#both made me laugh and break my heart...........

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | comfort after a bad race, except its you.

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid & driver!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : comforting you after coming off a rough race weekend.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 1844

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

it’s not in max’s nature to be soft, but the second he sees you sitting on the pit wall, still in your race suit and staring out at the empty track, he knows not to joke. no teasing, no smug remarks—just him dropping down beside you in silence. he offers his water bottle, nudges his knee against yours.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he mumbles. “just sit with me, yeah?”

you do, and when you finally speak, he listens—really listens. and when you break, voice cracking mid-sentence, he places his hand over yours and whispers, “bad race doesn’t mean you’re a bad driver. you know that, right?”

yuki tsunoda

yuki finds you in the cooldown room post-race, curled into the corner of the couch with your head in your hands. he doesn’t say anything right away, just sits beside you and lets out a long sigh. “that was shit,” he says bluntly. “but you’re still better than half those idiots out there.”

when you laugh weakly, he lights up. “there’s my rival,” he grins, bumping your shoulder. then softer, “i know how hard you worked. they’ll see it next time. i promise.”

he even lets you steal his favorite onigiri snack as a peace offering.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

george finds you in the back of the garage, helmet still on, shoulders stiff and unmoving. he doesn’t say anything at first—just crouches in front of you and taps gently at your gloves.

“i know it’s shit,” he says quietly, eyes searching yours through the visor. “but one race doesn’t erase who you are.”

when you finally pull your helmet off, blinking fast to hide the tears, he just pulls you into a hug and lets you bury your face in his shoulder.

“you’re not alone in this. i’ve been there. tomorrow we reset, yeah?”

kimi antonelli

he’s awkward at first, unsure how to approach you. but the moment he sees your clenched jaw and how you refuse to meet anyone’s eyes, something clicks.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he mutters, handing you a cold water bottle and sitting beside you on the pit wall.

he doesn’t talk much—just lets the silence wrap around the both of you while your breathing evens out.

later, he surprises you with a quiet “you’re still the person i look up to. one bad race doesn’t change that.” and it nearly breaks you.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

he finds you in your driver room, pacing, still in your suit, muttering under your breath about everything that went wrong.

“mon amour,” he says gently, stepping inside, “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

you break down the second he pulls you into his arms, hiding your face in his chest while he rocks you slightly, murmuring, “it’s not your fault. i saw you fighting out there. you gave everything.”

later, he makes you sit down and eat something, even if it’s just a few bites. he knows the weight of a red suit and how it can feel like the whole world is watching—so he makes sure you remember it’s okay to stumble.

lewis hamilton

lewis sees the storm behind your eyes the second you step out of the car. he knows that look—it’s familiar. he’s worn it too many times himself.

“come here,” he says softly, pulling you aside into a quieter corner of the paddock.

“you are so much more than one result,” he reminds you, thumb brushing a tear off your cheek before it falls. “don’t let today rewrite your story.”

later that night, he sends you a playlist he made years ago for moments like this. it’s full of soft strength and quiet hope, just like him.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

he sees the frustration on your face before you even say a word, and his heart sinks right along with yours.

“hey,” he whispers, catching your wrist gently before you can storm off to your room. “don’t go spiraling. not today.”

sits with you on the floor of your room, helmets and gloves tossed to the side, just the two of you in quiet.

“you drove your heart out. i know it doesn’t feel like it mattered, but it did. you matter. we’re allowed to have shit days.”

pulls you into his side, kisses the top of your head, and adds, “but tomorrow? we try again. and i’ll be right here.”

oscar piastri

he doesn’t say much at first—he lets you vent, listening with those quiet eyes and soft nods that tell you he’s really hearing it all.

once you stop, chest heaving with the weight of it all, he speaks: “you’re allowed to be upset. but i need you to remember this doesn’t define you.”

he’s calm, grounding, the steady energy you didn’t know you needed.

later, he hands you a water bottle and sits beside you on the floor of the garage, legs stretched out, shoulders touching. “bad days happen. but you’re still one of the best out there. never forget that.”

