. “It was humiliating, of course,” you said. “He didn’t have to do it that way.”

Seungcheol nodded. He agreed. “But?”

“But I was relieved,” you continued softly, a dry smile playing on your lips. “At least it woke me up.”

There was a pause. Heavy. Honest.

Then you looked up at him, your voice just a breath. “I knew Joshua liked Ara.”

Seungcheol blinked. “What?”

You gave a slow nod. “I saw it. The way he looked at her during her sweet seventeen. Like she was… something he desired. Like he forgot I was in the room.”

“Did you ever confront him?”

“Of course I did,” you said, letting out a soft chuckle. “But I didn’t say her name directly. I just asked, ‘Do you like someone else?’”

“And what did he say?”

You shrugged. “Does a cat say anything after it knocks a vase off the table and watches it shatter?” you said with amusement, your smile laced with bitterness. “He didn’t answer. He just stood there like silence would undo the damage.”

Seungcheol watched you carefully.

“Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt that much. That day,” you murmured.

“But still… he hurt you,” Seungcheol said, voice quiet but firm.

You looked at him, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “Who cares?” you said lightly. “Who cares if he hurt me? When I realized he wasn’t the same person who saw me like I existed—like in high school—I chose to be hurt. That was my decision. My freedom.”

Seungcheol looked away, his jaw tightening. He stared at the bottom of his glass as if the answer to everything might be swirling in the amber liquid. Then he looked back up at you, eyes unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For everything you had to go through. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

And for the first time, Seungcheol saw you cry.

Not the quiet, composed kind of tears that slid down silently—but the kind that surprised even you. It cracked something in your voice, your expression trembling as the tears pooled and broke, slipping down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, blinking rapidly, but your chest stuttered on a breath you couldn’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry,” you said, brushing at your cheeks. “God, I don’t even know why—”

But Seungcheol reached out, not to stop your tears, but to be with you in them. He didn’t speak. He just looked at you with the kind of gaze that saw straight through the armor you'd built, right into the hurt you thought you’d buried.

“You don’t have to be strong around me,” he finally whispered.

And for once, you let yourself believe that.

“I’m tired, Seungcheol,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The kind of tired that didn’t just sit in your bones—it lived in your chest, in the corners of your mind, pulling everything down with it.

“I’m so tired of fighting. Of defending myself. Of always having to prove I’m not what they think I am. Not a homewrecker. Not a villain. Not someone cold just because I don’t cry in public or fall apart when they expect me to.”

You looked away, ashamed of the crack in your voice. “I tried so hard to hold myself together. To keep my name clean. To be someone my younger self would be proud of. But somewhere along the way, I forgot what it’s like to just... breathe.”

Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his hand still resting near yours, but he didn’t try to console you with empty words. He just listened. Present. Unflinching.

“Sometimes I think I survived everything just to be this exhausted version of myself,” you exhaled. “And I hate that. I hate that it still hurts, even when I know I did the right thing.”

“You’re not just surviving anymore,” he said gently. “You’re healing. It’s slow, and it’s ugly, but you’re doing it.”

You laughed softly through the ache. “Does healing always feel this lonely?”

Seungcheol’s eyes softened. “Not when you have someone who stays.”

“What is this?”

Ara’s voice trembled as she shoved her phone into Joshua’s face. The screen lit up with an article, the headline bold and accusatory, accompanied by a grainy photo of Joshua standing in front of you in a hotel lobby. The timestamp showed it was taken just last week.

Joshua exhaled, chest tightening. He hadn’t expected anyone to snap a photo that night—let alone that it would end up online so fast.

“Ara, I—”

“What were you doing talking to another woman when you’re married, Joshua? And not just any woman—her?” Ara hissed, eyes blazing. “She’s your ex.”

“She’s your sister,” Joshua reminded her, the words heavy with frustration.

“I don’t care!” Ara shouted. “She’s still your ex! You promised me—promised—you’d stop talking to her! And then I find this? In a hotel lobby? What am I supposed to think, huh? That you were just there for coffee and childhood memories? Or should I believe you slept with her?”

Joshua clenched his jaw. “Is that really how little you think of me? After everything? You know me, Ara. You know I’ve always been loyal.”

Ara scoffed bitterly, folding her arms. “Then explain to me why the entire internet thinks my husband is cheating—with my own sister.”

It was supposed to be just a talk.

That’s what Joshua told himself when he texted you last week, asking to meet. Just a small catch-up in the hotel lobby while you were in town for a schedule. A moment to ask about your career, which he was quietly relieved to see bouncing back after the scandal. But the conversation drifted, as it always did with you, into places it shouldn't have gone.

He shouldn’t have asked. But he did.

“You two… are you dating?” he asked, voice low and cautious.

You looked at him, eyes cool, unreadable. “That’s none of your business, Joshua.”

Joshua flinched at the words. “You’re my ex,” he said, voice tightening. “And he’s my best friend.”

“And you’re married,” you snapped back, your voice cutting through the air with quiet finality.

Silence dropped like a curtain between you. Joshua stared at you, taking in the version of you that sat in front of him—no longer the girl he once held in his arms, but a woman. Confident. Grown. Blossomed in a way he never imagined.

He wasn’t sure if it was regret or longing creeping up his spine, but he hated it.

“You still love me, Y/n…” he whispered, almost as if testing the weight of his own delusion.

You blinked at him, lips parting slightly in disbelief. But you said nothing. You didn’t need to.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Joshua… it was all in the past. I don’t love you anymore. And honestly? I don’t even know if it was love to begin with… or just obsession. I was hurt—by my family, by everything. You were just a way out.”

Joshua’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Obsession? Y/n, you were obsessed with me? How could you say that…”

He watched you stand up from your seat, your body tense with finality. Panic sparked in his eyes, and without thinking, he reached out and gripped your wrist.

“Don’t go. Please… don’t go to him.”

You looked down at his hand on your wrist before meeting his eyes, cold and sharp.

“Why are you always like this, Joshua? Seungcheol is your best friend. You said that yourself. So why?”

Joshua blinked. Why? Why did it always feel like he needed to prove something? Like he needed the world—and maybe himself—to believe Seungcheol would always come second? That he was the one who shone brighter?

You pulled your hand back, voice low but laced with exhaustion. “Stop being jealous of him. We’re not seventeen anymore.”

His chest tightened. Then he said the one thing he’d been clinging to.

“You called me that time. You texted me.”

You froze. He was talking about the screenshot. The one floating around the internet. The one Ara had weaponized into a full-blown scandal.

You turned back to him, eyes burning.

“That was because your wife tried to ruin me, Joshua!” Your voice trembled, fury shaking through every word. “Ara tried to kill my career. She turned down every offer sent to me. She wanted me jobless. I texted you because I was desperate—I thought maybe you could talk some sense into her.”

Joshua opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“And you ignored me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You left me hanging. And now… now you make it look like I’m a homewrecker? You let them believe that? You stayed silent while she tore me apart.”

There was a pause. A silence that felt heavier than any scream. And in that quiet, Joshua saw it—what he’d done. What he didn’t do.

“Ara, it’s over. It’s been over for a long time. You’re the only one,” Joshua said softly, reaching for her hands and holding them firmly in his.

Ara stared at him, eyes glassy, hurt simmering beneath the surface.

“Then tell me,” she said through gritted teeth, “why were you captured with her? Why were you seen with your ex in a hotel lobby like you had nothing to hide?”

Joshua sighed, tension coiling in his shoulders. “It wasn’t like that. We just… talked. But things got complicated. Everything’s been complicated lately, and you know that.” His voice faltered, almost pleading. “I’ve always loved you, Ara. Even when I was still with her.”

Ara bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing the bitter taste his words left behind.

“Then why…” she whispered, voice trembling, “why do you keep getting distracted by her these days? Why do your eyes drift when you think I’m not watching?”

Joshua looked down. His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

Because Ara wasn’t you.

And that truth—shameful, quiet, and damning—sat heavy on his chest.

Seungcheol had read every article. Every damn headline that twisted the truth into something grotesque. And still—he hadn’t seen you since that night. Since everything with Joshua hit the internet like wildfire.

He hated to admit it, but he was scared. Not of the public, not of the media—but of the possibility that you were avoiding him. That you might be too hurt, too tired, too ashamed to even face him. And the thought gutted him.

But more than anything, Seungcheol didn’t care what the world said. He knew you. He knew you wouldn’t do anything reckless. He knew your mind—how it worked, how it processed things wisely even when you were breaking. He was proud to say he knew you now, not just the girl from the past, but the woman you had grown into.

Still, it didn’t stop the media from fanning the flames.

Old wounds were reopened and picked apart. Every detail of your past with Joshua was dissected like you were nothing more than a scandal. Reporters interviewed your high school classmates, hungry for scraps of gossip. And somehow, overnight, you were painted as everything you never were: a homewrecker. A manipulative ex. A washed-up actress. A high school bully. A villain. Cancelled.

Seungcheol couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t even look at your name trending without feeling sick. He called Seungkwan, desperate for answers, but Seungkwan only offered a tired sigh and a polite refusal.

“She’s somewhere safe. That’s all I can tell you.”

It was a déjà vu of the darkest kind. All over again, you were losing everything. Sponsors withdrew. Brands pulled out. Upcoming projects were "postponed indefinitely." And the public, once so quick to idolize, now tore you apart with bloodthirsty glee.

Then, a week passed. No word from you. No appearances. No social media activity. Just silence.

Until your name resurfaced.

This time, attached to a formal letter. A retirement.

Seungcheol stared at the screen, his blood running cold as he read your words. Calm. Gracious. Final.

You were leaving the industry.

And it broke something in him.

Two days later, he was standing at Joshua and Ara’s doorstep, fists clenched, jaw tight. He didn’t care about courtesy. He didn’t come to talk. He came to confront.

To demand answers.

Because while they lived comfortably inside their quiet home—married, unscathed—you were out there picking up the pieces of a life they helped destroy.

And Seungcheol wasn’t about to let that slide. Joshua opened the door, surprised to see Seungcheol standing there. He looked disheveled—no styled hair, no jacket, just a plain black shirt clinging to his chest, damp from the light rain outside. His eyes were bloodshot, tired, and angry.

“Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything at first. He stepped inside without being invited, brushing past Joshua with a force that made it clear he wasn’t here for small talk.

Ara appeared from the hallway, her expression stiffening the moment she saw him.

“Seungcheol,” she said carefully. “What brings you—”

He turned to Joshua. “You let it happen again.”

Joshua blinked. “What?”

“You let her go through all of it again. You stood there and watched the world tear her apart—again. And this time, it was because of you.”

Ara folded her arms. “Don’t bring that tone in here.”

“Don’t tell me how to speak when she’s out there suffering because of you!” Seungcheol snapped, pointing at her. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you pulled those strings—blacklisting her, blocking projects, feeding lies to the media.”

“I never—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You tried to bury her, Ara. And you—” he turned to his old friend, “you let her take the fall alone. You saw the articles. You saw the comments. And what did you do? Hide behind your silence like a coward?”

Joshua’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“But it did!” Seungcheol shouted. “Because you never stopped it. You never protected her. You just stood there while she wrote her own damn retirement letter like she was the villain in a story you wrote.”

“Cheol…” Joshua’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” he said coldly. “You hurt her. And then you let the world finish the job.”

Silence fell. Joshua couldn’t meet his eyes anymore.

Seungcheol took a shaky breath, voice lower now, but no less sharp. “She loved you. Even after everything, she respected you. And you disrespected her name like it was nothing.”

“Then why are you here?” Ara asked, her voice tight.

“Because I’m not like you,” Seungcheol said, eyes locked with hers. “I don’t stay quiet when someone I love is bleeding.”

Joshua looked up sharply at that.

Seungcheol didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I love her. And I’m not going to sit still while people like you rip her apart.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, chest heaving.

“Fix it,” he said, without looking back. “Both of you. Before you lose whatever soul you still have left.”

And then he was gone—leaving the door open behind him, the air thick with the weight of everything they refused to face.

A year had passed.

Seungcheol found himself once again wandering an art gallery in Samcheong-dong, his safe haven. On days like this—quiet, gray-skied afternoons with no schedules—he liked to get lost in colors and silence. Museums, paintings, sculptures… they helped him think, helped him breathe. They grounded him when the world felt too fast. But today, they did little to soothe him.

Because today, he missed you.

More than yesterday. More than last week. More than he was willing to admit to anyone else.

He hadn’t seen you since that night—since your name was dragged through headlines, since your tear-stained retirement letter was posted across every screen, since he watched you disappear like smoke in a storm. No goodbye. No closure. Not even a whisper.

Still, deep inside, he believed you were okay. That you were somewhere far, healing. Creating. Living quietly. He told himself that every time your name made his chest ache.

After your contract officially ended, Seungcheol had taken care of everything. Without asking for your permission, he’d paid off the remaining debts you owed to Seungkwan.

“Just let her know I did this for her,” he told him quietly. “Not out of pity. But because I care.”

He never asked for anything in return. He only hoped you knew.

As he drifted past the modern impressionist section, a familiar texture caught his eye. Thick, dreamy brush strokes. G. The artist he’d admired. But it had been a while—almost two years—since G last released anything.

“She just launched five new paintings,” the curator beside him said. “Would you like to take a look, Mr. Choi?”

He followed, curious but detached—until his eyes landed on Beautiful Beach.

And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

It was a painting of a man standing at the shoreline, his arms wide open to the sea. The ocean crashed behind him, the wind caught his white shirt, and his pants fluttered around familiar legs. The way his hair curled in the wind—it was unmistakable.

It was him.

Seungcheol’s heart skipped.

“This one has drawn the most attention,” the curator said, handing him a pair of headphones. “There’s a recorded synopsis from the artist herself.”

The headphones pressed against his ears, and for a moment, only the sound of waves and seagulls filled the silence. Then a voice—soft, warm, clear. Familiar.

Your voice.

“Jeju. When the beach was beautiful… and you were too—beautiful.”

The date mentioned in the audio matched the exact day you both stayed in Jeju. He remembered that day clearly: leaving for almost a day to meet old friends while you stayed behind at the villa. When he returned, your painting tools had been scattered on the balcony, though you had brushed it off, asking the staff to clean them up before he could say a word.

He should’ve known. Should’ve asked.

He turned to the curator, voice tight. “Is G a woman?”

The curator nodded. “We believe so. Still in her thirties, based on the timing of her first portfolio. But we don’t have any biographical information—she chooses anonymity. Her agent manages everything.”

Then Seungcheol stared at another painting, breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled. His chest tightened—not from fear, but longing. And then dread.

Love of My Life, G.

“I need her personal contact or information,” he said, turning toward the curator, urgency coating every syllable. “Please… can you help me?”

You were halfway through folding laundry when your phone buzzed with an unknown number. You picked it up absently, expecting a telemarketer.

“Hello, this is from Haesung Delivery. We’re arriving shortly with five paintings for Ji Y/n-ssi. Just confirming someone will be home to receive them.”

You froze. “I’m sorry—paintings?”

“Yes, five canvas pieces, already in shipment. Should be arriving in about fifteen minutes.”

Your mind started spinning. You hadn’t ordered any paintings. Not one, let alone five. None of your friends had mentioned sending you anything either. Confused and mildly anxious, you thanked the caller and hung up.

When the delivery arrived, the workers carried in large, bubble-wrapped canvases, each labeled with careful handling instructions. You signed the receipt in a daze.

The moment they left, you tore the packaging open—urgently, like unraveling a mystery that had been quietly waiting for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

They were your paintings.

Paintings you had sold—some long ago, some to private collectors you never met in person. Yet here they were, standing like memories reincarnated in oil and color.

Villain Origin Story—the jagged depiction of a woman painting her own portrait while shadows loomed behind her, each one holding knives. A piece you created in the darkest part of your twenties.

An Actress—a surreal image of a man pulling off layers of masks, each one playing a different female role.

Detached—a woman sitting alone in the middle of a road while people rushed past her on either side, all in blurred motion. A painting about grief disguised as resilience.

Beautiful Beach—the serene figure of a man staring into the ocean from Jeju, his back turned, as if the sea might offer an answer he couldn’t speak aloud. That was the first one inspired by Seungcheol.

And then there it was—Love of My Life.

A baby’s tiny hand reaching up, fingers curled, with a paper label around the wrist. Scribbled in your brushstroke handwriting: love of my life.

You swallowed thickly. Your heart clenched.

Taped gently to the back of the final canvas was a small envelope. Inside, a handwritten note, no signature.

I enjoy these paintings so much.

You’re a piece yourself.

You stood there, the letter trembling slightly in your hand. You didn't know who sent them back or why—but the message was clear: someone saw you. Someone remembered. Someone thought you were worth returning to.

Your eyes lingered on the letter as your phone began to vibrate beside the unboxed paintings. You didn’t recognize the number, but something—your instinct, your gut, your heart—told you to pick it up.

You did.

“Hello?” you breathed.

A pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten.

Then a voice. Familiar. Deep. Gentle.

"Are they arrived safely?"

Your heart stopped for a moment.

You clutched the phone tighter. “You sent them...”

A low hum rumbled through the speaker, warm and quiet.

“The moment I found out it was you,” he said softly, “I couldn’t think of anything else but returning these pieces to you. They never belonged with me.”

You sat down slowly on the edge of your couch, knees weak, surrounded by fragments of your own soul painted on canvas.

“You bought all of them?”

“I had.” He paused, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Turns out they held pieces of you I didn’t get to keep. But I realized… they’re not mine to hold onto.”

Tears burned behind your eyes. You blinked fast. “Why are you calling now?”

“Because I couldn’t go another day pretending that I was okay with the silence. I know I helped from afar… but I never asked if you wanted me to.” His voice cracked faintly. “I just wanted you to know… I still see you.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“I see you,” he repeated. “Not the headlines. Not the scandal. Not the rumors. Just… you.”

You whispered, “Choi Seungcheol… I miss you.”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line, like he’d been holding his breath for a year just to hear those words.

“I miss you too, Y/n,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Every damn day.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that could somehow slow the racing of your heart. The silence between you was no longer heavy—it was full. Of everything unsaid. Of everything still waiting.

“I wanted to call you after everything,” he confessed. “After the letter. After the way the world turned its back on you. But I thought… maybe I’d done enough damage.”

“You didn’t,” you said softly, wiping your cheek. “You were the only one who didn’t.”

He let out a shaky breath, relief bleeding into his voice. “Do you think… maybe I can see you?”

You looked around your apartment, now filled with the ghosts of your past, returned like gifts. A warmth bloomed in your chest—not because the pain was gone, but because someone had carried it with you, even when you didn’t ask them to.

“You’re not here?” you asked as you opened your door, half-expecting to see him on the other side. Empty.

You heard Seungcheol chuckle softly through the phone, the sound tinged with affection.

“They wouldn’t even give me your address. They’re pretty strict with their artist… which, honestly, I’m glad.”

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as a sob threatened to escape. You turned away from the door, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, trying to steady your voice.

“I’m in Busan.”

There was a pause on the line. “Busan,” he repeated, like he was picturing it—like he could already see you there.

“That’s unexpected…” he murmured. “If I go there today… would that be okay?”

Your heart twisted. You looked down at the phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you held it closer.

“Totally,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’d really like that.”

And for the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel like a heavy thing.

Seungcheol stood in front of your door, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. His fingers hovered over the doorbell, then curled into a hesitant fist. For someone known to command people and boards, this—this quiet moment in front of a small apartment door in Busan—was the most nerve-wracking thing he’d done in years.

He took a deep breath. The salt in the sea breeze lingered in the air, and for a second, he remembered the painting—Beautiful Beach. It was him. It was you. It was everything they never said out loud.

He pressed the doorbell.

Inside, you froze. You hadn’t expected him to come this fast. You were still in your oversized sweater, your hair pinned up messily. But you moved to the door anyway, barefoot on the warm wooden floor.

When you opened it, he looked up.

For a beat, neither of you said anything. You took in the sight of him—dressed simply, holding nothing, but carrying everything. The way his eyes searched your face. The way his shoulders dropped like he could finally breathe.

“You’re really here,” you whispered.

“I had to see you,” he replied. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

And then, as if time folded in on itself, you took one step forward—and he pulled you into his arms. Tight. Like he needed to prove you were real.

You stood there in his arms for a long moment, neither of you saying a word, the hallway holding its breath around you. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours, the warmth of his skin through the soft cotton of your sweater. He smelled like a memory—faint cologne, a hint of coffee, and the ocean air clinging to his coat.

When you finally pulled back, your hand lingered on his arm. “Come in,” you whispered.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Inside, the apartment was small but warm, art supplies scattered on the table, half-finished sketches on the wall. He walked in slowly, like he was stepping into a sacred space. His eyes scanned the paintings, some new, some old—some he had bought back with trembling hands, now resting again where they belonged.

“It’s strange,” he said, voice quiet. “They look different here. Like they can breathe again.”

You watched him as he ran his fingers along the edge of Villain Origin Story. “I used to stare at this one the most,” he murmured. “I kept wondering what kind of pain could birth something so bold. And then I realized… it was everything I missed while you were breaking.”

You swallowed hard, tears stinging your eyes. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to.”

“But I would’ve stayed,” he said, finally turning to you. “If you’d asked me to. I would’ve fought for you. I still would.”

You sat down on the couch, the heaviness in your chest both familiar and new. “I needed to lose everything. To see what I could survive without.”

He took a seat beside you, his hand finding yours.

“And now?” he asked.

You looked down at your intertwined fingers. “Now I’m starting to wonder what I want to live with.”

His thumb brushed your knuckles. “You know… I never said it back then. I thought it was too late. That I didn’t deserve to. But I’ll say it now, if you’ll let me.”

You met his eyes, steady and warm.

“Say it.”

“I loved you then,” he said, voice cracking. “And I still do. I don’t know if I deserve a second chance, but if there’s even a piece of you that still wants this… I’ll be here. For every version of you.”

You exhaled shakily, emotion flooding through your chest.

“I never stopped wanting you, Cheol,” you whispered. “Even when I had to let you go.”

He reached for you again—and this time, the kiss came softly. No fire, no rush. Just a promise. Just the beginning.

“Love of My Life,” Seungcheol said, his voice low but intent. “Enlighten me… because the moment I saw it, I thought—” He paused, brows furrowing as he gently pulled you closer, cupping your face with both hands. “I thought you had my baby.”

Your breath hitched at his honesty. You let out a soft sigh and gave a small, almost bittersweet smile as you shook your head.

“No,” you whispered. “I didn’t get pregnant or anything like that.”

You looked away for a second, then back into his eyes.

“It’s just… that painting,” you said, voice trembling slightly. “That was the moment I realized how deeply I loved you. My love for you—that love—was born the day I painted it.”

His hands tensed slightly around your cheeks, eyes scanning your expression like he was memorizing every word.

“I didn’t know how else to hold you,” you added softly. “So I held you there… in that painting.”

Seungcheol exhaled shakily, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “how long I’ve waited to hear something like that from you.”

You laughed again, this time with a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to say it.”

He leaned forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

“You’re still the love of my life,” he whispered. “Even after everything. Even now.”

And as his lips met yours—soft, slow, and full of promise—it didn’t feel like starting over.

It felt like finally coming home.

Seungcheol sat beside you in the dressing room, his fingers intertwined with yours, grounding you as the hum of reporters buzzed through the walls. The press conference had just begun, and the moment you’d been running from for years was now moments away.

"You ready?" he asked softly, eyes steady on you.

You looked down at your name card—Ji Y/n, Artist—and took a deep breath. "I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready," you admitted, then smiled faintly, "but I’m here."

“That’s more than enough,” he said, lifting your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles. “Let them meet the soul behind the art. The woman I never stopped believing in.”

The emcee's voice echoed from the stage, calling your alias.

“Painter G has agreed to speak today…”

You stood, hands trembling just slightly, and walked toward the light with Seungcheol right behind you.

The cameras clicked furiously the moment you stepped into view. Whispers rushed through the crowd like a wave crashing against the rocks.

And then you spoke.

"Hello. I’m Ji Y/n,” you said calmly into the microphone. “Some of you know me as Painter G.”

A stunned silence washed over the room. You didn’t flinch.

“I want to begin by apologizing for the way I disappeared from the narrative. For what happened in the past.”

You paused, your fingers gently grazing the edge of the podium, heart steady despite the lights and cameras.

“For years, I painted anonymously. Not because I feared being seen, but because the world I came from didn’t have space for me to exist freely. So I spoke the only way I knew how—through colors. Through shadows. Through light.”

A soft breath escaped your lips as your gaze found the familiar face watching from the wings—Seungcheol, eyes full of quiet encouragement.

“My art was born in silence, but I hope it spoke loudly. And now, standing here as Ji Y/n, I hope my paintings can continue to be what they’ve always been meant to be—a place of comfort, a mirror, a home—for anyone who needs it.”

You smiled, a gentle but certain curve of your lips.

“Thank you for listening to me now… for seeing me.”

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Then came the applause—hesitant at first, but quickly growing into something loud and warm.

Later that night, you stood in front of your newest piece at the gallery. The curator had insisted on exhibiting The Return, a new painting you created in Busan after Seungcheol came back.

It showed two silhouettes under soft light—one standing, one opening the door. Between them was a blur of colors, a reunion in motion.

Seungcheol came up behind you, arms circling your waist.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?”

You leaned back into him, eyes on the painting. “I think I’m starting to.”

He kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Welcome home, Y/n.”

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the wooden floor. You were curled up on the couch, sketchpad in your lap, feet tucked beneath you as soft jazz played from the speaker in the corner. The house smelled faintly of fresh coffee and vanilla candles—Seungcheol’s favorites, even though he insisted he didn’t have favorites.

From the kitchen, you heard the familiar sound of him humming. You peeked over your sketchpad.

Seungcheol stood at the stove, hair slightly messy, wearing a faded gray hoodie and plaid pajama pants. He was flipping pancakes with a focus so intense, you had to smile.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you teased.

He turned his head just enough to smirk. “These pancakes are a celebration. One year of not running from love deserves fluffier batter.”

You laughed, closing your sketchpad. “I’m glad you’re not running anymore.”

He set the pan down and walked over to you, lifting your feet and settling beside you, resting your legs on his lap. “You make it easy to stay.”

You reached out to touch his face, thumb tracing the scar on his eyebrow you always loved. “I still can’t believe we get mornings like this.”

Seungcheol caught your hand, kissed your knuckles. “We deserve mornings like this. And afternoons. And quiet nights. Maybe even a dog.”

You raised a brow. “A dog?”

He grinned. “A big one. Clumsy. Terrible guard instincts. But loves you more than anything. Like me.”

You snorted, but your heart swelled.

Then he leaned in, forehead resting against yours, voice softer now. “One year down. Forever to go. You still okay with that?”

You smiled, eyes glistening. “I’m more than okay with that.”

On the day of your first anniversary, Seungcheol took the day off, determined to make every second count.

He showed up at the door—where two of you lived together, with a shy smile and a bouquet of your favorite flowers—messily wrapped, as if he tried to do it himself, which only made it more perfect. "Ready for the best date of your life?" he grinned, eyes crinkling.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his, and the two of you stepped into the day like it belonged only to you.

First stop: an art gallery tucked between tall buildings, the kind only locals knew about. You both wandered through quiet halls, stopping in front of unfamiliar artists' work, whispering thoughts like secrets. He stood beside you with his arm around your waist, proudly watching you lose yourself in the brushstrokes, like you always did.

Shopping came next—just small things. A sweater you said felt like a hug, snacks for later, a new sketchpad. Every step was light, easy, like breathing.

By evening, you were at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The lights below sparkled, but nothing outshone the warmth in Seungcheol’s eyes as he sat across from you. You had just finished dessert when he reached into his coat pocket and slid a small velvet box across the table.

Your breath caught.

“No pressure,” he said, voice gentle, but his fingers trembled slightly. “It’s not what you think, love. Not yet. But it’s a promise."

You opened it slowly. Inside was a simple, elegant ring—silver, with a tiny engraving inside: I see you.

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, love. Not tonight,” he whispered, reaching across to take your hand. “But I am asking to keep growing with you. Keep showing up. Keep choosing you. Every day.”

You looked at him—your Seungcheol. The man who saw you behind every canvas. Who came back when you thought everyone else had walked away.

“Actually… I have a gift too.” You reached into your bag with a soft smile, and Seungcheol tilted his head, his brows lifting with curiosity.

“A gift?” he echoed, already intrigued.

You pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box—simple, but with care in every detail. You slid it across the table to him.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “It’s not a watch, is it?”

“Just open it,” you said, barely containing your grin.

He chuckled, but carefully peeled the ribbon away and lifted the lid.

And then—he froze.

The moment his eyes landed on what was inside, his breath caught. His gaze shot to you, wide with disbelief, then back to the box.

He blinked, once. Twice.

“Love… really?” His voice was almost a whisper, trembling with the weight of a thousand emotions.

He closed the box as if needing a second to process, pressing his hand over his mouth. His other hand gripped the edge of the table like the world had just tilted.

You watched him, biting your lip in amusement, your heart swelling at the way he was visibly falling apart—in the sweetest way possible. His joy was so big, he didn’t know where to put it.

After a few beats of stunned silence, he opened the box again, his eyes shimmering. Then, he let out a laugh—soft, breathless, completely overwhelmed.

“We need to get married,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his voice cracking as his eyes flicked between your face and the testpack laying in the box. “Love, we’re going to be parents?”

You nodded slowly, tears pricking your lashes. “Yeah… we are.”

In that moment, the city lights faded behind him. All that existed was you, him, and the quiet miracle growing between you.

He stood up suddenly, walked around the table, and pulled you into his arms with so much love it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Forget everything I said earlier,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes—his own still glossy with wonder. “I’m not waiting anymore. I’m proposing tonight.”

He reached for your hand, holding it like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Let’s get married, love. I want to build everything with you. Starting now.”

The living room looked like a battlefield—and Seungcheol was clearly losing the war.

There were wedding brochures everywhere, color swatches pinned to walls like crime scene clues, half-finished to-do lists scattered across the coffee table, and at least three different planners lying open, none of which seemed to be helping his sanity.

“We still haven’t finalized the seating chart,” he muttered, pacing. “And what if the venue changes the lighting last minute? Or the florist forgets we said no roses? Love, seriously, we’re two weeks away!”

From the couch, you let out a soft hum, cradling your slowly growing belly with one hand and flipping a page in your book with the other. “Babe… relax. It’s all under control.”

He spun around, pointing dramatically at you. “You’re too calm. You’re suspiciously calm. You’re either hiding a meltdown or secretly plotting my downfall.”

You just smiled, glowing in a way that had nothing to do with stress and everything to do with the small life inside you. “Why would I be stressed? I’m marrying you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

He opened his mouth to argue—then closed it again. His eyes dropped to the gentle curve of your belly under your loose shirt. That stopped him cold.

Your free hand slid over your bump, soothing it instinctively, and his gaze softened, the stress in his features unraveling just a little.

“I already have everything I need,” you said quietly. “You, and our baby. The rest is just… decorations.”

Seungcheol let out a long sigh and walked over, letting you pull him down beside you. You snuggled into his side, resting your head against his chest, feeling the way his heart slowly calmed. He placed a hand on your belly, rubbing it gently.

“You’re dangerous,” he mumbled, smiling despite himself. “You and this baby—tag-teaming my blood pressure.”

You giggled. “Then you better get used to it, Mr. Choi. This is just the beginning.”

He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then your belly. “As long as I have you both, I’ll survive. Even if the cake is wrong and the napkins are beige instead of ivory.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “See? We’re going to be just fine.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Yeah. We really are.”

Two weeks later when the morning light filtered gently through the hotel room curtains, casting a golden glow across white satin, soft florals, and the delicate lace of your wedding dress hanging by the window. The air was quiet—peaceful, even—as makeup brushes moved like whispers across your skin, stylists moving carefully, reverently, as if they knew this wasn’t just any wedding.

This was yours. And today, you would marry the love of your life.

Your hands rested gently on your belly, the softest curve showing beneath the silk of your robe. The baby gave a tiny flutter, like even they could feel it—today was special.

“Y/n,” your stylist whispered, handing you a mirror, “you’re glowing.”

You smiled, eyes meeting your reflection. You looked like someone who knew she was loved.

Meanwhile, in the groom’s suite, chaos ruled.

“Where’s my cufflink?” Seungcheol asked, half-dressed, half-breathless. “The gold one—no, the one she picked.”

Jeonghan, his cousin, rolled his eyes as he calmly handed it over. “Relax. You’re still handsome. Even with one cufflink.”

“You don’t get it,” Seungcheol muttered, fidgeting with his collar. “She’s pregnant. She’s walking down the aisle carrying our baby. I need to be perfect.”

Mingyu, another cousin, patted his shoulder. “You love her. That’s already perfect enough.”

And Seungcheol nodded, grounding himself in that truth.

When the music finally began and the doors opened, everyone turned—but for Seungcheol, the world went silent. There you were, walking down the aisle, a soft smile on your lips, bouquet in hand, your other hand brushing protectively over your belly.

He blinked, almost disbelieving, his heart rising to his throat. You were everything. His future. His family.

As you reached him, your eyes locked—and all the nerves in him melted. He held out his hand, steady and sure, and you took it with no hesitation.

“Hi,” he whispered, teary-eyed.

“Hi,” you whispered back, voice trembling with joy.

The ceremony passed like a dream—vows spoken between soft tears and laughter, rings exchanged with trembling fingers, and a kiss that promised forever.

The reception had faded into a blur of lights and laughter, toasts and warm embraces. The music had slowed, the guests slowly leaving, and the stars outside blinked quietly over the city. You were finally alone.

Back in your suite, shoes kicked off and veil set aside, you curled into the couch together—your head resting on his chest, his hand gently resting over the swell of your belly. No cameras, no speeches, no expectations.

Just you. Just him. Just this.

Seungcheol shifted slightly, brushing his lips against your forehead before whispering, “Thank you.”

You looked up at him, brow raised. “For what?”

He smiled softly. “For not giving up on love even when life gave you every reason to. For choosing me. For letting me be the one to build a life with you. I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel seen the way you do.”

You blinked back the tears, biting your lip as you leaned up to cup his face. “Then thank you… for showing me I’m not hard to love. For holding space for me, for everything I carried before I met you. And for loving me in the softest way I never knew I needed.”

He kissed your palm, holding it over his heart. “You and this baby… you’re my everything.”

You rested your forehead against his, your voice a whisper, “And you’re home. Always have been.”

In that stillness, wrapped in each other and in the promises you made only hours ago, there was nothing left to say. Just quiet gratitude—heavy, full, and endlessly warm.

The end

844 notes · View notes

moonchild1 · 2 years ago

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jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅸ)

hi everyone wow it's really been a while and i'm on list 9 already damnnn that's alot and list 10 is like half way complete already... soooo you might notice a change in the set up this time around i liked how it looked on my ao3 list so i added it here as well, i absolutely love this list like i've gone over this list a million times it's filled with alot of fics i was absolutely obsessed with, you know how attached i get to the characters and this list holds quite a few of them too so i hope you enjoy reading them as much as i did and you fall for them too... remember to give lots of love to the authors of these fics they are absolute geniuses and deserve all the respect and love in this world for creating these beautiful fics and sharing it with us so be sure to give them a follow, like and reblog or even leave a little comment i'm 100% percent sure it would mean alot to them 🥺🖤 also as these fics contain smut no under minors allowed/interact... if you would like to share some of your favourites or just wanna ramble about fics you love send me an ask i love hearing from you guys and happy reading everyone till next time ✨🖤

a- angst s- smut f-fluff

series

dreamcatchers by @ggukcangetit f a

↬ DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

block party by @minlucent f s a

↬ moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake. neighbours au e2l

a little bit of your heart by @yoongiofmine f s a ft. myg

↬ you had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with min yoongi. you knew you and yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything yoongi couldn’t. Will jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten yoongi enough to do something about it?

lost stars by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn’t expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. idol au s2l

secrets we keep by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Being a camgirl was never your main goal in life, but when the pandemic hit and you lost your job, you were desperate. Now, two years later, the world is back to normal and you are one of the top creators of OnlyChingu; the South Korean version of OnlyFans. A website where idols hide behind anonymous profiles in search of that connection they lost during lockdown. Jungkook was never into this type of stuff. Until he ran into you. He knows you’re his perfect girl, his ideal type. Will he be able to put his own insecurities aside when chasing you? Or will you let the secrets you keep ruin you? idol au

i hate you, i love you by @jungblue s a

↬ You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends… and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you.

fatal attraction by @jungcock s a ft. kth

↬ your dangerous ex-boyfriend comes back to haunt you in more ways than one. exes au serial killer thriller

pub golf by @taleasnewastime f s

↬ One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. s2l

animal by @cutaepatootie f s a

↬ boxer jungkook au ANGST

things you don't know by @btsgotjams27 a

↬ It’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. After moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

entangled by @caelesjjk f s a ft. kth

↬ Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man. He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend. You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well? Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world. What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

when the end comes by @oddinary4bts f s a

↬ Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

new girl by @jjkeverlast f s a

↬ after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong?

horizon by @/sokooks f s a

↬ The way you approached life had started to break down Jungkook's emotional barriers. Jungkook couldn't deny that he was drawn to you in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar. You had become more than just an assignment; you had become someone he genuinely cared about. It was the way you made him feel. With you, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, his heart had other plans. angel au

searching for nirvana by @/sokooks f s a

↬ he shouldn't be here. he shouldn't be touching you the way he was- but he was here before him. he was your friend, not him. he knew your body, not him. he wanted to be the only one to touch you the way you liked. he he wanted you to remember that. despite the fact that he already had someone waiting for him. best friends au cheating au.

twelve hours by @whatifyoulivelikethat s a

↬ you have twelve hours to make jeon jungkook fall in love with you. he's about to get married. you're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

when it all... by @7deadlysinsfics f a

↬ what’s there to do when your husband says he thinks he doesn’t love you anymore? you pick up the broken pieces the best you can and try to move on

better than me ? by @/7deadlysinsfics f s a

↬ jungkook is clear on what you both are to each other. still, he doesn’t want you to think anyone else is better than him

our first and our last by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft ot7

↬ The first time you met Jeon Jungkook was on your tenth birthday. On that day, he was nothing more than the strange man who jumped into a dark portal that suddenly opened in the middle of the park. The ten year old you just stood in the grass, strands of hair ruffling from the calm breeze that swooped by; head slightly tilted, bright, innocent eyes wide open and staring at him with wonder and disbelief. There was a certain amount of confusion, but your young mind was too naïve to question his actions or what they entailed. soulmate au

dancer in the dark by @gwoongi f s a

↬ Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him. rockstar au

together by @httpjeon f s a ft.pjm

↬domestic!au, couple!au, stoner!au, gamer!au

hot bot by @/httpjeon f s

↬ purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.

stardust by @iamtaekooked f

↬ You didn’t believe in soulmates until you lay your eyes on Jeon Jeongguk, the younger brother of your best friend’s husband. That is when you see the red string beginning encircled around your pinky and ending in his

serendipity by @rohobi f s a

↬ After you reveal your inexperienced sexual status to your best friend, Jungkook grapples with the news, startled by the idea that the girl he always thought could get anyone, is a virgin. After finding his porn at 3AM, you decide that maybe it’s about time to stain the white sheets of your world with the colors of a forbidden fruit Jungkook seems to have in the palm of his hands.

chasing shadows by @colormepurplex2 s a

↬ Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around.

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in by @inkofyoonkoo f s a

↬ In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past. s2l fwb au

sweet nothing by @adonis-koo f s a

↬ Being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself. His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

three's a crowd by @/adonis-koo s a ft. jimin

↬ When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was supposed to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation… ceo au

sleepwalking by @taexual f s a

↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

empty space by @ahundredtimesover f s a

↬ It started as friendship, turned to a casual fuck, then ended in heartbreak. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was, and years later he enters your life again, forcing you to face all the emotions you’d been trying to bury.

OR Officer Jeon looks really hot in his uniform and you wish you didn’t hate him as much as you do.

as the world burns around us by @today-we-will-survive a

↬ You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”

hotter than hell by @chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

to turn a bad thing good by @/chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

J’aime by @baepop f s a

↬ You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

Written in the Stars by @/baepop f s a ft. kth

↬ You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend

make me forget by @roseannekook f s a

↬ You are the lead vocalist and main dancer of your company’s first girl group, but on the fourth promotion of your debut song things don’t go as planned. At the brink of an uprising scandal, you seek refuge in the bathroom stalls…and find it in the arms of no one else but BTS’ golden maknae Jeon Jungkook.

one of your girls by @ggukiepie s a ft. pjm

↬ fwb au college au fuck boy au inspired by the song

boy in luv by @/ggukiepie f s a

↬ just two idiot best friends in l*ve college!au, bff!jk, athlete!jk, student council president oc, cheerleader!oc

the boy who left by @/gujoonim a

↬ As your eyes staring deeply into your possible client-to-be’s eyes, something crossed your mind, it was that pair of eyes that you were looking for when you being abandoned at the aisle on your wedding day. ceo au

love sewn by @jvnghxope s a

↬ You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

not yet by f s @bratkook f s a

↬ jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship.

one shot

blazes of deceit by @periminkle f a

↬ when the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide. tangled au disney au

southpaw by @starshapedkookie f s a

↬ Knowing Jeon Jungkook for the better part of your life, you thought you knew everything about him. Well, that was before you two disappeared from each other’s lives at least. When Jungkook suddenly finds himself buying you a coffee to rekindle your friendship, it leads to much more than you bargained for.

house of cards by @jeonggukingdom s a

↬ What does safe mean when you are chased by zombies, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world.

enouement by @littlemisskookie s a

↬ War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. mulan au disney au

miss taken by @junghelioseok f s

↬you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience. single parent dilfjk jk e2l

the ex text by @shadowkoo f s a

↬ The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

the proposal by @hansolmates f s a

↬Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. based on the movie the proposal e2l

red and gold by @/thedefinitionofbts f s

↬It’s no secret that genius, billionaire, international playboy, and philanthropist- Jeon Jungkook, better known as the CEO of Jeon Industries-and even better known as Iron Man, is one of the most intelligent, wealthy, and powerful men in the world. There’s nothing that can get to him or his ego, that is, until you happen to show up and give him a run for his money.

burning bright by @snackhobi s

↬there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you. based on the movie pacific rim

but we loved young by @jl-micasea-fics s a

↬Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

the shoulder on which you cry by @lemonjoonah f s a ft. knj

↬ after moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. but when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need.

illusion of choice by @hobibliophile f s a

↬ You’ve grown up with the Jeons, Jungmin and Jungkook, for as long as you can remember, your parents being very close. But little did you know that this is because you are in fact arranged to be married to the Jeon heir, Jungmin. However, a tragedy causes Jungkook to take up his brother’s mantle, and that includes becoming your fiancé.

the blue princess and her red rose by @/cutaepatootie f s a

↬ After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. princess au

rigor mortis by @readyplayerhobi f s a

↬ A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city.

lowkey by @joonbird s

↬ Jungkook is the nude model for your art school’s life drawing class.

part-time lover by @sketchguk f s a

↬there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school. only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.

sweet apple biscuits by @rosaetae a

↬ a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy. inspired by the anime 'orange'

i'll be home by @wwilloww f s a ft.knj

↬ When your first love, Jungkook, disappeared from your village five years ago, no one thought he would return, let alone on the night of your betrothal to another man.

white lies by @noteguk f s a

↬ in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you.

yes coach by @/taleanewastime s

↬ You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point.

spf 50 by @gimmeyoon f s

↬ If you have to spend your summer home from college working a job you hate, it might as well include sitting by the pool with Jungkook. Now if only kids could stop vomiting in it.

fifth wish by @jiminrings f a

↬ jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

blacklisted by @/httpjeon s a ft. kth

↬after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

5K notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 3 days ago

Text

Collision 20/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : last chapter so pure fluff

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 20 : SMAU

BeReal: @landonorris

Shared to: Close Friends Only

Cohabitation update: she brought the cat, the ribbon collection & half a ballet studio. I brought… enthusiasm.

🗯️ Replies (Close Friends Only):

Carlos

MONACO???

YOU MOVED IN WITH HER??

WE BLINKED AND YOU’RE A HUSBAND.

Charles

I KNEW IT

also tell Ari we expect invites now

Pietra

I am ACTUALLY CRYING

this is the final boss of the soft boy arc

Max Fewtrell

“I brought enthusiasm” 💀 bro what happened to you

used to be scared of cats

now you’re living with one and two silk robes probably

Pierre

this man went from “no labels” to “we live together and share ribbon storage” real quick

Max Verstappen

ARIA HAS A BALCONY NOW !

I’M COMING TO VISIT FOR THE CAT

will she let me hold her yet??? I’ve been manifesting this.

Oscar

can you confirm if this also means you now own throw pillows and scented candles?

George

this is the most emotionally evolved I’ve ever seen you 🥹

Kika

i’m actually sobbing. soft girls win again

Rebecca

also Ari look GLOWY??? is that love or monaco sun, or both???

Alexandra

this is my roman empire

Group Chat: Grid Gossip 🏁

Carlos

so… just to clarify

@Lando did you actually move in with the ballerina and her cat?? 🧐

George

Really enjoying this transformation from “I don’t do feelings” to

“I now live with an emotionally intelligent woman and her suspicious cat”

✨Brilliant arc✨

Oscar

He used to flinch when he heard me say “relationship.”

Now she owns 90% of his apartment

Lando

you’re all SO dramatic

it’s just a flat

calm down

Charles

oh okay

a flat you moved into with your girlfriend

with a cat you used to fear but now call “baby”

Lando

I DID THAT ONCE 🙄

George

And we’ll never forget. 😌

Pierre

How many ribbons is she up to now?

Do you guys have a color-coded emotion chart on the fridge?

Lando

...maybe.

Max Verstappen

okay but more importantly

how is Aria doing???

is she adjusting?

is she happy?

does she need anything??? 😟

Carlos

mate. focus.

Max Verstappen

I AM.

ON THE CAT.

Lando

i hate all of you

deeply and emotionally

George

mate, you’re halfway to adopting a second cat

don’t threaten us with feelings

Charles

congrats tho 🫶

happy for you both

also pls invite us for dinner

Lando

🙄 fine

next weekend. pasta night. bring wine.

Group Chat: Fan club of Ariana

Created by Charles Leclerc

9:12 AM | the morning after dinner

Charles

good morning to everyone except Lando and his fairy-tale domestic life

Carlos

did anyone else feel like they stayed in a boutique spa ?

Oscar

his soap smells like jasmine and stability

I didn’t know that was possible

Pierre

the real question is

why do I feel safer at THEIR place than in my own apartment 🫠

Carlos

and WHY did i walk into the kitchen and find Lando

making espresso

shirtless

with one hand on Ariana’s waist

like a bloody Chanel ad

Charles

he even kissed her temple while she stirred oatmeal

i almost screamed 😩

Max Verstappen

you guys have you saw Aria let me pet her ?

that’s real

that’s progress 🐈✨

Oscar

I don’t think the convo was about the cat, Max

Max Verstappen

Not my fault they have very similar name, I thought it was a group chat about the cat

George

Did you really think we were talking about Lando and the cat all this time ??

Max Verstappen

What could we possibly talk about then ? 🤨

Carlos

The fact Lando have a girlfriend mate

Lando

…can I help you??

What’s the group chat name about ? 😒

George

yeah

explain why your fridge has oat milk, elderflower, and no longer Red Bull

WHO ARE YOU 💀

Lando

we have taste. leave me alone.

Pierre

you said “we.” 😭

WE.

Carlos

so when’s the engagement then? 💍👀

Lando

go home

Pierre

mate

you’re in too deep

it’s been HOW MANY months??

Carlos

someone tell this man the honeymoon phase does end

you don’t have to act like she just invented the sun every time she smiles

George

he’s got “day 3 of knowing her” energy

but it’s been half a year

Oscar

smiling at each other across ravioli doesn’t count as a personality

Lando

okay, yes

but this morning she said “I feel like the sea when I’m near you”

what was I supposed to do??? NOT CRY?? 😭😭

Carlos

she said “I feel like the sea” ??

I’m gonna throw a fork at something

George

my grandma didn’t even speak to my grandad like this and they were married for 47 years 💀

Charles

he’s living in a sonnet

meanwhile i just reheated pasta and got judged by my dog

Lando

slander aside

we’re happy

she’s happy

and I love her

deal with it 😌🫶

Max Verstappen

good for you

but real question is Aria more tuna or salmon for treats ??

i actually need answers I’m in the store rn

Charles

mate stop obsessing over the cat 😭

Max Verstappen

BUT I LOVE CATS

Lando

it’s kinda weird you’re more into a cat than my overly really great love life

but yeah salmon, Aria has standards 🐱

Max Verstappen

great I buy 10

also I’m starting a new group chat about the cat asap

George

the real relationship in question here is max and the cat tbh 💅

This is it, it's the last chapter of this very long and very important series for me. I enjoyed so much writting this story and interacting with everyone of you who commented, liked or reposted this, so thank you so much for your support!

I have maybe an idea for a bonus chapter...so the storie is not completly finish ;)

Until then my request are still open for future stories :)

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut

Let me know if you want to be add to the taglist !

270 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 6 months ago

Note

can i request boothill, aventurine, and jing yuan with a jealous gender neutral reader? every time the jealousy tag is added to a fic, it’s always for the character and leaves me wondering what the opposite would be like. feel free to delete if you’ve written something like this before and thank you for your service to the hsr community 🫡

Jealousy, Jealousy

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jealousy, Emotional Conflict, Fluff with Minor Angst, Romantic Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Protective Partner, Light Humor (?).

Warnings: Mild jealousy and insecurity themes, Brief mentions of violence or conflict(?), Emotional vulnerability, Slight suggestive undertones (Aventurine's part).

A/N: Totally get you because there's not many fics out there where Reader is the ONE who's jealous 🫣, I did the opposite one where the characters were jealous so this my first time writing where the Reader is jealous. Hope you love it!

The smoky haze of the cantina mingled with the scent of leather and gunpowder, a typical night for Boothill. The Galaxy Ranger leaned against the bar, his mechanical fingers tracing the rim of a half-full glass of whiskey. You stood nearby, trying to keep your composure as a stranger—a suave-looking gunslinger—sidled up to Boothill with a sly grin.

“You’ve got quite the reputation,” the stranger drawled, tipping their hat. “A sharpshooter like you must’ve broken a few hearts.”

Boothill chuckled, showing his shark-like teeth. “Nah, hearts ain’t my target. Bullets don’t play favorites.”

The stranger laughed and leaned closer, their words drowned out by the raucous music, but their intentions were crystal clear. Your chest tightened as you watched Boothill’s sharp eyes glint with amusement.

“Hey,” you interrupted, your voice steady but laced with irritation. “Boothill, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He turned to you, eyebrow raised. “What’s that, partner?”

“That I’m the only one who gets to sit that close to you.” you said firmly, crossing your arms.