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

he watches you from across the paddock, eyes narrowed, reading you like a strategy sheet.

“you are angry with yourself,” he says quietly when you pass him, and you just sigh. “good. that means you still care.”

he doesn’t sugarcoat it. he respects you too much for that.

but later, he finds you alone in the motorhome and sits beside you. “you learn the most when the race hurts. and you—you're already better than half of them out there on your worst day.”

he doesn’t offer a hug, but he does leave you with a smirk and a softened, “come. let’s debrief over coffee. my treat.”

lance stroll

you’re curled up on the floor of your room, suit half-off, still sweaty and furious, when he knocks gently and peeks his head in.

“i brought snacks,” he says with a tiny smile, holding up your favorite post-race comfort food.

he doesn’t push. he just sits near you, eating in silence until you start talking, even if it’s just mumbled complaints.

“look,” he says eventually, nudging your knee, “you’re not allowed to quit, okay? not when you’ve worked this hard. not when i believe in you this much.”

gives you the softest, warmest hug when you finally let yourself cry into his chest.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

he finds you slumped in the garage, helmet still on, and just wraps his arms around you from behind. no words, just warmth.

“don’t talk yet,” he whispers into your shoulder. “just breathe.”

once you’ve calmed, he gently pulls off your helmet and tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“you don’t have to be strong with me,” he says, eyes soft. “i know you gave it everything. and that’s enough for me.”

drags you out of the paddock and insists on bubble tea and cartoons in the hotel to cheer you up.

carlos sainz

paces around like he’s the one who DNF’d—frustrated, muttering in spanish, raking a hand through his hair.

the moment he sees you, all his tension melts into concern. “mi amor… come here.”

holds your face so gently, as if you might shatter. “you were brilliant. the car wasn’t. that’s not on you.”

kisses your forehead and murmurs sweet nothings in spanish while you lay on his chest in the motorhome.

promises to personally have words with whoever screwed up your strategy.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

he’s awkward at first, doesn’t quite know what to say when he sees you with glassy eyes and your suit half unzipped in defeat.

“hey… um. that sucked. really sucked.” then hugs you a bit too tightly.

rests his chin on top of your head. “but you’re still the coolest person in this whole paddock to me.”

pulls you away to the haas sim rig and makes you crash the car on purpose just to make you laugh.

“we’re gonna fix this. next race, you’ll be untouchable. i’ll make sure of it.”

esteban ocon

immediately knows something’s wrong just from your body language. pulls you aside the second he gets the chance.

his voice is calm, low, and soothing. “you’re allowed to be upset. but you’re not allowed to think you’re anything less than brilliant.”

sits beside you in the back of the hospitality unit, quietly holding your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

brings you a bottle of water, wipes your face gently, and whispers, “you don’t need to put on a brave face with me.”

tells you about every race he failed to finish, just so you know you’re not alone in it.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

sees you storm off toward the garage and immediately follows, no cameras, no questions.

doesn’t ask what happened — just wraps his arm around your waist and murmurs, “talk to me when you’re ready.”

when you finally break down in the motorhome, he brushes your hair out of your face and pulls you into his chest.

“you’re allowed to be upset. but don’t forget you’re the fiercest driver i know.”

kisses the top of your head. “and if anyone says otherwise, they can deal with me.”

isack hadjar

tries to joke at first — “at least your helmet still looks good?”

but when he sees you’re genuinely crushed, his expression drops immediately.

sits beside you on the floor, backs against the wall, knees touching.

“hey, you’re allowed to cry. i know i would’ve punched someone by now if it were me.”

quietly adds, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. you’re already enough. more than enough.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

finds you pacing behind the paddock, biting back tears, helmet still on.

gently unclips your helmet, brushing a hand down your cheek as he takes it off.

“i know that look. i’ve worn it too many times.” his voice is soft, steady.

pulls you into a quiet room away from everyone and sits you down.