Boothill’s grin widened as he pushed the stranger back with a mechanical hand. “Well, ain’t that somethin’? Looks like I’m already claimed.” He stood, draping his arm around your shoulders. “Guess you’ll have to find another cowboy to sweet-talk.”

The stranger huffed and walked off, leaving you and Boothill alone. He leaned closer, his voice soft and teasing. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type, sugar.”

You jabbed a finger at his chest. “Maybe if you weren’t so charming, I wouldn’t have to be.”

Boothill laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Don’t you worry. You’re the only one who’s got a claim on this gunslinger.”

The roulette wheel spun, its clinking sound echoing through the luxurious casino. Aventurine stood at the center of attention, effortlessly charming the crowd with his flamboyant gestures and glittering smile. His eyes glinted as he placed another bet, drawing cheers from his admirers.

You stood on the sidelines, your jaw clenched as a particularly bold admirer leaned over, whispering something in his ear. Aventurine’s laughter rang out, smooth and melodious, but it only fueled the fire simmering within you.

You strode forward, catching his wrist just as he reached for another stack of chips. “Having fun?” you asked, your tone sharp enough to slice through his entourage's chatter.

Aventurine blinked, then grinned, clearly amused by your sudden intrusion. “Ah, my lucky charm,” he said, pulling you closer. “Jealous, are we?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if you weren’t flirting with half the casino.” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts playful and sincere. “Now, now. You know there’s only one person I’m truly invested in.”

“Then maybe show it more often,” you muttered, glancing at the crowd still watching him with longing gazes.

Aventurine chuckled and leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If it helps, I only play games I know I’ll win. And with you, darling, the jackpot’s already mine.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Aventurine’s charm was infuriatingly effective, and he knew it.

The sun filtered through the branches of the garden, casting dappled shadows on the stone pathway. Jing Yuan reclined on a bench, his eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed the rare moment of peace. You approached quietly, only to pause as you spotted a young soldier eagerly engaging him in conversation.

“You’re so wise, General,” the soldier gushed. “It’s no wonder everyone looks up to you.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, his deep voice smooth as silk. “Wisdom comes with age, and age comes with its own set of burdens.”

The soldier blushed, clearly enamored. Your hands curled into fists as jealousy bubbled up. Jing Yuan noticed your approach, his gaze softening. “Ah, there you are,” he said, waving you over. “Come, join us.”

The soldier glanced at you but didn’t move, still lingering too close for comfort. You stepped forward, meeting Jing Yuan’s gaze with a pointed look. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” he replied, patting the bench beside him. “We were just discussing the importance of patience in leadership.”

“I see,” you said, your voice cool. “Well, I hope the lesson was enlightening.”

The soldier finally took the hint and excused themselves, leaving you and Jing Yuan alone. He tilted his head, studying you with a knowing smile. “You seemed… displeased.”

“Maybe I don’t like sharing.” you admitted, crossing your arms.

Jing Yuan reached out, taking your hand in his. “You have nothing to worry about. My heart belongs to you, and no amount of flattery will change that.”

You sighed, feeling the tension drain away as his thumb brushed against your knuckles. “You’re lucky you’re so convincing.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “And you’re lucky I find your jealousy endearing.”

616 notes · View notes

misserabella · 1 year ago

Text

two geniuses (don’t get along)

enemies to lovers;; spencer reid x fem reader!

masterlist!

note; in this fic lila’s episode happens after elle’s departure to make the story have more sense. (S1 E18). also there have been some changes :))

synopsis; spencer reid; doctor spencer reid. some of them (mostly of them), would say he’s a genius. but if he was, then so you were. maybe that’s why you hate each other. maybe that’s why you can’t stand him.

cw;; +18 content! minors dni!, reader and spencer’s competitive asses, talk of murder, graphic scenes, weapons, guns, blood, shots being fired, lila flirting, spencer kissing lila, lots of fighting, lots of tension, teasing, apologies, reader getting hurt (mentions of stitches), threats, murder of secondary characters, talk about kinks and trauma (spencer being a smartaas), mention of spencer’s childhood and her mom… ( i bet there’s so much more but i can’t remember rn) angst, fluff and smut in upcoming chapters!!!

“another coffee, pretty boy? you wanna die?” morgan inquired the puppy eyed profiler, whose right hand held a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“actually, the caffeine in coffee has been found in animal and cell studies to protect cells in the brain that produce dopamine. in a large prospective cohort of more than 500,000 people followed for 10 years, an association was found between drinking higher amounts of coffee and lower rates of death from all causes.” he easily spat in less than a mere minute, making morgan scoff.

“it’s not considered coffee if a 99% of it is sugar, reid.” you barged into their conversation, taking a look at the files of new cases.

“sugar is one type of carbohydrate, as are fiber and starch. carbohydrates are essential macronutrients.” he defended himself, taking a sip of his coffee-sugar.

“wrong. although carbohydrates are essential macronutrients since the body uses them in large amounts, something wrong about your thesis is that sugar is not one of those macronutrients. the body doesn’t use it. in fact, the effects of added sugar intake which are higher blood pressure, inflammation, weight gain, diabetes, and fatty liver disease, are all linked to an increased risk for heart attack and stroke. so yeah. technically, morgan was right. you might die.” you nodded towards the man, who smiled at you, walking towards you and taking your face in between his hands.

“have i told you how much i love that brain of yours?” he inquired, leaving a kiss to your forehead. “brilliant.” he smiled, raising his hands in victory since for once he had won spencer and his extensive knowledge. the profiler simply rolled his eyes.

“thanks.” spencer spat at you, to what you smiled.

“you’re very welcome, agent.”

“it’s doctor.”

“yeah, yeah. whatever.”

spencer reid. with an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and the ability to read 20,000 words per minute, he was considered a real walking genius. maybe that’s why the two of you seemed to despise each other so much. people say geniuses actually like each other. well, you and spencer were the exception. it was easy to get on his nerves. he was not used to having someone smart enough to actually suppose a threat to his intelligence. yet there you were. you had been jumping your way up to college since you were twelve, and at the ripe age of 22, and numerous phds later, you had found yourself working at the BAU.

you had been hired after elle had left the team, and everyone had seemed happy greeting you. you had specially made quick friends of penelope and morgan. something reid didn’t seem to like. well… he didn’t exceptionally like you. something that seemed stupid ‘cause you two were the perfect pair. there was nothing the two of you didn’t know, nothing you wouldn’t catch or realize. maybe that’s why spencer despised you. ‘cause now they had you too, not only him.

it was actually a pity. you liked smart people. you liked to share opinions and learn new things you might not know with the help of others. but spencer was borderline narcissistic, and that made your body cringe in disgust. and worst of all, he was really attractive. curly caramel hair, hazel puppy eyes, full lips, small straight nose, tall stature, pretty hands… also his voice…

well, anyways. you were losing focus.

so you’d decided to match his energy. and that only seemed to make the situation worse. sure, you two worked together, but only because you had to, if you could you’d much prefer to do everything alone rather than have to share office with reid.

hotch caught your attention as he pushed a file on your table.

“and what’s this…?” you sung as you took it, inspecting it.

“training program in los angeles.” you looked at him. he was leaning against your table. “want you to go with gideon and reid.” you let out a single chuckle, tossing the paper on your table.

“no.” you simply said, watching the man sigh. “tell jj to go! or prentiss!” you offered.

“can’t. jj is helping penelope to trace an unsub and prentiss is new, need someone who has been on the ropes longer.”

“then what about morgan? he’s not doing anything.” you pointed at the man who played with a mini football.

hotch looked at you. “please? you are the only one who gets reid. you know how he can be…”

“a narcissistic, egocentric, babbling, childlike, fourteen looking mess? yeah, i know.” you smiled. “but what do i win in this situation? i mean i must gain something if i’m gonna spend more time than necessary with him.”

“a free weekend.”

“done.” you gave him your hand. “a pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

“spencer! spencer reid!” you hear someone call for your work-mate, a tall smiling man approaching him and shaking his hand just as the three of you entered an art exhibition. “look at you. you look just the same.” he chuckled as he gives him a quick hug. “nothing changed… spencer was the only 12-year-old in our graduating class. just the same.”

“thanks.” spencer awkwardly says, giving the man a tight smile. “these are special agents jason gideon and (y/n) (l/n). this is parker dunley. we went to high school together as you can probably gather.” he introduces all of you.

“hey. it’s a beautiful gallery.” jason gives him his hand in a shake.

“oh, thank you, thank you. parker smiles, later on turning towards you.

“contemporary art… right?” you inquire offering him your hand, to what he nods. “contemporary modern art includes a wide range of mediums and genres. it is often characterized by its use of new media, such as video and installation art, as well as its rejection of traditional art forms. contemporary modern artists often experiment with form and content, and their work can be highly conceptual.” you say, making the man chuckle.

“i see you brought your computers.” parker jokes with gideon about spencer and you. “another genius like spencer?”

“oh no, men are just smart. woman are the geniuses.” you smile, making him chuckle.

“and funny, huh? i see, i see.”

spencer coughs to grab the man’s attention. “jason’s a big contemporary art enthusiast.”

“well, we’re exhibiting four up-and-coming artists in this show. everything is for sale. and i could definitely swing a nice discount for a friend of…” he loses focus as a blonde beautiful woman enters the exhibition. “lila! hey. guys, come on.” he invites you three towards his friend, coming up to her to say hello.

“do i look 12-years-old to you?” spencer inquired gideon, to what you scoffed, thanking the waiter that offered and served you a glass of champagne.

“oh, totally.” you said as you took it, taking a sip as you heard spencer crack a fake laugh.

“real funny.”

you three made your way towards parker and… lila. she was a beautiful blue eyes-blonde young girl. the basic american beauty standard.

“spencer. you ever met a real movie star?” the man asks, to what the girl beside the blonde scoffs.

“movie star? please. she has a supporting role on a television series about beach volleyball. totally blue-collar.” your eyebrows slightly rise.

“what a friend…” you whisper to your glass, taking another sip of the champagne.

“i’m lila.” the girl gives a sweet smile to spencer, and you almost roll your eyes.

it’s only a matter of time.

“hi, im doctor spencer reid… i’m spencer. you don’t have to call me doctor.” he corrects himself.

lila chuckles. in 3… 2… 1… and tucks her hair behind her ear. there we go.

“cool.” you say, turning around without even introducing yourself, it’s not as if she’d pay attention to you. she’s too focused on spencer to care as you make your way through the gallery, taking the artwork in, trying to scape the probable flirting that was about to go down.

later on you found the two of them chatting in front of a picture in which the blue and green dominate.

“does it make you feel anything?” the blonde asked him, and you silently expect an answer from spencer.

“like what?” he asks. god he sucks.

“i can’t tell you how to feel.” lila chuckles at his frown.

“right now i feel pretty good.” he smiled and you roll your eyes.

“lila? can i talk to you for a moment?” parker interrupts their chatting and the girl nods, quickly glancing at spencer.

“excuse me.”

“sure!” he gently says, and you make your way towards him.

“feeling pretty good, huh?” you inquire him, teasingly, and he groans. “you totally suck.” you take a sip of your glass and he looks at you. “poor girl seems desperate.”

“desperate for what?” he inquires, frowning.

“oh come on, reid. and you call yourself a profiler? it’s obvious she likes you. she was trying to flirt with you.” you obviously state. “she was trying so hard and you were not catching on…” you laugh, and he sighs.

“you know ogling on other’s business is rude, right?” he questions you.

“we’re the fbi. we’re on everybody’s business. that’s our job, reid.” you ignore him, taking a look at the photograph lila and him were staring at. “calming, isn’t it?” you say and he looks at the photograph as well, taking it in.

“sometimes, the color blue is associated with loneliness and sadness. it usually happens when you combine it with specific elements, like rain.” he spits and you chuckle.

“i know that, genius. the thing is not how it’s supposed to make you feel, it’s how it really makes you feel.” he looks at you as you sip from your cup. “with lila, you might feel good, ‘cause you enjoy her company, with me on the other side, you might not even want to be here, staring at a photograph that you’ve probably seen before. that’s because you focus on everything too much. you need to see what the picture actually tells you, not focus on the person you’re staring at it with.”

spencer’s hazel eyes go back to the picture, trying to focus on it, not on your presence, or the amount of voices that surrounded him.

the exhibited photograph shows an empty gas station, lights of green engulfing it as the nightlight blue sky surrounds it. it takes spencer back to his childhood. to those days in which even if he loved his mother, he couldn’t spend another minute by her side and left his house late in the afternoon for a walk. it helped him get out of his head. he remembers watching the sun go down as the night took over the sky, studying and calling out the constellations above his head, trying to find a solution to his mother’s illness. the stars never worked, and he was always left…

“it makes me feel alone.”

“you know, we really can get ourselves to the airport.” gideon said, reid and you trailing behind him as the police officer guided you to his car.

“i didn’t invite the fbi here to let them make their own way around town.” he says, never minding gideon.

“we really appreciate it.” reid says and you whistle.

“so you have manners, huh?” to what he groans.

“oh, shut up.”

“hey, i can’t thank you guys enough for conducting the seminar.” kim smiles.

“well, don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything we can help with.” gideon offered, putting his bags on the trunk of the car.

you stretched your arms after having pushed in your own. “can’t wait for that free weekend.” you muster happily, to what spencer frowns.

“free weekend? what are you talking about?”

“a special thanks from hotch for coming all the way here and putting up with you.” his mouth falls open at your words.

“i didn’t get any free time and i had to put up with you!”

“that let’s you know who’s the problem in this equation.” you falsely smiled at him, patting her shoulder, and you relished on the way his jaw tightened.

your conversation ends as the three of you watch officer kim end a phone call with a not very enthusiastic ‘great’.

“everything alright?” jason asks.

“double murder at hollywood bungalow.” he informs. “a celebrity. a young movie star, natalie ryan, and her fiancé shot to death.”

“very romantic.” you mutter.

“it’s gonna be a major pain in the ass. hey, you guys care to take a quick look before i drive you to the airport? it’s on the way.” he asks, and gideon accepts the offer.

“absolutely.”

you sigh as you get on the back of the car along with spencer.

“seems like that weekend is gonna have to wait.” he happily and teasingly smiles and you send daggers in his direction.

“i’ll choke you with my bare hands.”

“did you get that kink by exposure or trauma?” your mouth falls and your eyes widen.

“what?” you almost yell, watching him ponder.

“maybe it’s because you like to have power and control. have you talked about this with a therapist?”

“you’re gonna have to see a therapist after the torture i’m gonna put you through if you don’t stop that fucking nonsense.” you warn him, and he raises his hands.

“i’m just saying, there’s nothing bad about seeking mental help-”

“spencer!”

“no sign of forced entry.” reid points out as the four of you enter the murder scene.

“same weapon.” gideon informs watching at the two bodies.

you stare at the female, getting closer. “the girl was shot execution style, once in the head. the male three times in the torso.”

“so you have two different MOs.” jason wonders before going back to officer kim, talking about the case. you crouch down to take a better look at the man’s corpse.

“what? you found anything?” spencer inquired from behind you, to what you shook your head.

“nah. just fantasizing.” he frowns.

“fantasizing. what the- what would you possibly be fantasizing about in a murder scene?”

“oh you know… you… in that position… you know? it’s really sexy, you should try it. here don’t move let me get my gun.” you offer while getting up, and he just rolls his eyes, leaving you behind.

“what do you think?” gideon asks the officer about the case, wanting his insight.

“i’ve had a couple other cases recently, past few months. same type of weapon, 22 caliber handgun, both shot in the head.” you look at the bodies. “the first was an established film producer, wally melman, and the second was chloe harris, another young actress. though not as well-known as natalie here.”

“any forensic evidence?” reid asks as you step away from them, taking in your surroundings.

“no, and the guys have been going through this place all morning and haven’t come up with anything.”

“so he clearly knows how to cover his tracks.”

“or hers.” you mutter to yourself.

“twenty-two’s are small but efficient. they bounce around inside a person like a pinball.” jason said.

“preferred weapon of the mafia.” spencer added. “you know, there’s no obvious sexual component to these crimes, which is usually the case with serial murders.”

“so you’re thinking this is a serial killer?” kim asks.

“well, it’s certainly a series of murders. we don’t know enough yet to call them serial.” you step into the conversation.

“would you consider hanging out in LA a little while? let me lean on your expertise until we do figure out what we’ve got?” the officer inquires and gideon nods.

“yeah, just cancel the flights. we’ll have the rest of pit team out here ASAP.”

the unsub seemed to follow his victims, since he knew their schedules. there was not a single witness, he knows how to blend in and hide in plain sight. he’s meticulous.

and everybody is watching.

just like everybody was watching spencer and lila.

after finding out that the unsub was actually stalking the blonde, and killing people to help her with her career, she had somehow scurried her way under spencer’s protection. it actually bothered you. ‘cause spencer seemed so distracted. and it was totally unprofessional to get involved with a target being their agent.

you were on her studio, studying everyone surrounding her. but it was one person that caught your attention.

“who’s that?” you question prentiss.

“that’s maggie, maggie lowe. for what i know she just works here.” she answers you. “why?”

“they seem pretty close, don’t you think?” you ponder, watching her physical language. “she also seems nervous, she avoids lila’s eyes.”

“maybe she’s just shy.” she shrugs, but knows what you’re pointing out.

“maybe…” then, jj appears.

“what are you guys talking about?”

“lila and possible unsubs.” emily fills her in, accepting the coffee she offers her, you take the one she handles you too with a thanks.

“talking about lila… look who’s approaching her.” she devilishly smiles. you almost groan at the sight of spencer talking to the blonde. “they seem to have hit it off.”

“ugh don’t start. he’s so focused on her when in reality he should be focused on his job…” you sip at your coffee, not realizing the shared look the other two girls send each other. “so unprofessional.” you shake your head.

“are you really mad because he’s distracted from his job or by the fact that a pretty girl is distracting him?” jj asked you, taking in your frown and confused expression.

“what?”

“oh come on, really? do you really not feel it?” emily pushes in too, and you look at them.

“feel what? i-i don’t understand.”

“there’s this weird tension in between the two of you.” the brunette explains, being backed up by the blonde.

“it’s like when two little kids like each other and they don’t know how to show it so they just mess with each other.” you scoff.

“you’re saying that spencer and i are attracted to each other?” you inquired them both and they looked at the other. “come on guys, have you seen him? have you actually worked with him? he’s a fucking narcissist, he makes my life impossible just because i’m as smart as him. i don’t like him. at all. i can’t even stand him!” you rant. “he does this thing when he’s focused, playing with his hands and pencils, it’s so distracting. and when i state a fact, he just has to find something to actually make it wrong. every single time. and let’s not talk about how fucking childish he is, if you guys had been here for the training program, i swear to god he said this stupid things about kinks and me having trauma, oh my god i wanted to fucking kill him. he diminishes me, and thinks he’s better than me. and it just makes me sick…” you take a deep breath when you notice how much you had actually talked and your friends’ looks. “what i mean to say is, no. i don’t like spencer reid. and if he wants to fuck his job up, i’d be more than happy.”

morgan suddenly appeared, hotch right behind him.

“guys. there’s something you have to know…” the first talked.

“michael ryer’s dead.” the second finished.

“oh shit.” emily cursed.

“does lila know?” jj asked.

they shook their head.

“she’s gonna be devastated.” jj said to what you sipped at your coffee.

“well at least she has spencer, right?”

“oh, yeah. can we talk about that real quick?!” morgan inquired, astonished.

“no, morgan!” the girls stop him and he raised his hands.

“okay… but the kid has game.”

“woah. i like your house.” spencer said as you two entered lila’s house.

how had you managed to end up with the two of them alone, you didn’t know, and you didn’t like.

“i rent it.” the girl smiled.

“nice.” he nodded.

“lila, you should probably change all your phone numbers.” you said, messaging your team, they’d found something concerning nude photos of the young artist.

“i’m unlisted.”

“anytime you call an 800 or an 888 number your phone number’s put into a data bank that’s then sold to telemarketers. if someone gets your phone number they can go online and research all your records.” you actually responded.

“woah, are you a genius like spencer too?” spencer.

“no. i’m actually smarter.” you gave her a small smile, making her chuckle.

“uh… you should probably carry a piece of paper and pen with you wherever you go in case you see any suspicious license plates that often reappear.” spencer tries to change the conversation as you two followed the blonde towards her kitchen. “and a security dog too.”

“allergic.” she simply answered. “do you guys want some tea?”

you shrugged. “yeah, sure. thanks.” spencer nodded as well. it was already getting late, the sun leaving the city’s sky.

“i’m gonna go change while the water boils, make yourselves comfortable.” she said while making her way upstairs.

you went back towards the salon, your eyes wandering towards a collage on lila’s wall. spencer got your left side, his white stripped button up shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“feel anything yet?” you asked him.

“there is something definitely appealing about this one.” he said and you nodded.

“like lila?”

he looked at you, his mouth falling open to say something, but just as the words were to fall from his lips, the blonde returned in a a more comfortable outfit, making her way towards the patio of her house, beside the pool.

“what are you doing?” spencer inquired her.

“i just need some air. the tea is on the kitchen.” she responded.

“what? no, lila…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you watched him go after her.

you could hear them talk and spencer beg her to come inside since there was a psychotic killer aiming at her. you made your way back to the kitchen just as fast as you saw the blonde lean into him, one of her hands tugging at his tie to pull him down. great.

your hands took the cup of steaming tea that lila had prepared you, your eyes on spencer’s as you took a sip. but the warm liquid was poured all over the floor of the kitchen, your head spinning at the blunt trauma that stroke you. your hands went to the side of your forehead as you fell, taking in the sight of your blood. you groaned as someone took you from your hair, pulling you and dragging you across the floor, your hands getting cuts from the smashed cup of tea.

“come here.” the unsub said, taking away your gun, and… you knew that voice. your eyes met the blonde’s.

“maggie lowe?” you muttered to yourself. so you were right. she was the killer and stalker.

you got dragged all the way to the salon, where you could see lila and spencer kissing from the distance. but the kiss quickly broke when maggie fired a shot up into the ceiling, capturing their attentions. spencer quickly pulled out his weapon, pointing at maggie, whose gun’s barbell was right against your head.

“maggie?” lila inquired as they slowly made their way towards you two.

“why’d you have to bring these people here?” she asked lila. “put down the gun.” she ordered spencer, clocking the weapon that kissed your skin. he quickly lowered it, calling out for the killer. “don’t call me maggie! you don’t know me!” “come on lila, let’s go. we gotta go baby, let’s go.” she ordered the actress in a soft yet hurt voice.

“maggie don’t hurt her, you don’t need to hurt her.” you didn’t know if he was talking about lila or you. or maybe both.

“you don’t know anything. i would never do anything to hurt lila. i created her.”

“no, you didn’t.” lila said.

“yes, i did!” you closed your eyes when the barbell dug harsher against your temple. “i did everything for you! and you betray me by bringing these people here… to our house!!!”

“so ungrateful…” you say, loud enough for maggie to hear you. “look at you… you gave her everything and you saw what she did to you… she kissed him. she told him she loved him.” you lied, looking at spencer. he caught on.

“what?” maggie incredulously said.

“i heard them. i saw them kissing each other like animals!” you yelled. “he abandoned me… and now i’m here. about to be killed because of him!” you spat, meeting maggie’s eyes. “you don’t have to hurt me. they don’t deserve us. i’m on your side maggie… i know how you feel. i know how it feels to be betrayed like this…” you nodded, seeing her eyes change. “give me my gun… i’ll kill him for you. and then you can have lila back. i’ll let the two of you go.” you promised, slowly rising up to your feet, extending your hand.

and just as she pointed her gun down, you tackled her, taking the weapons from her and throwing them aside as she fought against your hold.

“reid!” you called out for your work mate, who quickly came to you and handcuffed maggie, who just started crying and begging for you to kill her.

“i gave her everything…”

you looked at spencer, wiping off the blood from your eyes.

“and that’s why we need to stay professional.”

“are you okay, pretty girl?” morgan came to you as the paramedics wiped clean your wound.

“yeah, they say i have a light concussion. a couple of stitches and i’ll be alright.” you gave him a small smile.

“what happened in there, huh? we only got what the paparazzi had on camera, which is…” you nodded.

“yeah. well, maggie got into the house with lila’s spare keys, and basically almost killed me. it was good luck that spencer kissed lila, or else i don’t know what i would’ve done.” the rest of the team had gathered around you.

“you did good. spencer told me how you got into her head.” gideon said.

“thanks.” you responded.

“make sure you’re on the clear before getting up. we’ll be right back, gotta fill in the other officers.” hotch informed you, to what you nodded.

they all left except spencer, who silently looked at you.

“i’m sorry.” spencer said, looking at his feet. “this shouldn’t have happened, if i hadn’t…”

“… played barbie?” you finished off for him, catching his attention. “look spencer. i don’t really care about it. it’s your life and you make your own decisions, just… make sure to not put any of us in danger while doing it. even lila. one of us three could have died tonight.” he nodded. you reached on your back pockets, pulling out the films of the paparazzi’s camera. “i guess this is yours.” he called out for you once again, probably to apologize one more time, but you were still pretty shaken up and you were still pretty mad at him. “would you mind? my head is killing me.” you asked of him and he nodded, silently turning around and walking its way towards morgan and emily. your mind went back to her words the moment the needle punctured your skin. oh ‘come on, really? do you really not feel it?’ ‘there’s this weird tension in between the two of you.’. and then back to jj’s. ‘it’s like when two little kids like each other and they don’t know how to show it so they just mess with each other’. you couldn’t help but chuckle.

you liking spencer? no way.

if there was anything you felt for spencer reid that was hate.

a/n; im so excited for this series!!!! so much angst and fluff and smut yet to come!🤭

1K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Choices (Bucky version)

So you all know the fic choices and choices 2 with a cheating Bucky and sweetheart Steve. I couldn't help myself, I decided to also have a version where Steve is the cheater and reader ends up with Bucky. I'm such a Bucky girl, it cannot be helped. It's the same fic with a few details added to suit the character changes, reversed roles and all in one part.

18 + minors dni

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader

Warnings: ANGST, cheating, Steve is a dick, SMUT, fluff, Bucky is a sweetheart

“Fuck you taste good sweets”

Your stomach dropped, cold sweat erupting over your body, hearing your husband’s voice and a woman’s moans from your bedroom. You’d suspected it for a while but it couldn’t be true, he wouldn’t.

You quietly opened the door, slapping your hand over your mouth over the sight in front of you, Steve’s head buried between some woman’s legs, her thighs thrown over his shoulders as he held her open with his thick arms, groaning as he ate her out. She cried in pleasure, tugging his hair forcing his face in deeper, their clothes thrown on the floor, her bra carelessly tossed on the framed wedding picture you had on the bedside table.

You couldn’t move, rooted on the spot as he pried her legs apart further, making her back arch, his tongue assaulting her clit, flicking and swirling circles around it, his hips grinding his cock into the mattress, moaning.

“Best fucking pussy ever baby, can’t get enough of you, could cum just from your taste baby fuck”

You felt light headed, leaning against the hallway to catch yourself, slipping onto the floor, unable to leave even if you wanted to. You pressed your hands to your mouth, desperately trying to silence your cries.

“Oh god Steve FUCK, push your tongue in me baby, just like that, fuck just like that Captain” You could hear the wet slapping of his tongue, her voice screaming higher as he made her cum with his mouth.

“C'mon cum for me baby, want it all over my face, oh god m’gonna cum just rubbing myself like this, no one else gets me off like you, FUCK sweets, AH-”

His moans caused your heart to splinter, the aftermath of their affair slowly winding down to labored breaths and messy sheets. You lifted your head slightly, seeing Steve pull her into his arms, making out with her, his face covered in her slick, his cock softening against his abs. Their tongues tangled, moaning into each others mouths as he pulled the covers up, his arms wrapping around her.

“You’re wife will be home soon, I should get going baby” She traced shapes onto his chest as he pulled her hand, pressing a kiss onto her palm. “No, stay just a little longer, 5 minutes sweets, please?”

The slight whine in his voice begging her to stay make you nearly throw up. Your body felt like it was filled with cement, hearing the woman giggle, snuggling to up with your husband.

“Hmm, does she make you feel good like I do, handsome?”

“Nothing compares to you darling, don’t worry about her” He murmured with a light chuckle, leaning into her touch while she stroked his beard. "Wish we had a little longer"

She sighed, grabbing her bra off your wedding picture, scoffing at it.

“You could do better you know, she doesn’t seem like you’re type”

“I do know” Steve sat up, kissing her shoulder as she strapped her bra on “I got you pretty girl, I’ll see you tonight?"

"Won't your wife ask where you're going" The woman had the audacity to sound annoyed though what killed you the most was the way Steve groaned in agreement.

"Don't worry about her, I’ll come over, okay?”

“Wouldn’t miss it baby, see you later Cap”

Your heart shattered, sprinting away from the room, down the hall and out the door, sobs wracking your body.

He promised.

He whispered vow’s he’d written just for you. You’d loved him with your entire being, cradling him, taking care of him, pouring your heart and soul into everything that had to do with him.

You already knew the excuse he'd give. He’d say he had a rough day and would avoid you until tomorrow. He’d go to the bar for a drink to unwind, needing alone time and you’d let him because you wanted to give him space. He’d go over to her place, and make love to her for countless hours into the night, seeking the comfort of someone else.

Your love wasn’t enough.

You left the house, immediately getting into your car, driving mindlessly with no particular destination in mind. Your chest heaved, tears blurring your vision as you pulled into an empty parking lot, breaking down again. You sat there for well over an hour, your entire body burning, a ding from your phone interrupting your thoughts. You checked your phone, scoffing at the text message from your husband.

“Going out tonight, don’t stay up.”

You screamed in frustration thinking about every time you fell asleep on the couch waiting for him, the countless hours of sleep you lost worried about him, calling and texting him throughout the night, wondering if he was okay. The number of times he brushed you off, telling you not to be so clingy. You’d put in so much of your love and affection for this man who didn’t have the decency to tell you to your face he didn’t love you anymore.

The entire world looked up to this man as their hero, Captain America, a symbol of justice, hope, fairness and he couldn't care less to at least respect your dignity and leave.

You felt a surge of anger, how dare he!? Bring another woman into your home, into your bed, your sheets, wrapped around her naked body, her fucking clothes thrown all over the floor. How many times would you have slept in the very same bed after he warmed it with her?!

You could do the same.

You pulled into the drive way, making your way up the stairs, knocking on the front door.

“Y/n? Its late, is everything okay? Is Steve okay?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, walking into the house, kicking your shoes off. Poor Bucky, always worrying about his best friend, just like you, concerned for his well being, coddling him like a baby. What a fucking waste.

“He’s great actually. He’s currently buried balls deep in someone else”

Bucky choked, staring at you wide eyed as you sauntered around the living room, mindlessly looking at framed pictures he had up, including one from your wedding.

“What?!”

“Mhm, you didn’t know? A red head. Saw them both today, in our bedroom. He was so pussy whipped he didn’t even realize I came home. In fact did you know the great Captain who constantly tells people to mind their language swears like a sailor when he's fucking someone's brains out”

“Fuck, I told him not to- FUCK. I’m so sorry y/n, I didn’t think he’d ever cheat on you”

“You told him not to what?” You turned around, your expression unreadable as you stood in front of Bucky, his face flushed as he looked at the floor before looking at you.

“He’d- fuck- He’d always flirt when we went out. I told him to stop but he said wasn't even doing anything. I thought it was him still adjusting to all the attention but he used to do it in the 40's too. I thought maybe he didn't even realize what he was doing so it was harmless”

You scoffed, shaking your head as Bucky stepped forward, wrapping his thick arms around you. “I’m so sorry doll, I should have stepped in”

“You can step in now”

“What?”

Bucky pulled back, blinking down at you, looking confused as you smirked, trailing your fingers along his chest, going up to play with the dog tags that rested against his chest.

“Step in now James”, You tugged at his chain, his breath hitching in his throat as your lips brushed by his ear “Make it go away”

You could feel his cock stir as you pressed your body on his. Bucky had always had a crush on you. Of course he never acted on it, you were his best friends wife. But here you were, offering yourself on a silver platter, he’d be a fool to say no. Still…

“Y/n” He squeezed his eyes, hoping some blood would return to his brain, his cock aching in his jeans. “We can’t”

“And why’s that?”

“It’s wrong” Bucky's words didn’t match his actions as he gripped onto your hips, pulling you flush against him, his boner rubbing against you, it was so wrong but it felt so right.

“Tell me you never thought about it?” Your hands trailed down to palm over his length as he groaned, resting his forehead on yours “about us? You never thought about how I’d look spread out on your bed, saying your name instead of his?”

"Y/n"

"Make me forget, Sergeant"

Fuck it.

You screamed out in pleasure chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer, his cock splitting you in half, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. Bucky chuckled at your fucked out state, pausing for a moment to let you rest before the next round.

*3 missed calls*

He returned with a bottle of water and some strawberries, feeding you one as you tossed your phone carelessly to the side.

“What’s wrong doll”

“Ugh, he called”

Bucky thought for a moment before grabbing your phone and propping it up, a wicked smile on his face.

“You wanna show him what’s keeping you busy?”

You both woke to a loud banging on the door; your body too sore to bother moving.

“BUCKY OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR”

Bucky yawned, wrapping his arms around you tighter, pulling a pillow above his head.

"I think your husband is here" He sleepily mumbled, tucking his face into your neck, the scruff of his beard tickling your skin.

"He's your best friend" You mumbled back, burrowing yourself further into his hold, ignoring the incessant knocking.

“Y/N, I KNOW YOU’RE FUCKING THERE, GET THE FUCK OUT NOW”

Bucky rolled his eyes, his semi hard cock pressing into your ass making you giggle.

“Someone’s happy this morning”

“All for you baby”

You heard the banging get louder.

“BUCKY, Y/N FUCK”

“Should we get that?”

“5 more minutes”

*36 missed calls*

*47 unopened messages*

Oh, this was going to be good.

Bucky groaned, tucking you in the sheets before getting out of bed and pulling some sweats on.

“Y/N, I KNOW YOU’RE THERE”

He rolled his eyes, sauntering over to the door, opening it to a raging Steve, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face, the knuckles of his right hand bloodied and bruised. Someone’s upset.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING”

Bucky smirked, his chin glistening, licking your arousal that was still on his lips from mere seconds ago. He made a show of sucking your taste off his fingers, humming in satisfaction.

“Sorry, just woke u-

“Where the fuck is she?!”

Steve shoved Bucky aside, stomping up the stairs making his way to the bedroom, only to be grabbed back and pushed against the wall.

“Don’t do this, where the fuck is my wife” Steve’s voice was low, chest rumbling as his fists clenched at his sides, trying to collect himself.

“You remember you have a wife?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow, dodging Steve’s fist and catching it with his metal arm before slamming him against the wall.

“How the FUCK COULD YOU SLEEP WITH HER?!” Steve spat, unable to scrub the images of you moaning for his best friend, your legs wrapped tightly around him, crying out in pleasure, begging for more. He couldn’t rid himself of the way you looked slobbering over Bucky’s cock and balls, looking up at the camera with doe eyes, moaning when he came in your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show you swallowed it all like a good girl. You made a show of letting Bucky rail you from behind, screaming his name while he tugged your hair and pushed you down, spanking your ass raw. His dog tags hung between your breasts as he tugged and rolled your nipples between his fingers.

The words were so much worse.

"Come on, ride your Sergeants cock babydoll, that's it, so fuckin' good for me"

"Cock's too big Jamie, hurts"

Your breathy, whiny voice made Steve want to throw up, your lip chewed raw, eyes unfocused.

"Awww, is it too big? So cockdrunk for me princess, I got you love, c'mhere, y'like that? Like when I'm on top my pretty girl, I'll make you feel good baby"

"Gonna be the death of me gorgeous, wouldn't give you up for the world, you hear me? Gonna cum in your princess, can't hold it, you're perfect-FUCK"

“HOW COULD YOU CHEAT ON HER!?” Bucky’s grip tightened, feeling rage, disappointment, but also a tinge of arrogance; now he had you and he wasn’t going to let you go.

Steve swallowed thickly, no longer resisting, letting his arms drop to his side. He stared at the floor, guilt and sadness washing over him.

“How could you cheat on her” Bucky’s voice was soft now, genuinely upset over his friends actions. He let Steve go, both men standing in the hallway, the air thick with tension.

“It was a mistake”

“You brought someone else into your home, into your bed, you picked someone else over y/n, what else did you expect her to do”

Steve felt his heart race, he couldn’t lose you like this, he made impulsive choices but you were the one who always believed in him. He started towards the bedroom door again before Bucky grabbed his hand stopping him.

“I want to see her” His eyes were pleading but Bucky shook his head.

“She saw you, you know. That’s why she came here” Steve looked up at Bucky in shock, his eyes wide, he felt like he was going to throw up. Bucky scoffed looking at Steve’s pained expression.

“Just get out”

“Bucky just let me see her-

“Don’t”

Steve’s emotions were running a thousand miles a minute, jealously, anger, guilt, sadness. He drove straight to her house, needing to fuck his pain away, spiraling as he sped down the streets. He went up to her apartment, knocking at the door, hearing another voice behind the door before she opened it.

“Steve? I- what are you doing here, I- it’s not a good time” She kept the door a crack open, without letting him in, her eyes shifting nervously.

“Baby, everything okay?” A man’s voice called her from behind. She nodded, mumbling something to him before stepping into the hallway.

“What the fuck?!”

“SHH, my husband is inside!”

“You said you weren’t together any more”

“I-it’s nothing”

“How the fuck could you” Steve felt his chest tighten, he shouldn’t have even come here, he shouldn’t have been in this position in the first place, it was you in his heart, he loved you.

She scoffed. “You cheated on your wife with me and I’m supposed to hold out for you and expect you to be loyal to me too?”

Steve left without saying another word, anger surging through his body, rage flowing in his veins. How the fuck could he stray from you, he pushed you away every time you tried to take care of him. He took advantage of your kindness, took advantage of how much you trusted him. He couldn’t lose you but you were in his best friend’s arms and Bucky would never do what he did.

The house was utterly destroyed. Anything that came into his hand was shattered against the wall as Steve took all his anger out in the house. Why the fuck did he act so impulsively, how could he let you see that, why the fuck did he let someone else into his life when you were his whole heart.

He stepped into the bedroom, not wanting to touch a single thing that would take away from your presence; he wanted things to be exactly how you left them. He looked at the wedding picture on the table, breaking down into sobs; you were smiling up at him, your eyes bright, looking at him with so much affection. He had his arm around you waist, he promised to love and protect you for as long as he lived. He called you his angel, he told you he’d never hurt you and here he was.

Steve nearly threw up looking at the bed. The sheets were still tangled from that afternoon, pillows thrown aside. He washed them repeatedly, his stomach churning when he could still smell her on them.

Steve thought he was losing his mind, the coldness of the bed. The silence of the house. He could no longer smell your soft scent on the sheets, nightmares plagued his mind. His chest ached thinking about how broken you would have felt seeing him, how meaningless the entire affair was to him and it took away the one thing in his life that gave him a reason to live.

A week later

“Just sign them Steve”

“Baby please don’t do this”

You sighed in frustration having spent hours arguing with Steve as he refused to sign the divorce papers.

“You made your choice, I’m making mine”

“It was a mistake y/n, I- I can’t fucking exist without you-

“You should have thought about that before you fucked someone else in our bed Steve”

“Don’t call me that!” He pleaded with you, hating the way his name sounded, you never called him Steve.

You shook your head, getting up and leaving him with the papers as he cried after you, begging for you to stay.

“Goodbye Steve”

6 months later

You had packed your things, staying with Sarah for the time being until you found your own place. Steve was drinking himself into oblivion, unable to even get drunk from the dark liquid. He hadn’t slept in the bedroom since, staying on the couch instead.

Bucky let himself in the house; not like Steve bothered to lock it any more.

“You have to stop”

Steve scoffed bitterly, taking another swing from his glass, finishing another bottle of whisky.

“Easy for you to say”

Steve felt a pang of anger in his chest, he had no right to be mad at you or Bucky but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t find peace, keeping a sweater you left behind with him when he tried to sleep, crying into it every night.

“Don’t. She loved you”

"But I still love her"

Bucky shook his head, a part of him feeling bad for Steve. He tried so hard to win you back, but the damage was done. The image was burnt in your mind, nothing would ever take that away. You tried to give him one chance but the second he touched you, your mind flashed to the way he touched her. You couldn’t. It was over.

“How is she”

“Doing better. Not great, but better”

3 Years later

You fixed you veil, holding onto your bouquet of flowers as you made your way down the aisle. He stood there, waiting for you, soft blue eyes brimming with tears as he watched you, his chestnut hair combed back, beard trimmed.

“You look amazing y/n” The best man gave you a teasing wink, smiling as you took your place in front of your soon to be husband.

“Thanks Sam” You grinned, feeling your face heat up as Bucky lifted your veil, a stray tear slipping out as he look your hands in his, his voice cracking, hardly above a whisper.

“I love you”

***

“You may kiss the bride”

You giggled as Bucky gently cupped your face, pulling you into the sweetest loving kiss, everyone in the crowd clapping and cheering, your heart fluttering with happiness. You were so in love with him; you thought you knew what love and happiness was before but nothing compared to this. This moment; so pure, so full of love.

***

Bucky held you close to him, his hands on your waist as you both swayed to your first dance as husband and wife. His hand tipped your chin up, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips; he was so utterly and deeply in love with you.

“You look gorgeous tonight Mrs. Barnes”

You giggled shyly, taking his hand in yours as the song came to an end. You made your way through the crowd, greeting guests,

“Congratulations, I’m happy for you” Steve smiled softly looking at you in Bucky’s arms. He wanted to mean what he said but his heart was still in pain. He had you and he let you go. He wanted to feel happy for you, happy for Bucky but it was too much. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, blinking back tears as you looked up at Bucky, in pure happiness.

“Thanks punk” Bucky gave him a quick hug, keeping you by his side as you both continued to greet guests.

“They’re so sweet” Sarah giggled watching you both sneak quick kisses, Bucky whispering something in your ear making you gasp before playfully slapping his chest. Steve felt his chest tighten, getting up and leaving the room, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

He closed his eyes. He remembered the way you looked at him when you walked down the aisle. The way you looked so angelic in your dress. The way you danced together for the first time, your arms draped around his shoulders, his hands holding you close. The pure love he felt for you, he told himself he’d never let you cry. All the times he stopped trying because you had enough love for the both of them. He remembered the day he met her. He hesitated but gave into his desires, the side of him that need to feel wanted by others, thinking you were with him because you loved him but he needed more. To be desired. And now here he was. He’d never be able to love again; it’d never be the same. He had the one person that would love him unconditionally and he threw it all away.

“You gotta let her go” Sam broke Steve out of his spiral, patting his shoulder lightly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “C’mon, I’ll take you home”

Steve sighed, as he watched longingly. The shy smiles, gentle touches, whispering sweet nothings to each other, he’d never get you back. You’d found your forever, your happy ending.

"M'always gonna love you, you have my heart" Bucky whispered against your shoulder, his bare skin pressed against yours as you both caught your breath. His fingers gently grazed your scalp, kissing your forehead, a part of him still wondering if it was all a dream.

The woman he loved so dearly under him while he made love to her on their wedding night.

Her soft thighs wrapped around his waist.

Her moans of pleasure all just for him.

All of his spend filling her up time and time again until he had no more to give.

It was all too perfect, too much too-

"And you have mine" You whispered back, draping your arms around your husbands shoulders, your hand snaking up to card your fingers through his hair, "I love you too"

And just like that it was all perfect.

2K notes · View notes

pomefioredove · 9 months ago

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Hello and good day 🕊️

How will the vice dormheads react seeing reader overblot and finding out they kept the pain all to themselves until they couldn't take it anymore?

Pls I'm so desperate for overblot!reader content and angst❤️❤️ tanks

RARE VICE HOUSEWARDENS REQUEST 🔥🔥🔥I LOVE ANGST!!!! not adding ruggie this time because I'm lazy sorry everyone

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ overblot!reader

type of post: headcanons characters: trey, jade, jamil, rook, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship for the Angst

there are a lot of things Jamil is feeling right now. fear, a little frustration, too. but he's mostly just ashamed that he never saw the signs. his favorite person in the whole world, the only shoulder he had to lean on, is overblotting, and he has no idea why. you were so supportive through the aftermath of his own overblot, he never thought to... it's his own selfishness and pride slapping him in the face, and it stings

but he'd rather feel guilt than grief. overblotting is painful, exhausting, and emotionally scarring, and he knows it. he's going to get you out of this, even if you hate him for it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

this makes the second time someone close to Rook has been led to overblot, and the second time he didn't see it coming. a tragedy in two parts. and his guilt would have killed him, if it weren't the only thing keeping him alive now. he has to survive this for you. he can feel miserable about it after you're safe and sound at his side again. he won't even consider the other possibility; you have so much more to explore together

it just can't be over yet

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia has followed grief for his entire life. now, at his age, when he's finally settled down, and the world is quiet for once, this happens. he can't tell if he had simply missed the signs, or ignored them, and each answer is equally distressing. despite what he's said about life and loss, he was never ready to confront the reality of losing you, especially so... soon. so, reality confronted him instead

he can't let it end like this. not again

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Trey blames himself. how could he not? all this time, he's been trying to stay out of the way, to keep the peace. if he had been by your side, if he had defended you, if he had made a better effort, maybe you wouldn't be in this place now

his unique magic isn't particularly strong, and his magic pool isn't very deep, but he'll walk right into the center of the storm if he has to. it's about time he started rocking the boat

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul's overblot was tragic, but Jade knew it was coming. it was entertaining, anyway. but this...

never in his life could he imagine something making him so uncomfortable. it makes him queasy, almost seasick, which is a strange thing for a man of the sea to feel. he wishes he could just talk to you, but it's too late for that now. when this is over, you can have a long chat over tea

he just needs you to hold on for a little while longer

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #trey clover x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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amethystarachnid · 7 months ago

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Hello! I hope your requests are open!

Can I request Tony stark x reader where the reader is kind of quiet, and nerdy. She works as research assistant or smth. She's the only one who's not smitten by Tony the moment she saw him (like everybody else), she's kind of given up on love after several failed attempts and just wants to focus on her job but Tony being Tony, takes it as a challenge to make her fall for him.It turns into a bet with the team, but over the course of his plans, it's HIM who falls for her and not the other way around. I'll leave the ending to you.

Thank you so much for sharing your gift of writing with us, I'm literally devouring your fics.🩷🩷🩷

FALLING MR. STARK

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff, tiny bit of angst ?

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: You're the new research assistant at the Stark Tower's lab and Tony is shocked when you're not immediately at his feet, how is it possible? He decides to take matter into his own hands and try to make her fall in love with him, but what if he drags himself down too?

ᯓ★ TW(s): pure fluff

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You step into the sleek, polished Stark Tower lobby with a small knot of anxiety in your stomach. Just keep it professional, you remind yourself. This is Tony Stark. THE Tony Stark. But you’re here for the job, not to become his latest fangirl.

Clutching your tablet a little tighter, you remind yourself of the opportunities this role as Tony Stark's research assistant brings. You're here because you’re good at your work, not because you're starstruck like everyone else in the building seems to be. You've caught a few glances already—other interns looking at you as if to say, Good luck.

One last deep breath and you’re on the elevator, speeding up to the penthouse lab. Focus on the job, you chant mentally. Forget about Tony Stark.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step into the world that is Stark's lab. All sleek metal, futuristic screens, holographic projections hanging in mid-air. But it’s messy, too; tools and wires strewn across tables, half-finished projects everywhere. You blink, a little in awe despite yourself.

“New kid!”

The voice is unmistakably Tony Stark. He’s across the room, tinkering with something metallic on one of the tables. You watch as he pops his head up, gives you a quick once-over, and then raises his eyebrows.

“You must be the research assistant. Well, welcome to the circus,” he says, gesturing to the lab around him. He doesn’t smile, but there's something mischievous in his eyes, a spark that tells you he’s about to say something clever.

“You’re… taller than I thought you’d be,” you manage, immediately regretting how awkward you sound.

He chuckles, not missing a beat. “Oh, I get that all the time. People expect me to be a mythical 6’7”—sorry to disappoint.” He doesn’t look sorry, not at all. “And you must be…?” He gives you a look that’s half curiosity, half challenge.

You introduce yourself, keeping it simple. “I’m here for the research position. Dr. Wu recommended me.”

“Oh, Dr. Wu?” His eyebrows arch slightly, and he looks vaguely impressed. “The hypercritical nanotech expert?”

You nod. “I worked with him on a few projects at MIT.”

Tony whistles, long and low, then gives you an approving nod. “MIT, huh? Impressive. Alright, this might work. Welcome aboard, MIT.” He glances around, clearly expecting something. “Uh, welcome package?” he says to the room in general.

That’s when you notice him. Bruce Banner is sitting at a desk to the side, looking up from a tablet, amused. “I don’t think we have a welcome package for the lab, Tony.”

Tony shrugs. “Then make one,” he says, completely serious. Bruce rolls his eyes but gives you a small wave.

You give a hesitant smile and wave back, feeling a little out of place. The two of them clearly have an easy camaraderie that makes you a bit envious. You’re used to lab partners who barely make eye contact.

“Alright, let’s get you started.” Tony’s voice snaps you back. He tosses you a tablet loaded with files, and you almost fumble it but manage to catch it. “Your job, MIT, is to make me look good. Which, I know, sounds impossible given my natural state of perfection, but I believe in you.” He winks, that infamous Stark smirk firmly in place.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Charm alert, your brain warns you. But you’ve met enough self-absorbed professors and cocky lab partners to know not to take it seriously. You focus on the files instead, scanning the data.

“What exactly is the project?”

Tony grins. “Top secret nanotech project. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you. Or, more likely, have Banner kill you, because I don’t like blood.” He shrugs. “Messy.”

Bruce sighs. “Ignore him. It’s nothing that dramatic. We’re working on a nanotechnology enhancement for military armor—something that can respond to injuries in real-time.” He gives Tony a pointed look. “For field emergencies. It’s supposed to save lives.”

“That, and it’ll make me look really cool,” Tony adds, completely straight-faced.

You nod thoughtfully, focusing on the project details. Field-responsive nanotech… That’s not only cutting-edge; it’s insanely hard to develop. If you’re successful, this would be revolutionary.

You’re so absorbed in the file that you don’t notice Tony watching you until he whistles. “Wow. You didn’t faint, you didn’t swoon. Usually, I get at least a little swooning.”

You glance up, startled. “Why would I swoon? We’re talking about a project, not—”

“Not me?” He’s grinning, clearly enjoying your lack of reaction. “Exactly. I like you already, MIT.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Leave her alone, Tony.”

Tony raises his hands in a mock-surrender. “What? I’m just making conversation. Besides,” he leans a little closer, his gaze intent, “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone around here who isn’t immediately dazzled by… well, all of this.” He gestures at himself, a theatrical flair in his movements.

You just blink, unimpressed. “I’m not here to be dazzled,” you say, perhaps a bit too bluntly. “I’m here to do the job. Dr. Wu said it’d be a challenge.”