“you gave it everything. the result doesn’t erase the effort. or your talent. or how fucking proud i am of you.”

franco colapinto

catches the tail end of your radio message — the frustration, the cracked voice.

waits for you just outside parc fermé with open arms, doesn’t care who sees.

“you did your best. the car didn’t. that’s not on you.”

rubs your back as you lean into him, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

whispers in spanish, “sos increíble. y nada de esto cambia eso.” (you’re incredible. and none of this changes that.)

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

you storm off after the cooldown lap, helmet still on, teeth gritted. he doesn’t say a word — just walks beside you.

waits until you're seated in the garage corner before crouching next to you.

“want to break something? or sit in silence? your call.”

hands you a water bottle and his usual sarcasm fades: “you’ve had worse, i’ve had worse. we come back. we always do.”

adds, quieter, “you’re too damn good to let one shit race define anything.”

gabriel bortoleto

finds you hiding in your driver room, curled up with a towel over your head.

knocks once, then slides in anyway. “i brought snacks.”

doesn’t push you to talk — just sits beside you, legs touching, playing some silly tiktok sound on his phone to try to make you laugh.

“i’m still proud of you. even if today sucked. especially because today sucked.”

when you finally lift your head, he grins and says, “next time? we show them who you really are.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[disturb7a]

“i haven’t been kissed in six months.” you mutter, flopping dramatically onto gojo’s couch and fake a cry. your best friend, satoru gojo blinks at you from his spot on the opposite end of the couch, his long legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a half-eaten bag of chips, the other flipping through tv channels.

“that’s a tragedy,” he says, grinning. “a crime, even. someone could to go to jail for that.”

“yeah, well, welcome to my dating life. one tragic disappointment after another.” you sigh. it’s not like your always searching for a relationship, but god, 6 months!???

he tilts his head, that pretty face of his breaking into something evil and borderline mischievous. “maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.” you roll your eyes and look at him through the corner of your eye. he chuckes. “satoru, don’t start. i already know what you’re gonna say.”

he raises a brow and places his hands on his chest, mock offended. “me? i’m innocent. i haven’t said a thing.” you snort out a laugh,“you’re practically thinking it. no, i’m not downloading tinder again. i’d rather die.”

satoru chuckles, that low, deep and amused sound that always makes your stomach flutter just a little, though you never admit that part. he’s been your best friend since you guys were five. he knows every dumb story, every secret, every time you’ve cried over someone who didn’t deserve it.

and still, he looks at you like you hung the moon. “okay, so no tinder,” he says. “no bad dick. no make out sessions. what do you want then?” you bury your face into a throw pillow and mumble, “i don’t know. something. someone.” he turns his face, his piercing blue eyes analyzing your face and he hums, soft and lazy. “you know,” he says slowly, “we could just kiss.”

you freeze. “satoru.”

“what?” he says, all innocence, as if he’s not offering to casually kiss you like it’s just another thursday evening. “who says we can’t kiss as friends?”

you sit up, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “uh, society? normal social boundaries?” he shrugs. “never cared much for those. you bite your lip. “you’re not serious.” his grin widens, lazy and dangerous. “deadly. come on, you’re hot, i’m hot. we’re both suffering. it’s just a kiss. for science.”

“for science?”

he nods, all playful charm. “yeah. a friendly experiment. no feelings. no expectations. just you and me. and our mouths.” you try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching. “this is the dumbest idea ever.”