Tony’s grin widens, looking genuinely delighted. “Alright, then. A challenge it is.” There’s a glint in his eye, a challenge of his own. But you turn back to your tablet, refusing to play into it.

In the corner, Bruce hides a smirk.

The morning passes surprisingly smoothly. Once you get over the initial wave of nerves, you’re focused and methodical, poring over the schematics, asking the right questions, noting potential improvements. Bruce is kind, offering pointers, while Tony hovers nearby, occasionally making cheeky comments or interrupting with “helpful” insights.

When lunch rolls around, Tony turns to you, smirking. “We do have this tradition in the lab, you know. Lunchtime is brainstorming time. Or, as I like to call it, Stark’s Think Tank.”

Bruce groans. “No one calls it that, Tony.”

Tony ignores him, fixing his gaze on you. “So. MIT. Want to join us for lunch?”

You shake your head, already reaching for your bag. “I’ll grab something downstairs. Thank you, though.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. Tony, on the other hand, looks genuinely shocked.

“You don’t want to… eat with us?”

You smile politely, keeping your tone casual. “I have some notes to review, and, um… I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

Tony looks at Bruce, then back at you, his expression one of mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Rejected on day one.”

Bruce chuckles. “You’re losing your touch, Tony.”

But you just smile, barely managing to suppress a laugh as you step toward the elevator. Once inside, you release a breath. Tony Stark is… something. But if he thinks you’re just another smitten intern, he’s got another thing coming.

When you return after lunch, there’s a distinct change in the atmosphere. Tony’s throwing you sidelong glances as you work, and Bruce keeps snickering every time he catches him doing it. You keep your head down, ignoring them, determined to keep it professional.

Finally, Tony breaks the silence. “Okay, MIT, since you’re apparently immune to my charms, I have a proposal.”

You look up, wary. “What kind of proposal?”

Tony grins. “A bet.” He leans on the desk, folding his arms. “Let’s say I can get you to fall for me. All it’ll take is… one month.”

You blink, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Bruce snorts. “You’re delusional, Tony.”

But Tony’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Hear me out. You’re all about the job, which, fine, admirable. But what if I made you a different kind of job offer? An experiment, if you will. One month. You let me charm you, show you my best side. And if I don’t succeed…” He pauses, thinking. “I’ll donate a million dollars to your research fund. No strings attached.”

Your mouth drops open. A million dollars? You know the fund he’s talking about; Dr. Wu had mentioned it. It’s a cutting-edge grant, but it’s constantly underfunded. A million dollars would make an enormous difference.

“And if you do succeed?” you ask skeptically, crossing your arms.

Tony shrugs, smiling. “Then you admit you were wrong about me.” His eyes are dancing, challenging. “No harm, no foul.”

You can’t help but laugh, amused at the absurdity of it all. “Fine,” you say, still laughing. “One month, and you donate either way.”

Tony’s grin is dazzling, triumphant. “I knew you’d come around, MIT.”

You shake your head, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face. “I’m not promising anything beyond one month. This is purely professional curiosity. No…dazzling involved.”

Tony places a hand over his heart, feigning a wound. “Ouch. You know how to hit a guy where it hurts. But sure, let’s call it…research.”

Bruce mutters under his breath, “Yeah, scientific research on Tony Stark’s bruised ego.”

Tony shoots him a playful glare. “Not a bruise, Banner. Just…a challenge accepted.”

With that, Tony goes back to tinkering, but you catch him sneaking glances at you every now and then, clearly strategizing his approach like you’re the world’s most intricate problem. And as you return to reviewing data, a strange feeling bubbles up in your chest—a mix of thrill and disbelief. You’re still shaking your head at the whole bizarre setup, yet there’s an undeniable excitement sparking under the surface.

By the time the day wraps up, you’ve combed through a good chunk of the project files, lost in thoughts about nanotechnology application improvements, but that undercurrent of Tony’s strange “challenge” lingers. It’s the last thing you expect to happen on day one of a serious research assistant role, but if you’ve learned one thing today, it’s that Tony Stark doesn’t exactly follow convention.

As you head back to the elevator, you hear Tony call out, “Same time tomorrow, MIT?”

You pause, glancing back. “Only if I don’t find a better offer between now and then.”

Tony grins, undeterred. “Good luck finding someone who offers a better lab setup or a more brilliant boss. But hey, feel free to try.”

The doors slide shut on his mischievous expression, and you exhale, trying to process the day. You’re not sure what you expected working for Tony Stark, but whatever it was, it definitely didn’t involve million-dollar bets or being challenged to resist his charms.

The real question is: can you make it through a month of this without getting pulled into Tony’s world more than you already have?

Only time—and maybe a little bit of your own curiosity—will tell.

The next morning, you step into Stark Tower with a resolution: you’re not going to let Tony Stark’s ridiculous wager get in the way of your job. He may be on a mission to sweep you off your feet, but you’re just as determined to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground. You’re here for your career, not for some rom-com subplot orchestrated by an overly confident billionaire.

When you reach the lab, Tony is already there, leaning against a worktable, his expression lit up with anticipation. He’s wearing a dark suit jacket over a T-shirt and jeans, casual but effortlessly put-together. He glances up as you walk in, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Morning, MIT,” he calls, flashing you a grin. “Sleep well?”

You ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “Well enough, thanks. Ready to work?”

“Work?” Tony pretends to look horrified. “You come to Stark Tower, a mecca of science and wonder, and you want to work?” He winks, moving closer as he talks. “How about I give you a tour of the best hidden spots in the tower instead?”

You glance at him suspiciously. “A tour? You mean something not essential to the project?”

“Oh, but it’s essential,” he insists, tapping a finger against his temple. “Every new hire needs to understand the layout to feel comfortable here. And anyway, it’s good for morale.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And this is part of your…bet?”

Tony grins. “Absolutely. How else am I supposed to ‘dazzle’ you if we’re just here knee-deep in nanotech all day?”

You fight a smile. As much as you’d like to pretend you’re unmoved, there’s something undeniably charming about how unabashedly Tony is throwing himself into this ridiculous game. “Alright, fine. But only because I want to make sure you’re not actually wasting time when there’s research to do.”

Tony leads the way, hands in his pockets, throwing you little side glances like he’s testing the waters. The elevator whisks you up to the higher floors, and you find yourself standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that offers a breathtaking view of New York City. It’s a rare moment of calm amid the bustling high-tech environment of Stark Tower.

Tony watches you with a faint smile as you take it in, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a “wow.” You settle for a nonchalant, “Nice view.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained. “You really don’t play along, do you?”

“I don’t see the point,” you say with a shrug, crossing your arms. “I’m here to work on nanotech, not to become part of Tony Stark’s latest challenge.”

“Ouch.” He places a hand over his heart in mock-pain. “Alright, alright. You want to get straight to work? We’ll work. But just so you know,” he leans closer, eyes glinting, “this isn’t over.”

The elevator dings, and you’re whisked back down to the lab before you can respond.

As the day unfolds, you’re focused and precise, working your way through JARVIS’s energy reports and identifying areas where efficiency could improve. Tony is more hands-on than you expected, frequently hovering over your shoulder, making suggestions, throwing in the occasional joke. It’s distracting, but you’re determined to ignore it. You’re making great progress—until he insists on breaking for lunch.

“Okay, lab rules say we take lunch together,” Tony announces, dramatically sweeping a hand towards the door. “Team-building exercise.”

Bruce, who’s quietly sipping his coffee in the corner, raises an eyebrow. “We don’t have a rule about that, Tony.”

“Well, now we do.” Tony looks at you expectantly, hands on his hips. “Come on, MIT. We’re doing this.”

Reluctantly, you follow him, reminding yourself that it’s just one lunch. It’s not like this is some kind of romantic date—it’s Tony Stark. Yet, as he leads you to a surprisingly cozy dining area tucked in a quiet corner of the tower, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s crafted this specifically to impress.

He orders for both of you, launching into a vivid, absurd tale about his first attempt at nanotech back in his younger, even more reckless days. As he talks, you can’t help but laugh at his dramatic descriptions of failures and mishaps.

“You really made an entire suit that could only walk backward?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It was brilliant,” Tony insists, unbothered. “Who else would think to make reverse-only armor?”

You’re about to reply when the waiter brings your meals. It’s an elegant setup, far nicer than you’d expect in a corporate cafeteria. Tony has somehow managed to get actual silverware, real napkins, and a plate that wouldn’t look out of place in a Michelin-star restaurant. You blink in surprise, trying not to laugh.

“This is…a little extra,” you say, picking up your fork.

“Only the best for MIT,” he says, pretending to look humble, but the twinkle in his eyes betrays him.

As you eat, you can feel yourself letting your guard down a little, despite all your best intentions. There’s something genuine about the way he interacts with you—like he’s actually interested in your opinions and ideas. It’s confusing, unexpected, and oddly flattering.

After lunch, Tony walks you back to the lab, his usual smirk softer than before. “So, how am I doing so far?”

You glance at him, not sure if he’s serious. “Doing?”

“Making an impression. You know, that whole bet thing.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

You can’t help but laugh. “Is that what this was about? Lunch? A fancy plate and a reverse-walking suit story?”

He tilts his head, amused. “Well, it’s a start.”

You pause, meeting his gaze head-on. “Honestly? You’ll need to try a little harder.”

His eyes flash with challenge, and he leans in, crossing his arms. “Game on.”

The next day, Tony is waiting in the lab when you arrive, wearing a grin that looks suspiciously proud of itself. “Morning, MIT.”

You give him a skeptical look. “What’s that smile for?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says casually, gesturing to a table nearby. “Except for the fact that today, you’re going to help me test the latest upgrade on the Iron Man suit.”

You stare at him, not sure you heard correctly. “I…am going to what?”

Tony’s grin widens. “You’re going to help test the suit. I figured if you’re going to work with me, you might as well get a hands-on experience. Consider it…research.” He gives a little shrug, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

The logical part of you wants to say no, but there’s another part—a braver, more curious part—that’s intrigued. Maybe even excited.

“Alright,” you say cautiously. “But if something goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.” He’s already on the move, striding toward the table and gesturing for you to follow.

The suit is impressive up close—sleek, powerful, with that trademark gleaming red and gold. Tony walks you through the basics, showing you how the HUD works, explaining the safety features, and letting you get a feel for the controls.

“Ready?” he asks, looking as excited as a kid with a new toy.

You take a deep breath, nodding. “Let’s do it.”

As you move through the test, you feel the thrill of operating something so powerful, so cutting-edge. Tony’s coaching you the whole time, patient and encouraging. He watches every movement you make, eyes sharp and attentive. He doesn’t just want to see how you perform; he’s genuinely invested in showing you the best of his creation.

When the test ends, you pull off the helmet, grinning despite yourself. “That was…incredible.”

Tony chuckles. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

“Okay, maybe I underestimated the suit.” You glance down at it, still in awe. “But I’m still not swooning over the man who made it.”

He laughs, holding up his hands. “Fair enough. But don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more tricks up my sleeve.”

Over the next few days, Tony’s attempts to charm you become more creative—and increasingly ridiculous.

One afternoon, he brings a coffee machine into the lab and insists on making you a cup himself. You watch, unimpressed, as he fiddles with the settings, claiming he’s a “certified barista.” The resulting cup is…interesting, but his look of hopeful expectation makes you take a sip anyway. It’s terrible, but you suppress a grimace and give him a thumbs-up.

Another day, he brings in an old vinyl player and insists on playing “background music for geniuses” as you work. He puts on a jazz album and leans back, smugly watching you react to every unexpected piano chord. He looks at you for approval, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatics. But deep down, you find yourself laughing, wondering what he’ll come up with next.

Each day, he throws himself into the bet with new enthusiasm, his charm bordering on absurd. He leaves little notes on your workstation, each one signed with his signature “TS.” He insists on accompanying you to lunch, despite your protests. He even brings Bruce into the antics, convincing him to try (and fail) to talk you into a “team outing” one Friday night.

And, despite your best efforts, you start to look forward to it. There’s something exciting, almost comforting, about the way he’s trying so hard to make you laugh, to make you see him differently. And little by little, you find yourself warming up to him, against all logic.

One evening, after everyone else has left the lab, Tony finds you still at your desk, poring over schematics. He leans against the door, watching you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asks.

You look up, startled, and smile a little, trying to hide how flustered you feel under his gaze. “Just finishing up. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he walks over and sits across from you, looking more serious than usual. “You know, I thought this bet was just going to be a fun game. But now I find myself actually…wanting to know you better.”

You feel your heart skip, and suddenly you’re not sure if this is just a game anymore, either.

“Tony…”

He leans forward, holding your gaze. “Give me a chance, MIT. Outside of the bet, outside of the lab. Just…let’s see where it goes.”

And for once, you’re not sure how to say no.

It all starts with a simple suggestion from Tony: “Let’s grab dinner.” He says it casually, like it’s no big deal, like he doesn’t have his heart hammering in his chest, waiting for your reaction. He suggests a little place he “happens” to know, one that he swears has the best food in New York. And somehow, you agree. Maybe because he calls it a “work dinner.” Maybe because you tell yourself it’s not a date.

When you meet him in the lobby, you’re wrapped up in a scarf and peacoat, your hair loose, casual. You don’t look nervous, but Tony notices the way you glance around, adjusting the strap of your bag, as if double-checking that this really is work-related. He plays it off, putting his hands in his pockets, trying to appear as calm as you do, even though he’s never cared so much about a single dinner before.

The place he picked is upscale but cozy, full of candlelight and quiet jazz that hums in the background. He watches as you scan the menu, oblivious to his attention on you, fully absorbed. It’s refreshing; you’re genuinely curious about what’s on the menu, unbothered by the scene he knows he can make in places like this. Normally, dinner with Tony Stark comes with a string of expectations and eyes on him—but tonight, he’s glad it’s just the two of you, tucked in a corner booth, your focus solely on him.

“So,” he starts, leaning back in his seat, “tell me: where did Dr. Wu find you? I don’t meet many people who can keep me on my toes the way you do.”

You shrug, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Wu and I met at MIT. He’s probably the only person who could make me feel like I didn’t know enough in a single afternoon.”

Tony laughs. He knows exactly what you mean. “Sounds like Wu, alright. So, what did he think when you said you were coming to work for me?”

Your smile widens, eyes dancing with amusement. “He said, ‘You might be the first person who isn’t charmed by him within five minutes.’ I think he was worried for your ego.”

Tony grins, holding his drink in the air. “To deflated egos.”

You clink glasses, and as you sip, he wonders how long he can keep himself in check, how long he can keep this light, keep it casual, without betraying how much he’s starting to feel for you. Because while this may have started as a silly bet—a challenge to make you fall for him—now it’s… different. He’s starting to look forward to these moments with you more than he expected. He isn’t sure when his own bet began to backfire, but he can feel it, slipping slowly out of his control.

Over the next few weeks, “work dinners” become a regular thing. No one in the lab says anything, but he knows Bruce has noticed, if the amused glances he sends Tony’s way are anything to go by. Every time Tony catches one, he just shrugs it off. He’s Tony Stark, after all. If he wants to grab dinner with his research assistant, it’s not anyone else’s business. And anyway, you don’t seem to mind.

The second “not-a-date” is Italian, at a small, family-owned spot he tells you he’s been “dying to try.” The third is sushi, which he’s surprised to learn you’ve only had once before. By the time the fourth rolls around, he notices you’ve stopped checking your watch. He takes it as a good sign, even though he’s not entirely sure why he cares so much.

After that, the “work dinners” turn into outings outside the lab, outings that don’t need any excuse. He brings you to an art exhibit that’s in town for a limited time, pretending he’s only taking you because he “figured you might find it interesting.” But really, he just wants an excuse to see you outside the sterile lights of the lab, wants to see how you react to something that isn’t made of metal and wires. When he watches your eyes widen at a particular piece, the way you study the brushstrokes with an intent focus, he has to swallow back a smile. He feels like he’s seeing you through a different lens, realizing how much depth there is to you, beyond the research and the numbers.

At the end of the night, he offers to walk you home, hands in his pockets to keep himself from offering his arm or some other foolish gesture. He catches himself hoping you’ll ask him to stay, to come in for a cup of coffee, maybe—but you just smile and thank him, and he feels an odd, unexpected ache when he watches you disappear up the stairs.

A few weeks later, Tony starts noticing something that surprises even him. When he sits in the lab with you, he’s not thinking about the project. He’s thinking about whether you’ve eaten lunch, whether you’ve taken any breaks, or even just whether you’ll smile at him when you catch him watching you. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhilarating, and for the first time, he feels like he’s the one chasing, the one on the hook.

One Friday night, he texts you out of the blue.

Tony Are you up for a drink?

Your response comes a few minutes later, and it makes him laugh.

You Tony, do you even know what ‘taking a break’ means?

He grins at his phone, knowing he’s won already.

Tony Well, there’s a first time for everything. Pick you up in 20.

Twenty minutes later, he’s outside your building, leaning against his car, watching the door with more anticipation than he’ll admit. You step out, looking a little surprised that he actually showed up. He swallows hard when he sees you in casual clothes—jeans, a sweater, hair falling loosely over your shoulders.

“Ready?” he asks, gesturing to the car with a small smile.

You nod, glancing down as you climb in. “Where are we going?”

He smirks. “Somewhere that’ll knock MIT’s socks off.”

He takes you to a rooftop bar with a stunning view of the city skyline, all twinkling lights and distant music. It’s beautiful, quiet, and for once, he doesn’t feel the urge to be Tony Stark, the billionaire genius. He just wants to be Tony, the guy who’s with you, wondering what you’re thinking as you look out over the city.

After a couple of drinks, he tells you stories—wild, outlandish ones from his younger days, stories about his first ridiculous inventions, and even a few that make you laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink. When he sees you laugh like that, unguarded and completely at ease, something in his chest feels tight, like he’s in over his head.

You lean on the railing, arms crossed, glancing over at him with a bemused smile. “So tell me,” you say, your voice soft, “was this what you had in mind with that bet?”

He blinks, caught off guard, and he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? I didn’t expect to be the one falling for you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your eyes widen, and he feels a thrill when he sees the faint color that rises in your cheeks. “You… what?”

There’s no going back now. He might as well lay it all out, admit it to you—and to himself. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and serious. “I fell for you somewhere along the way, MIT. Bet or no bet.”

You look at him, the city lights casting a warm glow over your face, and he wonders if you’ll walk away, if you’ll call him crazy, if you’ll tell him he’s crossed a line. But you don’t. You don’t say anything; instead, you just look at him, your gaze soft and questioning, as if you’re wondering how long he’s felt this way.

“So,” you say finally, voice quiet, “what does that mean for us?”

Tony smiles, surprised at how easily the words come. “It means I want this—want us—to be real. No games, no bets.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle between you. “If you want that, too.”

For a moment, you’re quiet, studying him, and he feels his heart racing, terrified that you’ll say no. But then you smile, a small, genuine smile that makes his heart feel like it’s about to explode.

“Alright,” you say softly. “Let’s see where this goes. No bets.”

From that night on, everything changes. Your “work dinners” turn into real dates—walks through Central Park, late-night coffees at quiet cafes, dinners at small, hidden places around the city. You both take it slow, careful, as if afraid to break whatever fragile thing is forming between you. But each night, when he drops you off at your door, he feels the pull, the urge to kiss you goodnight, to keep you close. And one night, he does.

It’s late, the city quiet around you, and as you turn to go inside, he can’t help himself. He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours, and when you look up at him, he leans down, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss is gentle, careful, as if he’s afraid of scaring you off, but when you lean into him, his heart nearly stops.

You share inside jokes, stolen glances across the lab, the occasional “business meeting” that turns into hours of conversation about everything and nothing. Tony finds himself waking up each day with a renewed excitement, a sense of something he hasn’t felt in years: hope.

It’s the end of a long week, and somehow, you’ve both ended up in your apartment, the city a quiet hum beyond your windows. The two of you sit on the floor, leaning against the couch with a few empty wine glasses scattered around the table. You’ve got the TV on, and Tony managed to find a fake fireplace video with gentle crackling and flickering flames that cast warm, golden light around the room. It’s ridiculous, yet somehow perfect—a nod to that cliché romance neither of you ever thought you’d be in.

But here you are.

The quiet between you has a certain electricity, a kind of unspoken tension neither of you wants to name yet, though it’s impossible to ignore. Every so often, Tony’s knee brushes yours, or his shoulder leans just a little closer, and you feel the thrill of it like the first time, every time.

“So,” he says, breaking the silence, the familiar mischievous spark in his eyes. “What are we, exactly?”

You chuckle, glancing down at your glass, buying time with a sip of wine. “You mean… officially?”

He nods, his eyes warm but serious, searching yours. “Yeah. Officially.”

You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness, though you know exactly where this conversation is headed. “Well, I’d say we’re… colleagues.”

“Colleagues?” he scoffs, feigning offense. “You call this colleague behavior?” He gestures to the two of you, to the cozy setup that feels miles away from the cold lab. The corners of his mouth quirk up as he raises his eyebrows. “Would you share a fake fireplace with just anyone?”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and he leans a little closer, that soft, teasing look in his eyes. There’s something else in his gaze, though, something that’s been there since the beginning but has only grown stronger.

“Alright, fine,” you concede. “Maybe we’re… dating.”

His eyes light up at that, his grin widening. “Dating, huh? I like that. But it still sounds… I don’t know. Casual?”

You raise an eyebrow, your heart thudding just a bit faster. “Oh? So what do you want to call it, then, Mr. Stark?”

He shifts closer, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along the edge of his wine glass, his gaze fixed intently on you. “How about… ‘together’? Just you and me. Not just a bet or a fling. The real thing.” His voice drops, softer, more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “I want this to be… official.”

Your breath hitches, and you can feel that tension building between you, thickening the air. “You really want that?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours, warm and sure. “I think I’ve wanted it since day one. I just didn’t know it yet.”

His hand covers yours now, fingers intertwining, and the feel of his touch sends a shiver through you, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. You hold his gaze, your heartbeat thundering in your ears, and the space between you feels charged, as if there’s something there that neither of you can ignore any longer.

“Then… I guess we’re together,” you whisper, feeling the weight of it settle over you, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Tony’s gaze darkens, and before you can say anything else, he closes the distance between you. His lips find yours, soft and seeking at first, but within seconds, the kiss deepens, the unspoken tension between you sparking into something electric. His hand comes up to cup your face, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of him, the intensity that has simmered under the surface for so long finally released.

You’re barely aware of anything else as you both shift, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his lap as his mouth moves over yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You lose track of time, of the fake fire flickering in the background, of anything but the way his hands feel on your skin, the way he holds you like he’s afraid to let you go.

His hands drift along your back, finding the hem of your shirt, and you feel a thrill as he slips his hands under the fabric, his touch warm and tantalizing against your bare skin. Your breath hitches as he trails kisses down your jaw, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, but his gaze filled with that same warmth, that tenderness that’s made you fall for him in ways you never expected.

You nod, pulling him closer, feeling a confidence and certainty that surprises you. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That’s all he needs. In a swift, smooth motion, he picks you up, carrying you toward the bedroom, his mouth finding yours again, and any last shred of hesitation disappears. He lays you down gently, his hands exploring, learning every inch of you as though he’s memorizing you, cherishing every moment. His lips trace a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you feel a thrill with every touch, every kiss, as if he’s igniting something within you that’s been waiting for him all along.

The night unfolds slowly, a delicious, intoxicating blur of touch and heat, a feeling of being completely and utterly consumed. Tony takes his time, savoring each moment, and with every touch, every whispered word, you feel yourself falling deeper, letting go of every last barrier. You’ve never felt so seen, so cherished, as you do with him, and by the time dawn breaks, you’re tangled together, breathless and completely, irrevocably his.

As the first light of morning filters in, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, his breath warm against your neck. For the first time, you let yourself relax into him fully, feeling that familiar warmth, that safety that only he can give.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped up in his arms, you know that whatever label you put on this, it’s real.

You wake up to sunlight filtering through your curtains, a golden glow spilling across your bedroom. The warmth beside you, steady and comforting, reminds you of the night before. Tony’s arm is draped over you, his breathing soft and even. For a moment, you just lie there, letting yourself savor the stillness, the unexpected joy of waking up next to him.

As if sensing you’re awake, Tony stirs, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your shoulder. He opens his eyes, and a sleepy, boyish grin spreads across his face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, smiling back. There’s something so soft in his gaze that it takes you by surprise. “I could get used to this,” he adds, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You open your mouth to respond, but something nags at you—a fleeting thought that hits you like a cold splash of water. You glance at your alarm clock, and your eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“What?” Tony asks, still drowsy.

“We’re late,” you say, panic rising as you sit up. “We were supposed to be in the lab… half an hour ago!”

Tony’s eyes go wide. “Well, damn.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs, but there’s urgency in his movements as he jumps out of bed. “Okay, so the lab, yeah? We can do this. Ten minutes and we’re there.”

In a flurry of movement, you both scramble to find your clothes. You pull on yesterday’s jeans and a shirt while Tony is somehow in his button-down and jacket in record time, still flashing that devil-may-care grin.

“Keys?” he asks, scanning the room like he’s trying to disarm a bomb.

You grab them from your nightstand, and in no time, you’re out the door, hurrying down the street to Stark Tower, laughing breathlessly at the absurdity of it all.

By the time you reach the lab, you’re both slightly out of breath, looking about as ruffled as you feel. You barely have time to steady yourself before the doors slide open and reveal Bruce, who glances up from his tablet with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, look who decided to join us,” he says, smirking just a little. His gaze shifts between the two of you, and you can feel him taking in the unmissable signs: Tony’s rumpled hair, your hastily buttoned shirt, and that lingering, unmistakable glow of… well, more than friendship.