“so that’s a yes?”

you hesitate, your heart’s pounding. it’s just a kiss, you tell yourself. it’s just gojo. you’ve known him forever. he’s always been touchy, flirty, a menace with a heart of gold. he’s held your hand when you were scared, carried you on his back when you twisted your ankle in college, made you laugh when you thought you’d never smile again. maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. you sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you glance back at him. “fine. one kiss. one.” his smile turns devilish. “scout’s honor.”

he shifts closer, your heart beats in anticipation, and suddenly he’s right there, in your space. his knees brush yours, his fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you sure?” he murmurs, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his voice, something that doesn’t feel quite so casual anymore. you nod, “yeah. i’m sure.”

his hand cups your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw, and then he leans in, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, but you don’t, you meet him halfway.

his lips are warm, soft, and good and feel way better than they should be. he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he knows your mouth, like he wants to know more. it’s not a hesitant kiss. it’s deep, teasing, with just a little edge of cockiness that makes your toes curl and your stomach churn. his other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly you’re not even thinking. your hands are in his hair, tugging a little, and he groans into your mouth, low and hungry. you gasp at the sound, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips.

your body reacts before your brain does. you’re flush against him, heart racing, hands trembling slightly as the kiss deepens. you pull back eventually, both of you a little breathless, your lips tingling, your skin hot. “…jesus,” you whisper.

gojo’s staring at you, eyes half-lidded and glowing with something unreadable. then he smirks. “see?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “doesn’t hurt to kiss your friends”

heyyyyy 🥸🥸 a bitch is back hehehehe, i love bestfriend!gojo he’s so hot 🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ roommate!billie headcanons

୨ৎ roommate!billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff, smut.

୨ৎ content: sub top billie if u squint. she's a loser in denial. i love her more than anything no one understands. smut only starts near the end you can easily read the first half without any <3 oral (r receiving), fingering (b receiving)

୨ৎ note: i wanted to write more for my girl <3 roommate billie is everything to me. both billie and r are described to be 20 years old. i fear ur girl is a YAPPER bc how did i write this much for what was meant to be short headcanons. not in the same universe as the roommate billie fic i wrote, but similar vibes i think

୨ৎ wc: 2.5k

picture roommate!billie in uni/college—doing a double degree in music and environmental science/conservation. she’s on the basketball team, one of their star players. 

roommate!billie who you have a pretty dry relationship with for the first week or so, both of you unsure how to break the ice. suddenly, it clicks, and one day the two of you just work. you get used to each others routines, and she leaves breakfast out for you when she has an early morning lecture. it just works. 

over time, you and roommate!billie grow closer. a few weeks in, and she’s calling you anything but your name—pretty, love, baby, doll—anything. it’s like a second language to her, it just comes so naturally. she’s not shy about her hookups, simply sending you a small grin when a pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, simply shrugging with a wink. 

roommate!billie who adores her degrees, and she’s a bit of a nerd—much to your surprise. the first time you realised that was a few weeks into living with her, when you were eating breakfast together and she just talked, and talked, and talked. she’d learnt something particularly interesting in her conservation class, and she wasn’t even entirely aware of the way she was talking—all starry eyed and stumbling over her words. 

it was honestly the most endearing thing, but roommate!billie definitely didn’t think so when she snapped back to reality. cheeks flushed, she pushed her hair behind her ear and looked away.

“sorry,” she’d muttered, fiddling with her hands.

“no, it’s sweet, i love it.” and you did. you loved her excitement, her passion.

those words only made her blush more, and she’d spent that night with her head buried in her hands, wondering why she’d had to make herself look like such a loser in front of you. 

roommate!billie who loses her train of thought the first time you laugh in her presence—a real laugh. not just a chuckle from her teasing, a real laugh. head thrown back, and from the heart. your shoulders shake and your face lights up, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. she really, really likes the sound. she feels like an infatuated teenager, not a twenty year old university student—and she has no idea why. she’s dated before, and she’s normally the one dragging these reactions out of girls, not the other way around. 

roommate!billie who doesn’t really know how to handle you saying anything remotely like a compliment. she’s not shy, she doesn’t even know what’s come over her around you. when you let a pet name slip, she’ll be laying in bed thinking about it instead of sleeping. usually, she’s the smooth one who flirts with all the girls, but she seems to be stumbling over her words with you.

roommate!billie is just so infatuated with you, she doesn’t know what to do at this point. she doesn't say anything, but it’s translated in the way you often find dinner left out for you when you get home late, and the way she would always consider you when she runs down to the supermarket to get something in the middle of the week.