“Sorry, Bruce,” you start, trying to sound casual as you lean over a workbench, flipping through some notes. “I, uh… I was doing things.”

Before you can stop him, Tony slides right up beside you, throwing in his signature smirk. “I am things.”

There’s a moment of silence before Bruce’s mouth falls open, the sheer shock plastered on his face.

“Oh,” Bruce manages, blinking like he’s trying to process what he’s just heard. “Oh, wow. Well, that’s… not the explanation I was expecting.”

Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Surprised, Banner? Even geniuses have hearts, you know.”

Bruce shakes his head, but he’s grinning now, a mixture of amusement and something almost like pride. “I think the word you’re looking for, Tony, is priorities.”

You and Tony exchange a look, trying not to burst into laughter.

“So,” Bruce says, raising an eyebrow as he folds his arms, “am I supposed to welcome you to the lab as a couple now? Is that what’s happening?”

Tony glances at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, Bruce,” he says, voice filled with more warmth than usual. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

Bruce groans but nods, resigned to the fact that the lab—and maybe all of Stark Tower—will never be the same. “Great. Just… try not to be late again tomorrow. Some of us still take the work schedule seriously.”

I love rom-com style, makes me so happy to write it <3 If you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

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leejenowrld · 1 year ago

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ghostin' (one)

pairing na jaemin x y/n (fem)

word count 14.4k

genre smut, fluff, angst, situationship vibes, college au

synopsis after being brutally dumped by your ex hyunjin, you’re living a broken life, lost in the consumption of getting high and heartbreak. then you meet na jaemin, a one-night stand transforms into a bond. he becomes the catalyst for your healing. but can you genuinely break free from the attachment to your toxic ex? between newfound connection and lingering attachments, will you move on or hold on?

one | two | three | four

chapter warnings very broken, fragile, weak, intoxicated mc (not so much in the 1st chapter just wait lmao) cute friendship moments, girl moments, appearances from other '00 liners, explicit language, swearing, mention of drugs, smoking and alcohol, getting high, under the influence, unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral (f receiving) overuse of ‘baby,’ ass slapping, daddy kink, size kink and training, dirty talk, big cock jaemin, soft dom jaemin, groping, fingering, nipple sucking, a moment (the girls playing matchmaker) which teases all the other fics in the series which you can see about here, introverted, chill, emotionally intelligent, laid back, mysterious jaemin, jaemin with a darker side, a very sexy jaemin, black haired jaemin, jaemin who has no flaws

author note haerin is the protagonist (y/n) in my one shot mfal, which can be read here. she’s a side character in this so i wanted to give her a name so avoid confusion for myself lmao. but you can still imagine haerin as mfal!y/n. also there’s a lot of jeno and haerin in this chapter, a lot of friend moments, girl moments, jaemin only makes an appearance at the end. please stay patient and trust me!! the wait is worth it. he comes in at the perfect time :) i wanted to make this more friendship group based and explore the side characters compared to mfal, so :))) enjoy. also hana is heejin now from mfal! i changed her name, sorry about my bad planning, this is the second story that i’ve ever written (mfal my first) so i’m still learning and making mistakes. hana is an og so i didn’t wanna give her a popular idols name!! still need to change her name in mfal lol

part of neo heartbreaker series, same universe as mfal but can be read as a standalone. comment to be added to the tag list for future parts!! this is a 4 part series

“i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again, over him, i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again, instead of ghostin’ him”

playlist ariana grande ghostin, prettymuch phases, ghosting txt,

♥♥♥♥

“Jeno told me to show you this.”

You point your phone in Haerin’s face, eyes closed as she grips the device in her hands, mouth watering as she lets out a sigh, fighting her urges but she gives in, whining about Jeno’s ‘monster cock’ and how much she loved and missed it, how she wanted to fuck herself dumb with it… something like that. You chose to drown her words out. Hana let’s out a sound of realisation from beside you, understanding why your eyes were closed. It’s because you didn’t want to see Jeno’s cock.

“Why is he sending you that photo?” Hana asks, eyes puzzled.

“It’s because Haerin is ignoring all his texts and calls so he told me he’d make me my favourite dinner for a week if I shoved the photo of his cock in her face.” You explain, Hana giving you a knowing nod. Who would refuse that offer? Lee Jeno belonged on master chef.

“Well you can tell him he can shove his cock in his own mouth.” Haerin shakes her head furiously, words high pitched and spoken with anger. She sneaks a final glance and lets out one last whimper before handing you your phone back.

You nod, fingers typing away.

you - she basically said fuck you and that you can shove your own cock in your own mouth

jeno - bet my baby was moaning at the photo though. i know what she’s like

jeno - needy slut tries to act like she doesn’t want me when she’s mad at me

jeno - when she wants me even more

you - seems like something you should text her!

jeno - bitch that’s the point she’s ignoring me

“I'm gonna kill Jeno." You look up from your phone, your gaze shifting to Hana as you share amused glances, spotting a very annoyed and pissed-off Haerin sitting opposite you both in the canteen. It's been a long day of back-to-back lectures, and Haerin has been frustrated throughout them all. Uncharacteristically, she hasn't been paying attention in class, even though she's easily the top student and smarter than every single one of her peers.

She swirls her noodles around with her chopsticks, more focused on her irritation than her meal. "Why did he leave so early this morning?" You question.

"You tell me." Haerin exclaims, her voice raising a few octaves as she shakes her head in frustration.

"Wait, why are you pissed off at him again?" Hana asks in confusion.

"It's Jeno."

“Yeah I know, I asked why –”

"He was about to go down on me, but then he got an 'important' phone call, said sorry and left." Haerin explains with a huff. "I say 'about,' but he was already inside of me! He had just put his cock into me and then left before he started fucking me!!!!" Anger seeps through Haerin as she recalls the incident.

You and Heejin share a look, raising your eyebrows and holding back a laugh. Haerin and her boyfriend, Jeno, have a lot of sex. They're intimate every day, and he practically lives with you three girls. You admire the fact that they're deeply in love, evident to everyone around (and sometimes heard), but you're also put off by how frequently they engage in sexual activities. You and your roommate Heejin have become too accustomed to walking into any room in the house and seeing Haerin getting her back blown out.

“I need him so fucking bad that I’m genuinely kill the next person I see if they’re not him. I’m so fucking stressed right now and getting my back blown out by him is the only solution. I just need him to slap my pussy and my ass and spit in my mouth. I need him to choke me and I need his cum in my mouth or in me!!! Fuck I need his babies. I just need his cock shoved down my throat, I need him to wipe the drool from my cheeks after I’ve sucked him off, I need him to fuck my throat, I need him to tie my hair up for me and move the strands that get stuck in his mouth when I’m sucking his cock.”

Hana lets out a loud laugh at how the chatter on the tables surrounding the three of you had silenced completely, obviously in reaction to Haerin’s loud and incredibly sexual words. She usually had no filter when it came to the desires she shared with her boyfriend.

Haerin cries out, scrolling through photos on her camera roll and you wish you wouldn’t have glanced her way but you’re pretty sure you see Jeno’s cock grace her phone screen, (you also wish you didn’t know what it looked like.) Your eyes widen in shock as she lets out the loudest and horniest moan you’ve ever heard, she wasn’t even trying to conceal it, clearly not caring about who hears. Her mouth waters at the photos she has of him saved on her phone.

Haerin continues complaining, staring down at her noodles with a scowl, gaze moving to her phone once again and rapidly scrolling through the photos. "We haven't had sex since like… last night!"

You huff, contemplating how Haerin, if in your shoes, would likely struggle. The memory of your last intimate encounter, five months ago, casts a shadow, and a momentary sadness clouds your features. Shaking off those feelings, you ignore Hana’s observant gaze – she notices everything. How is she so observant? You disregard the look she's giving you, hoping she won't give it any more attention.

A sigh of relief escapes when Haerin continues to complain, Hana’s attention shifting.

"I'm going crazy.” Haerin breathes heavily, her eyes widening. "I keep crossing my legs, but nothing feels like him."

Her voice and expression turn darker. "I wanted to cut his dick off, especially when he kissed me and said he'd make it up to me."

Your eyebrows raise. "That's quite sweet, though?" You've seen the way Jeno kisses Haerin. If you were ever kissed like that, you'd melt. You'd complain about nothing. The heavy feeling overtakes your heart once more when you remember that once upon a time, you were kissed like that.

"Isn't this the third time this week it's happened?" Hana questions.

Haerin nods immediately. "He keeps saying sorry, telling me he can't tell me where he goes off to, but I know where he's going and who he's seeing. He doesn't need to tell me to know."

"And I know you guys already have an idea. If you think about it, it's not difficult to figure out."

The three of you say "Jaemin" unanimously.

"I swear you said that the only time he'll leave you mid-sex is for one reason... it's Jaemin.” Hana mumbles. Her attention is more focused on taking Haerin's chopsticks from her hand, swirling around her noodles, and then feeding her. Irritation almost overtakes her at the sight of Haerin staring down at a plate of empty food.

"Has he fallen off the face of the earth?" You question, thinking about the last time you saw him. You didn't know Jaemin that well. All you knew was that he was the best friend of your best friend's boyfriend, and he occasionally hung out with the group. But you don't think you've heard him mutter more than three words, ever. He was quiet and didn’t like speaking, there was nothing wrong with that, you was like that too..

When you don't get an answer, you return to reality and find a choking Haerin, obviously struggling to eat her noodles. Hana swiftly hits her back and offers water to ease the situation. Once the scene simmers down, Haerin, with a few chesty coughs, explains, "Jeno's not telling me everything because he has this sworn secrecy not to air out his best friend's personal life and problems to his girlfriend. But from the small things I've seen and heard around, I hear that Yeeun dumped him –"

"I heard that Yeeun cheated on him and he's literally on his death bed, depressed and getting high all the time," Hana whispers.

"I heard that she left the country and he tried to follow her." Haerin whispers back. The two of them go back and forth on rumors and speculations, which you observe, choosing not to get involved. Instead, you lean back and watch with a grin. You were never too interested in partaking in gossiping and bitching; it wasn't your thing, but you don't deny that hearing it was always good.

The gossiping comes to an end when they realize they're getting nowhere. You and Hana both turn to Haerin with a sigh. "Why can't you just ask Jeno? He obviously knows."

Lee Jeno, the one who harasses you with cock photos, Haerin's boyfriend, Jaemin's other half, they’ve been connected and attached since they were kids. The bestest of friends. Brothers. If Jeno isn't with Haerin, he's with Jaemin. It's a bromance that's heartwarming and sweet – two guys who are platonic soulmates. He obviously knows what's happened with Jaemin.

Haerin shakes her head. "He's not telling me. He's told me little bits, but he's being so vague. I've asked so many times."

"I even did my really cute 'no no' and puppy eyes smiling look, but he didn't budge. You know how I can make him do anything once I call him 'no no,' but it didn't work this time, so whatever happened is pretty serious."

You look at her astonished. "Why? I thought you told each other everything."

"Yeah, we do. If it's concerning him, he'll never keep it a secret from me. But he's told me it's unfair to air out his best friend's business like that. Jaemin's obviously told him the entire Yeeun situation with secrecy, and I'm sure he'll be hurt if Jeno just tells his girlfriend everything he trusted him with. It sucks to open up and become vulnerable only for everything you've said in trusted privacy to be shared."

You both still look confused. Doesn't having a boyfriend mean the 'don't tell anyone' rule doesn't apply to him?

Even though Haerin is admittedly annoyed at Jeno, she'll always defend him. "Look, I see where he's coming from. Something's happened with Jaemin, and it's clearly Yeeun. I'm worried for him, and obviously Jeno is. That's why Jeno is always going over to him, even when he’s about to put his dick inside of me." She rolls her eyes, accepting the fact that Jeno would drop anything for his best friend.

“Hey! You three come over right now!”

You and Hana turn around at Haerin's call, scanning the surroundings to spot Yangyang, Shotaro, and Xiaojun. The scared looks on their faces are evident even from a distance, a clear response to Haerin's tone and directness.

"We don't know anything." Yangyang quickly states as he takes a seat opposite you, anticipating Haerin's impending interrogation.

"You don't even know what Haerin's gonna ask you." Hana chuckles, playfully teasing the boys.

"I know we're about to get an interrogation.” Shotaro responds, the corners of his lips lifting as he grins sweetly at Hana, who ruffles his hair. Eric has now joined the table, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, and sits with you guys without a word. Come to think of it, that's what Eric was—someone who just appeared from nowhere.

You watch with a laugh as he leans his head toward Hana, silently pleading for her to do the same to him and ruffle his hair. However, she just shakes her head and focuses her attention on Shotaro. You smirk, well aware of Eric's crush on Hana, a fact not hidden from anyone at the table.

Turning to your side, you find Xiaojun taking a seat beside you, his knees knocking against yours. He offers a soft smile and a greeting, followed with a series of caring questions. "Are you okay? Have you eaten? Did you sleep well?" His genuine concern warms your heart.

"I did. I'm doing okay, Xiaojun, really." You reassure him, hoping he believes your words. You glance briefly at Hana, who gives you a knowing look and wiggles her eyebrows, hinting at something you try to downplay. You roll your eyes nonetheless, dropping your head to his shoulder, yawning and letting your eyes flutter shut but the loudness will make it impossible to nap.

Haerin cuts through the air, your attention shifting to her. "If you guys know where Jeno is and you're not telling me, then I'm seriously gonna cut and boil each and every one of your dicks. Starting with my boyfriend."

The threat hangs in the air, but Shotaro, ever charming, sweetly questions. "Shouldn't you know where your boyfriend is?" Shotaro asks sweetly, his dimples on full display. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the beanie on his head, the thick layer of sleepiness evident in his voice. His charming smile and undeniable cuteness make you coo, prompting you to pinch his cheeks gently. Confusion flickers in his eyes as he wonders why everyone always showers him with affection when he feels he hasn't done much. However, the collective looks of endearment directed at him from all corners of the table convey the unspoken truth—he's effortlessly lovable, no effort required.

"We all fucking know where he is. He's with Jaemin, and he has been with him ever since Yeeun did her shit and fucked him over like the heartless and selfish bitch that — anyways — Why the fuck are you acting like you don’t know where Jeno is, Haerin, don’t you guys tell each other everything?” Yangyang asserts, frustration evident in your words.

Hana’s eyes light up. "You boys know! You know what's happened with Jaemin."

"Yes, we do, and we're not telling you. It's no one's business. Plus, you guys clearly already know; Jeno told Haerin, which means she told you.” Yangyang responds.

"Jeno hasn't told me!!!! Oh my god, how many times do I need to tell you guys?" Haerin exclaims, her voice raising and whining due to reaching full frustration.

"I'd be kinda worried if I was in a relationship and he didn't tell me everything—"

Haerin is a testament to defending her boyfriend even when she wants to cut his dick off. “He tells me everything that I need to know, everything that concerns me and him. There's no secrets with that stuff. He just doesn't air out other people's business to me. My boyfriend is honest and fair. Plus, I'd never tell him anything personal about you guys. There have been so many times you guys have confided in me about something personal and private and promised me not to tell anyone, and I haven't. And I would never. Telling my boyfriend my close friends personal life isn't something I'd be proud about; it's disrespectful and crossing boundaries. We both have a mutual agreement to that. There are standards and expectations in our relationship."

Xiaojun nods, laughing out loud. “If you know why he's not telling you, then why are you bothering us and trying to get the information from us?"

"Because I'm not perfect and I'm a nosy bitch, okay? Happy???? Plus, if I heard it from you guys rather than Jeno than he’d have nothing to feel guilty about and it would satisfy my craving to know everyone’s shit.” Haerin exclaims dramatically, truthfully revealing her nosy intentions. Suddenly, she groans and loudly slams her head on the table, shedding real tears when she realizes one of her nails from her set has broken off.

♥♥♥♥

Later that night, the comfort of your own house embraces you after a long day of classes. You and the girls gather on the sofa, indulging in your favorite rom-coms, creating an overall cozy evening.

Haerin, as usual, is talking about Jeno. You can't find it in you to get annoyed; she loves him, and sharing her happiness is second nature. She excitedly recounts the details of one of the many expensive getaways he took her on.

"We went skinny dipping," she begins, "He fucked me in every corner of the cabin we were staying in. The kitchen, the lake, on a blanket outside by the lake, against the wall of our room – we actually broke the bed and had to pay extra for it."

"Oh, and we did it in the bathroom and the shower a lot. I remember he was balls deep inside of me, he had made me cum for the sixth time in a row, and we were both close to falling down and fainting. He was fucking my cum back into me then he told me he wanted to marry me be the father to my children. We didn’t use protection for that entire day and he kept trying to fuck a baby into me. Thank God I didn’t get pregnant. He was quite high at that time and although I wasn’t, I was on my 6th orgasm. We were literally ready to be parents at that time… that’s what good sex does to you.”

You and Hana widen your eyes at Haerin. She always shares stories about their very intense and loving sex life, sometimes she even shows you videos and photos, you never look at them the same way after hearing it all – especially Jeno. He's a freak

“You guys are… on another level.” Hana laughs.

"You guys are the cutest." You smile for Haerin, masking the twinge of loneliness and heartache you feel. It's selfish, but seeing your best friend so happily loved up hurts, even if you're genuinely happy for her.

Haerin notices your silence and sends a sweet smile your way, patting your head and asking if you're okay. You can tell she feels a twinge of guilt, especially when she offers her way of making you feel happier.

"Let's get you with someone!" she claps her hands excitedly, trying to play matchmaker.

"Nooo," your hands make a crossing motion, but she won't listen. Once her mind is set on something, it's set.

"Yes!" Hana claps happily, and you huff when you realize you're outnumbered.

Haerin starts listing potential bachelors. "First of all, there's Donghyuck – hot and he knows it. A bit of a lost cause, but he's fearless and obviously good in bed! You're the opposite of him – more sensible and mindful, you can guide him in the right direction, like me and Jeno!"

You shake your head at that idea immediately. "He's high 95% of the time. He isn't serious. Plus, I heard he's got his eyes on that girl. What's her name again? She's the older sister of Jieun, used to be popular but now she’s the typical rebel. She's kinda rude.”

Hana offers her batch of men. "Okay, then... Yangyang! He's cute, he's –"

"He's gay," You laugh as you watch her realise it. “He’s gay and I don’t know if he knows it yet.”

Haerin's eyes light up when she thinks she's found the man. "Mark's cute! Smart, nerdy, apparently has a big cock and is really good in bed. Plus, he's sweet, emotionally mature, and just recently broke up with his girlfriend –"

"He's in love with his best friend.” You mutter. Mark and his best friend have been attached to the hip since birth, and they're also in love. They're both just oblivious idiots, but somehow everyone around them knows.

“There’s Xiaojun, he’s boyfriend material and he definitely wants to fuck you.” Hana nods to you, rolling her eyes when you shake your head at her amazing idea.

“He’s sweet but he’s such a fuckboy… he wants to fuck everyone.” You respond, truly not wanting to get involved with a player. You stray far away. He was one of your closest friends and you did trust him with your life but that was emotionally. You knew his sexual side was another side to him that you quite simply didn’t want to get involved with. It was unexpected how much he rolled around in the sheets. Plus, he was one of your best friends!

Hana scratches her neck and whispers to Haerin, "This is hard."

Haerin grits her teeth in pure frustration. "There are so many guys at ‘Neo Culture Technology’ but at the same time, they're all either gross or unavailable."

"Who's left?" Heejin questions.

"There's Shotaro – but apparently, he's got a thing for that really hot Wonbin guy. There's Eric – but he's in love with Hana. There's Sunwoo – but he's in love with me. And I can't think of anyone else. There's Jeno, but if you touch him, I'll kill you," Haerin starts giving the rebuttals herself.

"Eric is not in love with me.” Hana tuts, shaking her head in denial.

“Yeah and Jeno’s not in love with me.” Haerin rolls her eyes dramatically, speaking in a sarcastic tone, trying to emphasise how naive and oblivious Hana was.

"Also, Sunwoo's stopped trying to chase after you. Jeno scared him away forever." Hana laughs, but you widen your eyes in slight fear, remembering the night when Jeno put an end to Sunwoo's dreams of having Haerin permanently.

Haerin however dreamily closes her eyes at the memory. "My man."

"Wait, there is someone else. Jeno gave me this idea, and I didn't get it then, but I do now. It's Jae –"

Speaking of the devil, the atmosphere shifts as Jeno casually strolls in, exuding a magnetic presence. His confident gait and tousled hair give him an effortlessly cool appearance. His eyes, a warm and inviting shade, immediately soften as he reaches Haerin.

Greeting everyone with a charming smile, he seamlessly moves toward Haerin. The room becomes a canvas of love as he leans in to kiss her softly. Arms looped around each other, they share endearing whispers, lost to the outside world.

A bittersweet feeling washes over you as you witness their intimacy. Yet, the mood takes an unexpected turn as Haerin gasps, extricating herself from Jeno's embrace, adopting a dramatic stance.

"I'm supposed to be mad at you! You dick!!!!! Leave me again during sex and see what happens. You will have no dick." Haerin warns, forcefully putting on a pissed off voice and expression. You know this was her acting and being dramatic, She found it easier to melt into his arms rather than hold a grudge against him, you understood it. I mean, have you looked at Jeno?

You and Hana share an amused expression as the scene unfolds. Jeno's playful silence only serves to annoy Haerin more. She huffs at his smirking demeanor, her words stumbling initially but gaining clarity. "Can you tell this man that he can sleep outside tonight?" Her arms crossed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she faces you.

Nodding, you face Jeno. "Haerin said that you're not allowed to sleep with her tonight."

Jeno tuts, responding with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Can you tell Haerin that if that happens, then she'll come to me in the middle of the night and beg to ride my –"

Haerin cuts him off, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. "Can you ask him why he's in my house?"

“Haerin asked why are you –”

“Y/N, shut up.” Jeno says seriously, warning you not to speak.

“Hae, I’m in your house because you gave me a key for our anniversary." He explains, his eyes soft as he reaches for Haerin's hand, attempting to make her melt into him but he widens his mouth when she doesn’t take his hand like he expected her to.

"Baby." He whispers, his voice a soft and tender melody, likely to make her heart flutter. Despite the softness in his tone, she remains resolute, dodging his attempts to kiss her.

"Why are you mad?" He questions, shaking his head in confusion. Haerin persists with the silent treatment, prompting him to turn to you and Hana with a light-hearted chuckle.

"It's because she wanted you to shove your dick in her throat, but you left." You inform him with a nonchalant tone.

Jeno, with a determined look, works his magic on her. He gently takes Haerin's hand, and this time, she doesn't pull away. His smile, radiant and affectionate, speaks volumes, a sight capable of soothing any emotional ache. His eyes, dreamy and captivating, have the power to make anyone melt.

His voice drops to a low whisper as he utters sweet promises into her ear. "I'll make it up to you, all night long.” He vows, kissing the sides of her cheeks. A low moan escapes Haerin's lips, catching you by surprise. Was she that horny?

You and Hana turn to each other with wide eyes when you hear intense smooching noises and passionate sighs and moans. You take that as your cue to leave.

You walk back in 2 hours later, and they’re still making love on the sofa. You turn to Hana with a playful smirk, congratulating yourself internally when she pays up. You bet that it would take Haerin less than a day to let go of her grudge, and it did.

“I didn’t think she’d give in so easily.” Hana sighs, defeated, giving you the money with a frown.

“She always does with him.” You respond.

“I would too.” Hana smiles. The two of you turn to each other with a playful smirk. “I mean, have you seen the way he manhandles her? Have you seen his cock?”

“Unfortunately.” You mumble.

“It wasn’t unfortunate for me.” Hana bites her lips and sighs dreamily.

♥♥♥♥

The morning air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of Jeno's pancakes, a comforting scent that wafts through the entire house. Sighing in relief, you're grateful that it's Jeno preparing breakfast, saving you from the potential culinary disasters that Haerin or Hana might unleash.

The lively chatter in the kitchen reaches your ears before you step in. "I will put the two of you on a sex ban!" Hana warns, yawning as she has another night of insomnia to add to her list.

Chuckling, you enter unnoticed, preferring to remain a subtle presence in the background. You stroll in with a laugh, savoring the fact that they're oblivious to your entrance. Being the subtle presence in the background suits you well – there’s no need to draw attention to yourself; it's just the way you like it.

Jeno, however, breaks the pattern and spots you immediately. You smile when you see Haerin attached to his back, arms around him as he cooks up.

He turns around, flashing a grin and offering a nod. "Good morning, princess. Finally got up?" His tone drips with playful mockery for no apparent reason.

You respond casually, "I've actually been up all night, thanks to two particular people rolling around in the sheets."

“It was actually against the wall, on the floor, in the shower, in my car, on the sofa, on her chair and against her desk. I had her arched against the kitchen countertop too. We did it in the bed the least.” Jeno sighs, nonchalantly reminiscing about his night of passion with his girl, leaning down and kissing her on the head, slapping her ass and keeping his hands there, squeezing every now and then.

“Fucking hell. All that in one night?” Hana questions, wondering how that’s even possible.

“As if that’s the most they’ve done.” You laugh.

Haerin passionately complains, "You guys are complaining, but I didn’t get any sleep either! He had to carry me downstairs and I can barely feel my thighs, I don’t know how I’m standing up right now. I’ve woken up with a hundred bruises on my body because of this man–

"Babe." Jeno swiftly interrupts, shaking his head at how it sounds.

"We get it. He's a rough lover.” Hana responds, pleading with her hands and begging Haerin not to share more of her intimate stories with him.