roommate!billie who knows your cafe order like the back of her hand. one day when she knew you were stressed about your finals, she visited you in the library, your matcha latte and croissant in hand and a cheesy smile playing on her lips. it was the little things with her. she’d always been big on physical touch, and although there wasn’t much of that in your ‘friendship’, she never missed the chance for your fingers to brush when she passed you something like a cup of coffee.  

roommate!billie who meets your family when they come to visit you for a weekend. you watch her with your younger sister, who’s only seven. she crouches down to talk to her, lets her grab onto her hand and lead her around with her childish giggles, and your sister is obsessed with her, she practically has stars in her eyes. for some reason, you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight, of her being so sweet with your family. 

roommate!billie who comes to terms with her feelings horrendously late. she realises why she’s jealous of your hookups, why she remembers every little thing you tell her, why she cares so much. when did the sight of you in one of her baggy t-shirts making breakfast become so normal, so natural? when did the way you hummed along to music in your headphones become so common that she missed it when you weren’t around? why does she spend nights when you’re away visiting your parents tossing and turning, unable to sleep? because she’s hopelessly in love with you, and she only truly realised after half a year of living with you. 

roommate!billie teammates tease her about you ever since one of them grabbed her phone when she snuck it out to text you in the locker rooms, one of them reciting the text she had typed out and adding their own spin to it before sending it. now, whenever she declines a party or has to leave early, they’re sharing grins and flinging an arm around her shoulder.

“oh, miss billie’s gotta get home to lovergirl?”

“shut up!” she’d hiss, as if you were going to hear their teasing and discover her feelings.

“aww, she’s embarrassed.” 

roommate!billie who melts every time you cook her favourite meal, every time you buy her something that “reminds you of her”, every time you watch her games and wait for her afterwards, even after the crowd is gone. you’re so sweet. she doesn’t know why you’re so sweet to her, but she never wants it to end. 

roommate!billie who doesn’t even notice the way her hookups with the girls on the cheerleading team dwindle, going from multiple a week, to one every two weeks, to none. she doesn’t even realise, she’s too engrossed in you. 

roommate!billie who’s never held back with her feelings, not until you. she was always upfront, always the first to confess—because what was the worst that could happen? but she was terrified of losing you, losing your friendship. she took it painstakingly slow, worried she’d scare you away. 

it’s only when your final exams finish that roommate!billie finally makes her move. after a month of both of you studying like crazy, and the late night talks when one of you was super stressed, it was finished. the two of you went out to a party together, billie shouting you a drink or two as her basketball friends giggled to themselves as they watched. billie had no intention of making any move that evening, but you were too perfect. the way your outfit looked, the way you seemed so free, the way your tongue darted out to absentmindedly lick the side of the glass where the drink spilt. she couldn’t take her eyes off you, trying desperately to ignore the twist in her gut and the way her fingers itch to touch you. 

roommate!billie who isn’t that drunk, but drunk enough to lean into you, her head brushing your shoulder as the two of you sat up at the bar. after a minute, wanting something to distract herself from the feelings swirling in the pit of her stomach, her hand took yours, pulling you to your feet and over to where the crowd was dancing. 

roommate!billie, who, in her drunkenness, allows herself to imagine leaning in to kiss you. she imagines how your lips would feel, how you’d lean into the kiss with your hands finding her hair. shaken back to reality, she tries not to groan at the way your body is pressed against hers, the hand on your hip tightening slightly and making you let out a gasp—breathy, barely noticeable, but there. 

roommate!billie who suddenly isn't imagining kissing you anymore, she actually is. your lips are just as soft as she’d always dreamed, and your perfume is even more intoxicating up close. 

roommate!billie who pulls you flush against her when she feels you kiss back, and your fingers tangle in her hair—just like she’d imagined—and she swears she hears you moan into the kiss. a sweet, mind-altering sound that makes her short circuit. she pulls back, and then it clicks. that wasn’t how she wanted it to go. she didn’t want the first kiss between the two of you to be rushed, in a room full of other drunk people. you’re drunk. she doesn’t want to do this with you—not like this. 

pulling away from you fully, roommate!billie doesn’t expect you to follow her once she leaves the club. grabbing at her arm, you stop her, spinning her around. your eyes lock, and she swallows.