Jeno prods his tongue against his cheek. "Loving and passionate is how I like to say it.” He corrects Hana with an affectionate smile.

You smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before you. In moments like this, the pain in your heart doesn’t attack you so brutally. Jeno’s in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast for everyone, and, as per usual, Haerin is attached by his side.

Meanwhile, Hana and Jeno engage in a playful bicker about the correct way to make pancakes (though you’d never admit it to Hana, you secretly prefer Jeno’s pancakes by far). Jeno then presents you with a plate stacked high with beautiful pancakes, adorned with your favorite syrups and fruits.

“Just the way you like it.” He says, and your mouth waters at the enticing sight.

“You better finish every last bite or else.” Jeno playfully warns, adopting a protective brotherly tone. It’s a side of him that has emerged over time. He was there when Hyunjin dumped you, he saw the state you was in, he saw how detrimental your health became, how you were neglecting meals. He witnessed he toll it took on your well-being. His increased care and protection over you hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Now, you’re surrounded by people who genuinely care about you, you’ve come a long way from those difficult days. Despite the strides you've made, the battle persists. The grip of your drinking habits remains firm, and solitary hours in the dark persist. Yet, amidst the struggle, there's a genuine improvement. You compel yourself to believe in the progress, even though the vulnerability still lingers. The fear persists; one trigger, one misstep, and the possibility of crumbling back to the depths looms.

They flash warm smiles your way while you savor your meal. Surprisingly, they haven't even started on their own food.

"You're all weird." you quip, narrowing your eyes as you playfully lock gazes with them, your cold expression meeting their endearing ones.

♥♥♥♥

Jeno is casually perched on the countertop, methodically dipping his sushi into a pool of spicy mayo before guiding the chopsticks to his lips. The furrow of his brow reveals his deep focus on the phone in his hand, typing away with practiced ease. Just as he's about to indulge in a bite, he abruptly halts, raising an eyebrow as his gaze shifts to you three girls.

The widening of his eyes is evident as you initiate a circling formation, you’re a trio of inquisitive troublemakers, with a determination to unearth the mystery about Jaemin that he's hiding. Despite Jeno's clear reluctance to spill about Jaemin and his ex, you girls, fueled by curiosity, launch an attempt to pry the information loose. Hey, nobody's perfect. You’re all nosy!

A palpable sense of fear colors Jeno's demeanor as the three of you unite your efforts. Questions barrage him, but he remains resolute, shaking his head with a firm "no" and countering every inquiry with a blunt and direct response. "All of you, stop it. If I said I'm not telling you what happened, that means exactly that."

In the face of Jeno's unwavering stance, Haerin's frown deepens, and yet, Jeno's expression softens, he swiftly pulls her onto his lap with one arm and feeding her the sushi on his chopsticks, kissing her cheek softly. "Look, it's not my place to tell you personal things regarding Jae. It's not my story or my heartbreak. As much as I'd love to spill the tea about what a selfish and heartless bitch that Yeeun is—"

“Yeeun is so sweet, though.” You cut him off, a hint of disbelief in your voice as you register the language he’s using. His expression shifts abruptly, turning hard and cold almost instantly.

“You’d think.” He laughs, but the disdain in his face tells a different story. He despises her, a revelation that catches you off guard, considering she was his best friend’s girlfriend for the longest time.

Jang Yeeun, a girl in the year above, is a vision of beauty that triggers a twinge of envy within you. Whenever you catch sight of her on campus, it’s as if she belongs in a magazine. Her smile, breathtaking and radiant, could light up any room. Her blonde hair, so luminous and silky, seems to catch the sunlight in a way that leaves you in awe. It’s no wonder she’s popular – sweet and undeniably attractive. She’s always smiling and she radiates such a brightness.

Jeno's annoyance intensifies, a scowl etching across his face. His cheeks flush with frustration, and his eyes darken with a mixture of irritation and discomfort. The tension is palpable as he digs his nails into his palm, a physical manifestation of his inward turmoil.

Observing Jeno's visible agitation, Haerin, perceptive and caring, notices the telltale signs. She reaches out, gently rubbing his cheek with her thumb, and in a gesture filled with intimacy, she plants a soft kiss on his lips. Concerned, she mumbles. “You okay, my love?”

He responds with a whispered assurance that he's fine, urging her not to worry. His lips find their way to her forehead in a tender kiss, a silent expression of gratitude for her understanding. “I love you.” He whispers against her forehead.

"I just don't wanna talk about Yeeun.” He mutters, the words escaping in a low murmur that carries the weight of unspoken emotions. The intimacy of the moment contrasts with the underlying frustration, creating a complex interplay of feelings within the scene.

Jeno, quick to change the subject, does anything to help the anger in his heart pass. "Anyways, you three are invited to my party. I'm throwing it for Jaemin."

Immediate reactions unveil the distinct personality differences among you and your friends. Hana nods enthusiastically, fully on board with the party vibe – much like Jeno, she loves getting high and wasted, finding joy in nights where memories are non-existent.

Haerin, on the other hand, frowns, turning to face her boyfriend and shaking her head. "Another party?" She questions, her preference leaning towards cozy movie nights, cuddling Jeno, and ordering takeaway. The contrast between her and Jeno is striking, making you ponder how these opposites found each other.

Your reaction remains impartial, but confusion is quick to find a voice. "Huh?" You question, expressing your bewilderment at his idea. "Isn’t he currently heartbroken and struggling to get through each day? You think a party is the solution?" Your words hang in the air, a reflection of your practical and contemplative nature compared to the contrasting preferences of your friends.

"Shut up.” Jeno shoots his eyes in your direction, a clear signal for your voice to be silenced.

Haerin’s eyes widen and she sucks in a breath. Seriously? She’s turned on right now?

"My man needs some pussy.” The crude statement hangs in the air, and you huff as you realize the reasoning for the party. Of course, people always hook up at Jeno's parties, and it gives him immense pride – he loves being the matchmaker and now he wants his best friend to have rebound sex.

"That's really not—" You begin, only to be shushed by Jeno.

"You're throwing the party for that?" You inquire, a mix of disbelief and amusement coloring your voice. “Can’t you just set him on a blind date or something?”

"Yeah.” Jeno responds simply, a sly smirk playing on his face as he crosses his arms defensively. His eyes light up with humour as he senses your scepticism. He laughs. “Jaemin and blind date? Do you even know him? He’ll never show up to that shit.”

"He's gonna hate the party.” You laugh, anticipating Jaemin's reaction. “If he won’t turn up to a date then you think he’ll turn up to a party?”

Jeno, however, gets defensive, a sly smirk still playing on his face as he challenges you. "Suddenly, you know him better than me?" His voice carries an edge, a playful challenge.

When you don't respond, the tension deepens. "Oh, I get it." he continues, his tone implying that whatever he says next won't be pleasant. "You're jealous. You don't think there's any point in throwing him a party because you're here?"

The accusation hangs in the air as he pushes further, daring to ask, "You want him? You wanna fuck him?"

"Fuck off, Jeno." You assert, shaking your head in frustration at his relentless words. He was a pain in the ass.

He continues, pushing his blunt perspective. "It makes sense. Hyunjin dumped you, and then Yeeun tore Jaemin's heart out of his chest with her tacky and disgusting spider fingers and then stepped on it—anyways, you both need good rebound sex. It's better than moping around, crying in the sheets all day when you could be getting your bones jumped in the sheets."

You cut Jeno off, your voice raised in defensiveness. "You don't know what I need." You mutter, defensive goosebumps rising on your arms at the harsh yet uncomfortably true nature of his words.

He shrugs. "Just trying to help. Maybe you should fuck Jaemin; he's really good in bed."

"Maybe you should fuck off, Jeno." You retort, rolling your eyes at his audacity.

Haerin begins scolding Jeno for his behavior as if you weren't there. "Don't talk to her about him. She's still dealing with the heartbreak. How will she fuck Jaemin so easily if all she wants is Hyunjin?" Their words sting, leaving you feeling unsettled. Is this how your friends see you – as weak and fragile?

However, Jeno's honest words bring slight comfort. "He's a fucking idiot, and I want to talk about it. There's no point not talking about what happened, bottling it up and not communicating will just fuck everyone's heads even more. He's not some sacred God whose name shouldn't be spoken; he's the opposite, he's a fucking dickhead. If I see him again, I'll punch him like I did that one time when he was making out with that girl in front of you. He's a cunt, and I'll help you kill him."

"Thanks, Jen." You say, a genuine smile breaking through. Gratitude washes over you – at least someone gets it. He returns your gratitude with an understanding smile, providing a flicker of solace in the midst of emotional turmoil.

Jeno, the master of redirection, skillfully changes the subject. You sigh in relief when the conversation finally shifts away from your heartbreak. He turns to Haerin, locking eyes with hers. "You're coming to the party, and I don't want to hear no."

Haerin huffs, her face dropping – she's not a fan of parties, a sentiment she doesn't hesitate to show.

Without giving a direct response, Haerin's silence prompts Jeno to poke further. "If you don't come, then no sex for a week. He threatens, adding a playful edge to his attempt to convince her.

“You think you’re the one who proposes sex band in this relationship?” She questions, eyes a siren as her voice deepens. It was true, she had Jeno wrapped around her little finger.

"Why do you want me to come so bad?" She asks, curious about his motives.

"Because don't I deserve to get laid like Jae?" Jeno says with a smirk. "I'll only have fun if you're there." You can't help but roll your eyes at his cheeky remark, fully aware of his regular romantic encounters towards her.

You observe as Jeno leans in, whispering sweet words into Haerin's ear. Whatever he says seems to work like a charm. "Fineeee. I'll come but only for you," Haerin relents, a playful smile crossing her lips as she succumbs to Jeno's persuasive tactics.

You observe them closely, a genuine smile gracing your face as they share a sweet and joy-filled kiss. Their cute smiles and the affectionate atmosphere only contribute to the happiness you feel while witnessing the scene. “He’s probably gonna fill the tables with your favourite wine.” Hana playfully predicts.

Later that night, in a hushed tone, Jeno whispers to you, revisiting the topic from earlier, "You know I was joking around earlier, but I do really think it's a good idea if you move on and fuck Jaem."

"I don't want that or need it." You mumble in frustration. "Sex isn't the solution to every problem."

"Yeah, it is." Jeno interjects with a confident nod and a smirk.

You roll your eyes. "You're just obsessed with getting your dick wet. You think fucking solves every problem."

“In Haerin’s pussy, to be exact. I’m obsessed with getting my dick wet in her pussy.”

Haerin, who has been silently observing the conversation, tuts and playfully hits Jeno on the head. "Stop acting like that. You know when we argue, first of all, we talk about it, explain ourselves, and communicate our emotions, and then we have the best sex of our lives." She scolds him.

Jeno only smiles, not responding to Haerin. Instead, he turns to you with a smirk. "You should think about what I said though. It's a good idea."

"It's so random. I mean, I've never spoken to Jaemin once." You express, noting the mystery and introverted nature of Jaemin, someone you've only exchanged nods and smiles with.

He was a complete stranger to you, shrouded in an air of mystery and introversion. Your interactions had likely been limited to nods and smiles. He didn't go out of his way to engage with people, preferring to keep his circle small and interactions to a minimum, only when necessary. However, you couldn't help but wonder why a connection never formed between the two of you. He seemed to be on good terms with everyone else in the group—Jeno, Haerin, Hana, Eric, Mark, Yangyang, Xiaojun. It left you questioning the unspoken distance between you and him.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when Jeno turns serious, looking at you with empathy. He shares a revelation that sends a shock through you, "It's not really that random. Apparently, Hyunjin's sleeping with Yeeun." He whispers, offering a sweet smile while Haerin rubs your back, looking at you with caution.

Your throat dries, and your vision blurs at the news. You force the words out, "Oh—how—how did you find out?" The stutter in your voice betrays your attempt to sound unaffected.

He doesn't answer directly, a regretful expression crossing his face. You're grateful he shared the information, knowing it's better to be aware than blindsided by the painful truth later.

"Y/N—" Haerin begins, concerned, but you cut her off, pretending not to care.

"I'm fine." You mumble, excusing yourself to the bathroom. Once there, the façade crumbles. The scene unfolds with you crying, water splashing on your face, your hands feeling foreign. Your heart falters, dizziness and sickness overwhelming you. Your head shakes violently as you hope for an end to this torment. As long as your heart beats for Hyunjin, someone who betrayed you, you fear being broken forever.

♥♥♥♥

You girls got ready in preparation for the party ahead. The bond you and your girls shared made getting ready together a cherished ritual, a source of laughter, and a confidence boost when you needed it the most.

Haerin took charge of your hair, her skilled hands transforming it into a sleek, silky cascade. The soft hum of the straightener filled the room as she worked her magic, creating a look that exuded confidence. Hana couldn't help but gush about the result.

The encouragement from your girls always provided a much-needed confidence boost, especially in those moments when it mattered most. "You look so beautiful and hot!!! If you’re not in someone’s bed tonight then I’m gonna get you in mine.” Hana exclaimed, her words laced with genuine admiration.

“Let’s do it.” You turn around and wink at her, giggling when she leans down to kiss your cheek.

With your hair done, the focus shifted to Hana, and you eagerly joined in to help with her makeup. You concentrated as you applied eyeshadow to her eyes, a black smokey shadow look that complemented her features flawlessly. You paired it with a red lip. She looked hot. She beamed at the mirror, hugging you tightly and smooching your head once again, clearly satisfied with the look, you can’t find it in you to be mad at the lipstick that stains your hair.

You then turn your attention to Haerin's outfit choice. You couldn’t believe how slutty yet elegant her wardrobe was, it was truly a mix of the extremes. She had the tiniest of skirts that barely covered her ass cheeks but then she also had elegant and pretty long dresses, you guess she wore whatever she felt like on the day.

After a moment of contemplation, Hana and you helped her decide on a pretty pink mini dress that will catch everyone's eye. You tie her necklace around her neck, giving her an array of bracelets and rings to accentuate the look. As Haerin slipped into the dress, a hint of uncertainty crossed her face.

"Can you see my ass cheeks through it?" Haerin whispered, turning around and tilting her head towards the mirror, attempting to gauge the view.

"Yeah.” You chuckled, admiring the hot pink lace thong peeking through the thin seams of the tight dress, "but you look incredibly sexy, Haerin."

Haerin's face lit up with a shy smirk at the compliment. "I'm not gonna change it. Jeno loves this thong so much.” She shared mischievously, "It’s my way of getting him to take me home as early as possible and to get out of this party."

You watch with a laugh when she tries to take a mirror selfie with her ass in the camera lense, Hana silently takes her phone from her hands and assists her, not being able to watch as she struggles, the two of you sharing an amused look when Haerin starts texting away on the phone, blushing when she shows you the texts.

haerin - [photo attachment of her ass cheeks]

haerin - what i’m wearing tonight baby :)

jeno - it’s see through?

jeno - you know my hands will be on your ass the entire night?

haerin - i’ll be disappointed if they weren’t :(

jeno - you know i’m just gonna rip that off you?

haerin - that’s why i’m wearing it

jeno - you just wanna get out of the party as soon as possible, don’t you?

jeno - funny of you to think that i’ll take you someplace private to fuck you when you know that i’m more likely to let the whole party hear you moaning my name

jeno - anyways do you need me to pick you up beautiful

haerin - no baby hana’s taking us

haerin - see u soon <3

Moments later, the trio of you made your way to Jeno's house. The house exterior exudes sophistication, with sleek lines and expansive windows that hinted at the luxury within. Upon entering, the richness of the house enveloped you.

Immediately, an electric atmosphere pulsated through the air. The party was in full swing, as expected from the notorious extravert and party thrower. The space was alive with a sea of people – some familiar faces from campus, others unknown.

The place was packed, almost bursting at the seams with laughter, chatter, and the rhythmic beats of thumping music that reverberated through the walls. It was a sensory overload The air was thick with the lingering fragrance of smoke and other substances.

Amidst the crowd, Jeno navigated his way through effortlessly, exchanging smiles, nods, and handshakes with friends and acquaintances alike. It was clear – everyone knew Jeno, and Jeno knew everyone.

Jeno quickly spots you, his already dilated pupils widening further. Haerin immediately becomes the focus of his attention and they share a greeting that evolves into an affectionate embrace. He lifts her up, her legs wrapping his waist and his hands find her ass cheeks immediately, his grip tight and firm. As sucking face noises fill the air, leaving you to awkwardly glance around.

Sensing your discomfort, Hana finds you, squeezing your hand to guide you away. However, you unexpectedly bump into familiar faces, and your face lights up with genuine joy. "Yeonjun!!" and "Soobin!!" escape your lips as you greet them, hugging both with grins that reflect the warmth of your reunion. The genuine happiness in their eyes mirrors your own, and you've genuinely missed having them around. They seem happier than ever, forming a couple that could rival Haerin and Jeno.

In the past, Yeonjun was your fourth roommate, and Soobin was always a constant presence. Now, you feel proud seeing them take the next step in their relationship, having moved in together. Their new flat stands as a beautiful testament to their love. Yeonjun is about to drag you somewhere; however, your escape is interrupted by the arrival of the troublesome trio—Renjun, Xiaojun, and Yangyang. They greet you with hugs, but mischievous glints in their eyes make you prepare yourself. They’re a pain in your ass before they even speak up

“There’s no fucking way you actually came.” Renjun exclaims, speaking louder than he needs to, each word marked by his intoxication.

Xiaojun was your sweetheart. “You look beautiful.” He kissed your cheek, his sweet words causing flutters in your heart as you smiled up at him with gratitude . You wrap your arms tightly around him as he whispers in your ear. “Missed you.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where you stopped moping around, crying in bed, and actually got off your ass to have some fun!!” Yangyang adds, he’s the only one who’ll be honest and upfront with you, his tone blunt which can come across as mean.

You force a smile, concealing the sadness that lingers within. Despite understanding that he intended for his words to be harmless, there's a lingering ache that suggests your friends might still perceive you as fragile. So what if you weren't in the mood for a wild party? You didn't find solace in the bottom of a bottle or in the haze of substances to cope with heartbreak. And yet, here you are, navigating the sea of unfamiliar faces and the thumping beats that echo the sentiment of your own muted heart.

A tender ache fills your heart. Haerin is like you, shy and reserved, yet the difference lies in the way her vulnerability seems to be guarded by an unspoken shield. You've noticed the whispers that never reach her, the kindness that eludes her gaze, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy.

In the soft glow of the room, Haerin rests in the secure embrace of Jeno. Their eyes lock, unspoken words passing between them. Their smiles radiate a genuine warmth, an intimacy only for them. In this moment, you realise the unspoken truth – no one targets Haerin. She carries an invisible shield, woven from the threads of love and protection that Jeno provides.

A melancholic frown plays on your lips as you question silently: will you ever find an embrace like theirs again? One where vulnerability is met with understanding, and the world's harshness is softened by the warmth of love. It's a yearning that echoes in the quiet spaces of your soul, a desire for a connection that feels as secure and enveloping as the one you witness.

Parties are overwhelming for you, with their throbbing beats and lively chatter; however, the free alcohol makes it worth it. The liquid courage momentarily hushes the heartbreak and pain, providing an illusion of security in a world that often feels too tumultuous to navigate.

Amidst the pulsating music and vibrant chaos of the party, you find solace in the repetitive ritual of downing drink after drink. The fiery liquid drowns down your throat, leaving a burning trail that momentarily numbs out the whirlwind of emotions within. In the midst of the swirling lights and distant laughter, the free-flowing alcohol becomes the singular silver lining, the only solace you seek in the crowded abyss.

With each sip, you sink into the familiar embrace of intoxication, a sanctuary where vulnerability is masked. The glass in your hand transforms into a shield, shielding you from the prying eyes and unwelcome questions that linger in the shadows. It's a ritual, a coping mechanism that had recently become ingrained in the fabric of your existence, a way to drown out the dissonance of emotions echoing within.

The sensation of getting high and drunk becomes a substitute for the unspoken emotions that remain buried deep within. It's a fleeting escape, a momentary reprieve, where the clinking of glasses and the hum of the crowd momentarily drowns out the echoes of your own struggles. In this sea of temporary numbness, the allure of the next drink beckons, promising a brief sanctuary from the storm within.

You settle onto Xiaojun's lap, feeling the warmth and comfort of the familiar position, both legs on either side. A giddy smile plays on your lips, thinking nothing of it – you always do this was him, it was just another moment of closeness between you two. You were both always touchy and you thought nothing too much of it, it was natural, you assume he thought the same.

Little do you know, your presence on his lap subtly transforms his entire demeanour, leaving him momentarily speechless. You tut and shake your head when you feel his hardness prod against your thigh, a teasing comment escaping your lips. "Really?"

He’s shrugs. "Not the first time you’ve made me hard and not the last." He murmurs, his eyes dark as he rubs his clothed cock against you and you jab his arm. His eyes turn soft as he looks at you. Unbeknownst to you.

You find sanctuary on Xiaojun’s lap, observing the party unfold around you. Mark and his best friend catch your eye, seeming unusually close as they dance with whispered words and foreheads pressed together. Your eyes widen in surprise when you witness Yangyang, Soobin, and Yeonjun engaged in a three-way kiss. Maybe Yangyang has embraced his sexuality, or perhaps he always knew. Your gaze shifts to Haerin and Jeno, on the sofa, trying to conceal that she’s riding his cock but they’re not fooling you. They’re entwined in each other's arms, lost in their own world of affection. Then Donghyuck, looking incredibly close with someone you didn’t realise and you wonder, has he finally found the girl that’s grounded the wildness inside? You lean back against him with a grin, the familiar ritual of the hot alcohol burning down your throat as you observe everyone.

He lets out a weary sigh as you down another drink, the overpowering scent of alcohol swirling around him, momentarily drowning his senses in an intoxicating haze. "Instead of drinking, you can always just talk to me.” He suggests, concern etched in his voice. "I always tell you, I'm here for you." Xiaojun leans in to kiss your forehead, his gaze holding a mix of care and understanding.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, you shake your head, eager to change the topic. "Let's dance!" You exclaim, trying to lighten the mood. Xiaojun sighs, having just become comfortable with his hands gripping your thighs. He enjoys being in your presence, away from the busyness and loudness, and reluctantly agrees to join you on the dance floor.

You tossed expectations aside, party you did. You cheer at the top of your lungs, dancing close to Shotaro and Eric, the whole group surrendering to the music. Your arms flung up, and you let loose in the wild rhythm of the night.

The beats were relentless, matching the reckless abandon as you downed drink after drink, head held high in the haze of the party. You don’t realise how hot you look when you allow yourself to have fun. Drunk on both the music and the drugs, you remained blissfully unaware of eyes following you like a shadow – he wants you.

The lightheadedness sets in, and you can already sense the impending headache that will haunt you tomorrow. Later in the evening, you find yourself inches away from Xiaojun's lips, dancing with closeness, Let loose. Jeno's words echo in your mind – maybe he was right, and you do need a rebound.

Let loose. You glance over to see Eric and Hana taking their passion to the sofa, dry humping in the midst of an intense makeout session. Their uninhibited display stirs a desire in you to embrace the same level of outgoing freedom. Hana finally gave in to Eric’s want of her.

Let loose. You trust Xiaojun, one of your closest friends, you know he won't push it further; you're not ready for that, and he's aware. He knows that you’re only looking to rebound and have a good time. you know he knows. At first you was sceptical, he’s a fuckboy but that means he’s not serious and isn’t looking for any commitment, just what you need.

Your emotions are fucked, Hyunjin still has a control on you. You miss him, you want to see him, you want to forget about him, all you want is him. Longing to forget, you desperately wish the grip he has on your heart would release. Xiaojun, smiling and wasted, nods. You’re both on the brink of closing your eyes, ready to lean in but he's like a magnet, drawing your gaze into the distance. You see Hyunjin, the truth unfolds before you. The man who still holds your heart with his tongue shoved down someone else's throat.

Everything comes crashing down, the raw reality hitting you like a tidal wave. The reckless escape you sought in the party, the dance, the drinks – it all pales in comparison to the harsh truth that pierces through the night. The man you once shared an intimate connection with is now lost in someone else's embrace, and the weight of that realisation hangs heavy in the tumult of emotions.

Jeno was right— the lucky girl was Yeeun, Jaemin's ex. As you caught sight of her, envy gnawed at you like a persistent ache. Yeeun, with her radiant blonde hair, possessed a beauty that felt enchanting, almost ethereal. Her presence seemed to cast a captivating spell, leaving you mesmerised yet resentful.

Her blonde locks framed a face that radiated an undeniable allure, making every movement she made seem effortless and captivating. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a certain grace, intensifying the envy that gripped you. In her presence, you couldn't help but feel like an observer to a scene where she effortlessly stole the spotlight.

Time halts, and you find yourself frozen in the moment. Desperation takes hold as you bite your tongue with a force that rivals the pain in your heart, attempting to stifle the sobs threatening to escape. Despite your efforts, tears stream down uncontrollably. Suddenly you’re sober again; the drinks no longer provide an escape, instead it works to intensify the emotions, making everything a hundred times more poignant.

In an abrupt decision, you make a swift exit. Xiaojun, sensing your drop in happiness, attempts to follow, but you halt him with a silent plea. You’re grateful that he’s not sober or else he’d follow you.

The feeling of invisibility intensifies – no one pays attention to your breakdown. It's not a plea for attention, but in these moments, it seems like you're navigating this emotional storm alone. Hyunjin remains oblivious.

Navigating through the crowd, you find solace in an empty room. As the door closes behind you, a switch flips within. The facade crumbles, and you break down in a way you haven't allowed yourself to before.

Take a moment to collect yourself, leaving the room with the unsettling realization that going home might be the best option. The desire to avoid running into anyone on your way out is fueled by a doubt that anyone would even notice your departure. You don’t stand out. No one notices when you’re not there.

As you move through the hallway, your eyebrows rise at the unmistakable sounds echoing through the seemingly thin walls – loud moans, skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging, and the unmistakable noises of passion emanating from not one but two rooms.

This is Jeno's house, a place you've visited before. You can easily discern that one of the passionate pairs comprises Jeno and Haerin, obviously now in the comfort of closed walls. Unfortunately, you're all too familiar with the unique way they express themselves when they fuck, given Jeno's frequent nights spent at your house.

You hear Haerin's unrestrained cries of ‘daddy’ at the top of her lungs, audible every minute. Your eyes widen, she’s genuinely calls him that more than his actual name ‘Jeno.’ The absence of any attempt to mask the sounds with music speaks volumes about their boldness. To your surprise, the door is left slightly open, revealing an audacious lack of secrecy, these freaks want people to watch and hear. Your didn’t want to look but you glanced before you even thought about it. You nearly choke at the way he has her body bent under him. How the fuck can a human body move in that way?

The sounds from the other room trigger a quick realisation – it has to be Na Jaemin. After all, this is his house too; he shares it with Jeno. Recalling that the party was intended for Jaemin to find rebound sex and move on, you acknowledge Jeno's fair play in orchestrating a night where Jaemin seems to be thoroughly enjoying his time.

The stark difference in the way both couples fuck becomes unmistakable. Haerin and Jeno, unapologetically basking in their love, make no effort to conceal themselves, fucking openly for anyone to see and hear. On the other hand, Jaemin and his mystery girl attempt to be more calculated, trying to mask their moans with loud music but it doesn’t work. It seems like you’re witnessing an unintended competition of who can emit louder moans (it’s Jeno).

Before you spot Jaemin, his voice reaches your ears, introducing you to a side of him you never expected. This is not the same introverted, quiet guy who usually utters no more than three words in a conversation or lingers silently in the background, fading into all the buzz. His words, unexpectedly crude and filthy, pierce through the air.

"Scream my name then, go on."

"You didn't say please?"

"Such a tight cunt."

"So wet for me."

His voice, low and deep, transforms his entire persona, a sultry air that causes a rush of heat surges to your cheeks, and you find yourself blushing uncontrollably. You squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t make sense but also makes so much sense. It's a revelation, leaving you grappling with the realization that this is the same guy you thought you had figured out – a quiet introvert who has now revealed a whole different side of himself in the throes of passion.

As you prepare to leave, shaking your head at how distracted you became, your steps halt when Jaemin's bedroom door swings open right in front of you. The initial sight that catches your attention is how he’s practically naked, the only thing he has on is tight boxers and you’re wondering, why are you unable to tear you gaze from the sight? You also notice the multitude of hickies adorning his skin, he has cum all over his body.

His heavy breathing and a glazed look in his eyes suggest he's not fully present, as if dwelling in another realm. There's a palpable sense of disorientation, a dizziness that separates him from the pulsating beat within his own chest. Jaemin appears not just physically spent but emotionally detached, lost in a world beyond the immediate surroundings.

His features strike a harmonious balance between softness and sharpness, creating a visage that is both captivating and alluring. His dark, tousled hair adds a touch of casual charm to the overall allure.

Yet, what intrigues you most are his eyes—deep and penetrating, yet tinged with an emptiness. Despite recent intimate engagements, the light seems to have eluded his gaze, introducing a layer of complexity that adds to the enigma surrounding him.

This is a side of him you never expected to see—it’s almost like it’s not him. The eyes you're looking at reveal a detached and broken person, so out of it that he doesn’t even see or notice you at first.

As your gaze shifts downward, his toned chest, sculpted abs, and peaks make your mouth water. His physique is undeniably attractive and hot, creating a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil reflected in his eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His voice crashes into the moment, causing you to snap back to reality. The sudden sharpness catches you off guard; his tone is darker, more blunt than you ever expected.

"The party's downstairs. I swear to God, I told Jeno not to let anyone come upstairs—"

You attempt to respond, but your throat feels dry and stuck, leaving you momentarily speechless. Before you can collect your thoughts, Jaemin takes the lead.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" His voice softens instantly, concern washing over his face as he furrows his brows, carefully assessing your expression.

"I—yeah, I'm fine," you lie, the words escaping through gritted teeth.

Jaemin shakes his head, skepticism evident. "Obviously not true."

He shakes his head slowly, his expression a mix of concern and disappointment. "How much have you had to drink? You look a mess.” He admits with blunt honesty, his perceptive eyes seeing through the facade you try to maintain. He studies your flushed cheeks, the slight unsteadiness in your movements, the glaze over your eyes. the rosy tint of your complexion and the way your words occasionally stumble.

A gulp is your only response as you glance at your reflection in one of the mirrors against the wall. The sight is a disheveled mess—smudged makeup, tears still streaming down your cheeks. The emotional toll and crying have become so familiar that they seem like your default state. You only now realize that you're still crying.

"I—I'm sorry.” You mumble, the words coming out pathetically, struggling to find your voice.

Jaemin's eyes soften, and he offers you a sweet smile, twisting something inside you. You can't help but wonder why he's being so kind.

"What are you sorry for?" He chuckles.

"Is it Hyunjin?" He asks, his voice low and whispered, a hint of caution present as if he's mindful about uttering that name around you.

Jaemin stands there, visibly awkward, scratching his neck and desperately searching for a lifeline to rescue him from the situation. His eyes dart around, unsure of how to navigate the emotional turbulence around you. He subtly rolls his eyes in the direction of Jeno’s room, they were still fucking.

In a fumbling attempt to offer some comfort, Jaemin starts a motion, perhaps to retrieve a tissue from his pocket. Then, the realization hits him—here he is, practically standing naked in front of you adorned with hickies and remnants of cum. His eyes widen in a mix of surprise and embarrassment, but you shake your head reassuringly. "It's not a big deal."

Your gentle voice acts as a balm, stirring something within him. His eyes lock onto yours, and in that unspoken exchange, there's a shared understanding. Jaemin's thumb delicately grazes underneath your eyes, wiping away the tears from your delicate skin.

"Fuck Hyunjin.” He whispers, his voice soft and tender yet carrying a sharp edge of hurt and anger on your behalf. You nod in response, a genuine smile naturally forming on your lips. In that moment, as Jaemin expresses both solidarity and indignation, you feel an unexpected sense of settlement.

What is it about Na Jaemin? You’re left pondering, did he even know your name? This is someone who you never expected to be so kind and respectful to you, you’ve heard endless stories about how he’s quiet and doesn’t talk but you’re seeing a whole different side.

He continues wiping away your tears, and you can't believe you're still crying. The weight of vulnerability starts to lift, making room for a mix of bitterness and a twinge of sadness in your voice as you mumble, "Our exes are fucking."

You wonder if Jaemin already knew, as he doesn't react with sadness or shock. Instead, his facial expression remains void and unchanged. You can't help but envy how he maintains such control over his emotions. All the times you’ve seen him, he’s had one expression on his face, nonchalant and unbothered.

“How are you not reacting?” You cry out more than you wanted to, perplexed as to how he has such a tight control on his emotions. You envy it, you wish you could be like him.

“Come with me.” A surprised gaze lingers in your eyes as his suggestion hangs in the air. He nods towards his room, and you can't help but feel a flush of red creep onto your cheeks. The first thought that leaps into your mind raises questions – does he want to sleep with you? It seems plausible, given the fact he had just been fucking and that this party was thrown to help him find a rebound. What if he sees you as another opportunity?

"I don’t wanna fuck you.” You whisper back, the words leaving your lips with a mix of uncertainty and anticipation.

Jaemin shakes his head, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates the notion that you believed he was suggesting something more explicit. "I didn’t say that was going to happen. Do you want that to happen?" He teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilts his head, awaiting your reaction. However, you evade giving him a response, breaking eye contact.

"I should be getting home anyway.” You mention, attempting to steer the conversation away.

"How are you gonna get there?" he probes further.

"Hana said she’ll take us, if not then Jeno –" you begin, but he cuts you off with a knowing smirk.

"Hana is shit-faced high downstairs and fucking Eric on the sofa and we can still hear Haerin screaming 'daddy,' so obviously Jeno's busy." He interjects.

"Then I’ll just walk home." You assert.

"It’s 1 am." He points out. “Do you know how dangerous the street are at this time?”

"It’s 10 minutes away.” You counter.

“Just come into my room.” He suggests with a confident assurance, the conversation steering in a way you didn’t expect. The straightforwardness catches you off guard.

"Just trust me.” He murmurs, his words something you're willing to trust. Weakness washes over you, you don’t have anything else to lean on. The prospect of going home in isolation, with only your broken heart and the lingering drink in your hand as companions, feels unbearable.

Without much contemplation, you nod, surrendering to the solace he seems to offer in the unknown. “Ok.” You mumble, your response sealed with a hint of anticipation.

Jaemin's room is painted in a rich midnight blue, creating a calming atmosphere. The walls are adorned with posters of indie bands and artistic prints, showcasing his eclectic taste. Muted gray decor complements the deep blue, and lights strung along the walls provide a soft, ambient glow. A well-organized desk sits against one wall, littered with notebooks, a laptop, and scattered pens. The minimalist furniture, including a sleek bed with monochrome bedding, adds a touch of simplicity to the room. Various trinkets and souvenirs line the shelves, hinting at Jaemin's interests and experiences.

Numerous photographs cover one section of Jaemin's room, creating a nostalgic collage on the wall. The alcohol in your system blurs the faces, but the emotions captured in each snapshot are vivid. Smiles, laughter, and shared moments freeze in time. Your vision may be hazy, but the warmth of those memories makes you smile.

Your heart pounds when you realise there’s an unexpected sight—a half-naked girl perched at the end of his bed. Shock and embarrassment wash over you, she’s the girl you heard him fucking earlier.

“Get out.” Jaemin's stands with crossed arms, watching her exit with impatience. You recognize her as Karina, a girl from your year. Her eyes meet yours, and she smirks, offering a thumbs up with a mischievous giggle. In a hushed whisper, she says. “You’re gonna have so much fun, he does this thing with his tongue…”

Her words leave you blushing and flustered. Before you can make it clear that you were not here to fuck, Jaemin swiftly escorts her out, locking the door firmly behind her.

In an awkward atmosphere, Jaemin proceeds to put on a simple top and jeans. The tension is palpable as you fumble through your reasons for being in his room. Confusion clouds your gaze when he extends his black leather jacket towards you, and you silently drape it over your shoulders, catching a scent reminiscent of midnight rain and cinnamon.

"I'm gonna go home.” You mumble.

Jaemin shakes his head in response, "I already said that it's too dark and dangerous –"

"I'll just –"

"Either I'm gonna take you home or you're staying with me," he says sternly. "I can't leave you alone like this… wasted and clearly upset. Plus, Haerin is staying over, so I want some sleep tonight. I know her and Jeno will be fucking all night long.“

You nod, the two of you sharing a silent understanding as your eyes meet in the moonlit room. In that moment, your gaze holds a mix of darkness and glistening emotions. "Take me home.” You softly request.

“My house is gonna empty. You can stay over.” You whisper, heavy breaths taking over your voices.

♥♥♥♥

The air is charged with anticipation as his bulge pressed firmly against your thighs, the sensation sending shivers through your body. You can feel the warmth between you, he’s so hard that his length is digging into your skin.

Jaemin’s staring down at you, body pressed against yours as you fall onto the bed, him following. You can’t believe how sexy he looks. His gaze met yours with an intensity charged with an electric current of unspoken words. The moonlight played across his features, highlighting the depth of his dark eyes and accentuating the sharp contours of his face.

He hovers over you, his fingers delicately caress your face. They trace the contours underneath the hollow of your cheek, along your sleek jawline, and over your fluttering eyelashes. His voice was a low murmur, a tone that revealed a depth to him you hadn’t noticed before. “So fucking pretty.” He whispered, and you felt your pussy throb and ache for him.

The room seemed to pulse with anticipation, a magnetic tension pulling you closer in the dimly lit space. There was a certain warmth in your closeness, an unspoken connection that seemed to bridge the gap between you two effortlessly.

The moment you stepped into the sanctuary of your empty house, your lips found each other in an instant, pressing fervently, lost in a mutual hunger. It was unclear who made the first move; it seemed to be a shared impulse. All you were aware of was the rapid beat of your heart as you found yourself breathlessly kissing and biting his inviting lips, your legs wrapped around his waist in an embrace of longing.

As he carried you upstairs, a whirlwind of desire and impatience in his every step, he threw you down on what was, unknown to him, Haerin’s bed. The room, adorned with countless photos of her with Jeno and her friends, went unnoticed in the dim light, its significance lost in the intensity of the moment.

He had mistaken this room for yours but you can’t be bothered to correct him. In that instant, the only truth that mattered was the closeness between you two. Besides, a part of you relished the thought of fucking him in her bed - this was a subtle payback for all those times Haerin had fucked Jeno on your bed.

Jaemin’s voice, low and teasing, broke the charged silence. “Are you just gonna stare at me all day?” He teased, his voice a low whisper that caressed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Tell me what you want, I’ll give you everything, darling…” His hot breath against your ear, followed by a gentle bite on your earlobe, intensified the moment.

You continued to gaze into his eyes, finding yourself at a loss for words. His presence was overwhelming — a side of him you hadn’t seen before. There was a captivating darkness in his demeanor that left you both stunned and deeply attracted.

His finger traced your lips, gently pulling them down. A smirk played on his lips as his gaze dropped to your legs, wrapped tightly around his waist. Your movements were restless, you keep shuffling, desperate to feel something between your thighs to which Jaemin let out a soft, playful tut too.

“Just fuck me.” You moan out, the words laced with desperation.

He smirks, the embodiment of a tease. “Are you sure?” His whisper is a mix of sweetness and seduction, his eyes soft yet resolute as he looks down at you. His breath fans over your skin, a contrast to the intensity in his gaze.

You nod, trying to attach your lips to his but he dodged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Tell me exactly.”

A moment of silence hangs heavy in the air, filled with unspoken longing.

“Tell me you want me.” He presses, his voice a gentle command.

“I’m sure.” You reply, your voice barely a whisper.

He tuts softly, a sound that sends a thrill through you. Shaking his head, it still wasn’t enough.

“I want you. I want you to touch me, I want you cock in my pussy. I want you to fuck me.”

The air knocks from your lungs when his lips suddenly meet yours in an explosion of sensation. His lips are a perfect mix of softness and firmness, molding against yours with an intensity that sends waves of heat through your body. The taste of him is intoxicating, a hint of sweetness that lingers and beckons for more.

It’s a collision of longing and emotion, intense and all-consuming. Your mouth opens against his, and the moan that escapes you vibrates against his lips, a raw sound of pleasure that deepens the kiss. His tongue meets yours in a dance of shared passion, exploring and responding with equal fervor.

Each brush of his lips sending shivers down your spine. The world around you fades into a blur, leaving only the exquisite feel of his kiss, the taste of him, and the shared breath that seems to connect you on a level beyond words.

His mouth found the sensitive area of your neck, his mouth moving with a mix of tenderness and urgency that made your breath hitch in surprise, having not been touched like this in so long the air has already been sucked out of you. The warmth of his breath against your skin, mingled with the softness of his lips, created an intoxicating sensation, stirring a deep craving within you.

He then trailed a path of fervent kisses up your jawline, each one imbued with a burning intensity, his lips moving against the contours of your face, each kiss a declaration of desire. His movements were both deliberate and instinctual, as if each kiss was guided by a deep, primal need.

With a deep breath, he reached for the hem of your top, fingers brushing against the fabric in a gentle, almost reverent touch. The material was soft and lights

He slowly lifted the top and there was a moment of quiet, a hush that seemed to fill the space with anticipation. The fabric whispered against your skin as it rose and cascaded down your body prettily, the sound as soft as a breeze through autumn leaves.

Jaemin’s eyes found yours, and in them, you saw a whirlwind of emotions. His gaze was intense. The air between you two crackled. His eyes, dark and expressive, spoke volumes more than words ever could. There was a hunger in them.

He lowered his mouth to your chest and immediately brought your nipples to his lips, his first touch was a slow and thoughtful lick, savouring your taste. He took his time, lavishing your nipple with light swirls of his tongue and gentle kisses, which elicited moans of pleasure to spill from your lips.

He gently bit on the sensitive bud of skin, his teeth releasing with a ‘pop,’ followed by a contented smile as you moan his name. His attention to making you feel good was thorough, a mixture of playful bites, long licks, and occasional sucking.

Slowly, he continued with small, delicate kisses, down your body, from your boobs to your upper thigh, the soft press of his lips against your skin made you whine, pulling on his hair and begging him for where you wanted his touch the most. You slowly grind your clothes pussy against his face, he looks up at you with a smirk. “You wanna feel me here?” He whispers, voice filled with breath as his soft fingertips tread along your lower stomach, his lower lip captured between his teeth.

You nod eagerly, a mixture of anticipation and nerves filling you as you hadn’t had sex in 5 months and you didn’t expect to be doing it right now, with Na Jaemin, of all people. It intensifies your emotions but you surprisingly feel ready, you never expected to be so settled in such an intimate embrace with a complete stranger but there was something about Na Jaemin that made you horny.

He presses his lips against yours intensely as his hands gently tease the edge of your mini skirt, eventually slipping beneath the fabric. You break the just for a second, maintaining strong eye contact with him as you pull your mini skirt down your legs, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, caressing it with his soft fingers before eagerly pushing your lace thong down your thighs, lips smashing against yours once again as he tosses both your skirt and thong to the side, trailing kisses up your legs, his fingers beginning to delve into your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He hisses against your ear, cold fingers making circles against your folds, the hard metals of his rings touching your burning skin as he rubs on your clit.

His fingers push deeper and deeper into your cunt as your head hits the pillow and you let out a loud moan of his name. He drops open mouthed kisses to your neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out your pussy, grunts leaving his lips at how your slick coats his fingers completely, the feeling of you clenching around his fingers and growing wet making his head dizzy.

“Do you see how fucking wet you are?” He whispers, suddenly shoving his fingers in your tiny mouth, making you gag but you suck nonetheless. He brings his fingers to his own mouth, licking your cum and moaning. “Just wanna fucking taste you.”

His eyes close as he delves into your pussy. He starts off slow, soft licks and nips of your already wet clit, you curl your toes, your vision becoming blurry due to the tears of pleasure but you can feel how fucking good he’s eating you out. His tongue laps at your clit, you whine and push his face closer, desperate for him to eat you out like it’s his last meal.

He kisses your folds, giving the delicate and wet skin a loud smooch before moving his lips and tongue at a pace that already has you crying out for him. He’s moaning into you, the sensation causing a vibration within your folds. “So fucking tasty.” He growls, the words muffled against your skin.

His nose presses against your pussy, you wrap your legs around his shoulders and he grips onto your ass, squeezing the flesh and giving it one compact spank before gripping onto your thighs, his grip so tight that you’re caged against him. His nails dig in and you’re sure he’s leaving harsh marks and your grip on his hair is so tight but neither of you care.

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you the prettiest noises spill from your mouth when your climax hits, you squirt and drip all over your folds and he has every last bit of it, his lips lapping up your sticky wetness as if it’s a treat.

He leans back momentarily to appreciate the sight. Your hot cum leaking out of your tiny and tight hole, before he moves his tongue to lap up every last drop. It goes everywhere, all over his face, down his chin and neck but he’s grunting so loudly, begging you for more. “Taste so fucking good.”

“Jaemin.” You moan out, thrusting your pussy against him and reaching for his hard cock, desperate to feel him where you want him most. “Come on!!!!” You cry out.

He tuts at your impatience, eyes soft as he looks into your teary ones. “Yeah, yeah. Just be patient, baby.” His mouth pops, a sweet smile as you whimper at the use of the pet name, a sweet word said in such a mysterious and sensual way.

A realisation comes to you, have you even introduced yourself to him? Your mouth opens with a heavy moan when Jaemin’s eyes, dark and intense, locked with yours. You could hear the sound of his heavy breathing, a rhythmic echo that matched the quickening pace of your own heart.

You found yourself reacting instinctively. You bucked up slightly as Jaemin’s fingers deftly worked to loosen the belt around his jeans. Sliding it down his legs and tossing it far away.

He’s so hard. You hold his massive cock in your hands, eyes wide and mouth watering at the sheer size of it. You can feel the firmness beneath your fingertips. As you roughly rub his cock, he groans and drops his head to your shoulder, allowing you to touch away. Your fingers glide over the length, he removes your hands and replaces his own, dropping down and aligning his cock with your tight hole. His mouth pressing against yours with an open mouthed kiss.

“I’m Y/N by the way.” You gulp, voice barely audible due to the fucked state that you’re in.

“I know.” He whispers back.

You hum. “I know your name.” He groans louder. “Can I call you baby?” He asks with a smirk, you don’t know if he’s forgotten that he already has but his low and deep voice already has you weak in your knees so you nod enthusiastically.

“Please.” You whimper, feeling so incredibly turned on right now.

He distracts you with sweet kisses to your cheeks, when his cock finally enters your pussy but you’re instantly crying out from overstimulation and sensitivity. He’s so fucking big. You cry out when you realise he’s too big for you. You look down and the feeling of sadness intensifies when you realise only his tip has entered.

He coos in your ear, wiping your tears, holding your hand tightly in his and making the slightest of movements inside of you but you shake your head, a feeling that you can’t describe overtaking you. “You’re too big, it won’t fit. I can’t take it.” You say with an adamance.

“It will fit, baby.” He says simply, giving you a sweet smile and you get lost in his eyes, you find yourself instantly trusting him and it has you questioning yourself, you never trust this easily.

He kisses your temple softly, a tenderness that makes you whine and cry at the same time. You wrap your legs around his waist, craving the closeness. You nod, your doe eyes gazing into his as he makes you promises. “It will all fit, I know I’m big but I’ll make sure of it. I promise I’ll make you feel good, I’ll won’t hurt. I’ll go as slow as you want me to, ok?” His voice is filled with so much genuineness and by kindness that you find it impossible not to melt, your trust growing for him intensely.

He thrusts into you at a slow and sensual pace and before you know it, more and more of his length fills you up until you tighten around him, smiling at how fucking good and cosy it felt. “I told you baby, just trust me.” He smiles, looking down and cooing at the beautiful sight, your walls sucking him in and you tightening around him.

“You’re such a good girl, baby.” He purrs into your ear as he fucks into you at a pace that made your head spin. It was suddenly so fast, the headboard banging, skin slapping against skin, his hands slapping your ass, heavy breathing, passionate moans concealed even though they didn’t need to be, you had the house to yourself, however the two of you found comfort in smashing your lips against each other and moaning into each others mouths.

He fucks his cock deep into you hole, hitting your pleasure spot over and over again, your back arches, your toes curl and your pleasure pool deepens with every thrust. He wipes away your tears gently with his fingers, whispering words of praises that make you whine. The way he’s looking at you fucks your mind up and makes your head spin. His eyes are so soft and so piercing, you feel as though you don’t deserve to be looked at with this tenderness.

However when you try to cover your eyes with your hands, he takes your arms and cages them above your head, shaking his head firmly and giving you a serious look, enough to tell you that he wants to look at you as he fucks you.

Your pussy tightens around him and he groans, your walls continuously clenching around his cock and sucking him in deeper. Your thighs shake around his waist and his hand that’s slapping your ass becomes sloppier and slower. The noises of his cock fucking your wet and creamy cunt turns him on, the need to cum inside you deepening. His moans are more needy and the volume increases, his eyes darken in ways you didn’t expect. He’s pounding into you at an incoherent pace when he feels your high is near.

“Cum in me.” You beg into his ear, panting heavily and he lets out a growl at your needy side.

“Fuck, baby. Are you on the pill?”

You cry out, shaking your head when you remember he’s not even using protection, you were two horny sluts who forgot.

“Fuck. I forgot to wear a condom.” He says in an apologetic voice.

“I don’t care. Cum in me.” The words spill from your mouth so easily, you question whether you want to take it back but you take a look at him. His hair, a dark cascade, fell just above his dark and intense eyes and he hasn’t broken eye contact with you, not once. His smile, so boyish and warm.

Yeah. You’re definitely sure you want his cum in you.

His thrusts become slower and more messy but it still feels fucking good. He kisses you passionately when he cums, moaning against your mouth when you beg for his cum once again.

He fucks you through your high, you moan out his name as your hot cum leaks out of you but he fucks it back into you, his own cum coating your arousal, drops falling down your thighs and leaving a sticky mess. You look down and the sight is beautiful, you don’t know where you start or where he ends.

He paints your walls as he sighs at the feeling. As Jaemin’s lips met yours, there was an immediate rush of warmth and desperation, a culmination of longing transformed into a single, fervent kiss. His lips moved against yours with a passion that spoke volumes, tender yet insistent, The kiss deepened, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his mouth, the soft brush of his breath against your skin.

“Good girl.” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

You fall asleep like that, in his strong arms and grip, his cock buried deep inside of you, thighs still sticky with cum and you know you needed to be cleaned up but as you lay on top of him, head resting against his chest, the lullaby of his heartbeat sends you to immediate sleep.

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comment to be added to the tag list for part 2!! (will be a 4 part series)

taglist - @sexygrass @tywritesstuff @666-aiko @leep0ems @kyuuniversee @daegalfangirl @side-effects @kgneptun @thecaffeinatedfangirl @i6renj @hcaeh @buns-inhiding @pinknjm @nominsgirl @liliansun

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