“i–shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—you were just so—fuck—”

“billie.”

“you’re– i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have–” 

“billie. stop.”

she hears you this time, eyes darting up, all soft and apologetic, and you almost melt. you faltered, and she continued.

“i’m sorry i kissed you.”

eyebrow raised, you hum. “that’s a shame, was hoping you'd do it again.”

“i—what?”

roommate!billie who truly had no idea of your feelings. she’d told herself time and time again that you were just being friendly, that you were like this with everyone. but you weren’t, and that’s obvious enough when you pull her in for a second kiss. a second kiss that’s just as much, if not more magical than the first. 

hands dipping slightly under your shirt, roommate!billie pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. a moment later, you pull apart—only slightly. “bils, it’s cold.” you murmur, an almost pathetic whine leaving billie’s lips at the loss of contact. “lets go home.”

at that idea, roommate!billie brightens up a bit. she can handle a car ride without her lips on yours if it means the two of you can be alone—and warm, too. admittedly, it is cold outside in the chill of the night air.

“yeah,” she whispered, “yeah, let’s get you home.”

the moment you’re back in your shared apartment, roommate!billie pulls your shirt over your head and unclasps your bra like a second nature. the two of you are stumbling into a room—you’re pretty sure it’s hers—with soft giggles and breathy whines filling the air. you fall back onto the slightly messy blankets on billie’s bed, and billie freezes. looking down at you on her bed, your chest heaving slightly, lipstick smudged, eyes fixed on her like she’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, and she whimpers.

“fuck, you’re so pretty…”

your lips curl up, and you shift backwards slightly on her bed, laying on your back with your elbows propping you up as you look up at her. “oh, you’re the pretty one.” 

roommate!billie can’t take it anymore, and she reaches for the waistband of your pants, looking at you from between your legs with her pleading blue eyes. “can i…?”“go ahead,” you murmur, and billie does exactly that. unbuttoning your jeans, situating herself between your thighs as she stares at your panties.

“a matching set,” she finally murmurs, eyes flickering up to the bra hanging off your shoulders in the same colour. “you plan this?”

“i can’t lie, i had my hopes.”

at that, roommate!billie has pulled your panties down around your ankles, and she revels in the way your hips jolt up to be closer when she finally slides her tongue between your folds. she glances up at you, that cheeky, cocky grin that you know so well plastered on her lips as her eyes watch your face.

clicking your tongue softly, you lean forward, one hand gently on her shoulder as you push her back down. you don’t speak, but she knows what you’re telling her to do—and it’s then that she realises that she kind of adores when you get bossy. it made her melt, and if she were standing, her knees would have probably buckled beneath her. instead, she simply returned to her rightful place between your legs, hands holding your thighs open as she ate you out, occasionally pausing to leave a gentle kiss or a bite on your inner thighs. she notices every little thing, the way your breath catches, the way your head falls back ever so slightly. every reaction, no matter how miniscule, she sees.

roommate!billie who takes her time with you. she’s been waiting for longer than she can possibly say, and she isn’t rushing this. she wants it to be perfect, this isn’t just a usual hookup to her. this is everything she’s wanted, and she can’t help the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, limbs tangled up with hers, the marks she’s left littered over your skin as a reminder of her. she can’t help but picture you in another one of her hoodies, your soft giggles as the two of you make breakfast together. 

oh, this is so much more than just a hookup to roommate!billie

roommate!billie who’s somehow moaning just as much as you are as she helps you ride through your orgasm, the sight of your head thrown back and your thighs on either side of her face too much for her. if it were a cartoon, she’d have big red hearts shooting out of her eyes, she’s absolutely whipped. she could gladly spend hours between your legs, eating you out until she fell asleep with her head on your chest.

roommate!billie who watches you as you come down from your high, watching your chest rise and fall and your mouth open in a silent gasp. she watches you with nothing but adoration in her eyes, softer than she’s ever looked at anyone before in her life. 

roommate!billie who can’t help but let out a yelp when you flip her over, straddling her waist and pressing your lips to hers. she kisses back, but her mind is still catching up, filled with a sense of awe at the sight of you on top of her. you moan slightly as you taste yourself on her tongue, and your hands rub soft circles onto her hips as you deepen the kiss.

you pull back, taking in the way her mouth is gaped open and her eyes wide, and you can’t stop the grin that appears on your lips.

“what, think i can’t give as good as i get?” 

within seconds, you’ve pulled her jeans off, and roommate!billie is hopelessly moaning as your fingers push past her underwear and curl inside her. leaning down, you press soft kisses against her inner thighs, moving your fingers precisely inside of her as your tongue darts out to lick at her clit. she cums embarrassingly fast, already so worked up from getting you off, and she lets out the sweetest moan as she watches you bring your drenched fingers to your mouth, tasting her.

you watch the totally awestruck look on her face, leaning in to kiss her lips again before pulling back ever so slightly to whisper against her lips, “you’re so pretty.” 

roommate!billie who, after the two of you clean up in the bathroom, tugs you back to her room. passing you one of her oversized t-shirts, she watches as you pull it over your head and her heart skips a beat at how soft you look wearing her clothes. laying in her bed, she pats the spot beside her, and the second you’re close enough she’s pulled you in, snuggled up to you, head buried in your chest. 

roommate!billie who can’t quite believe her luck when the two of you have a conversation the next morning, all sleepy and domestic, and you agree to her suggestion of a date. two weeks later, you’re her girlfriend. her teammates are sick to death of her being so lovesick, the way she’ll bring you up whenever she possibly can, “oh, my girlfriend-” “me and my girlfriend-” but they’re not really as exasperated as they pretend to be. they’d rather have her being utterly obsessed with you than dealing with her months of desperate pining. she brags about you to anyone who will listen, kisses you in front of everyone after all of her games. 

roommate!billie who is totally, madly in love with you.

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @b1lli3sgirl @giababyyyishereee @bitchesbrokenpromises @foliverfalls @cantlandonmyfeet @too-sapphic-to-function @karaaeilish

[ilyasorokinn]

expect the unexpected , michael robinavitch

note, i've hopped on the pitt train. someone send help because i now am in love with noah wyle and everything to do with him. that's my husband fr. also, if you have requests, please send them in!! pair, michael "robby" robinavitch x reader summary, y/n and robby were something so long ago that gray hair wasn’t even a worry in his head. now, with a head full of gray hair, y/n and robby, by some miracle, find each other again. this time, he isn’t letting go. warnings, probably medical inaccuracies, heartbreak word count, 3577 words

(gif not mine)

Robby felt the ache of exhaustion deep in his bones. It was a sort of feeling that never really went away, especially in his profession. He was lucky if he got a few hours of sleep, hell, even a half hour. Today wasn't one of those days.

As he approached the nurse's station, he plastered on a look that aimed to convince his co-workers everything was fine. Just his luck, Dana was someone who could see right through him and his fake smiles.

"You look awful," She commented as soon as she saw him.

"Gee, thanks." He spoke sarcastically.

"Maybe this'll wake you up. Kid with a stomach ache or woman with a broken foot." She held up both of the files, letting him decide. He wordlessly took the file in her right hand and walked off to the room where the woman was waiting.

"All right, let's see what we go." He pulled open the curtain and froze. The woman who was typing something on her phone also looked up and froze.

Both adults just stared at each other, not saying a word as they looked at each other. Words seemed to escape Robby as he stared back at the woman Years and years of memories flooded back like waves.

“Michael?” The woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me.” He spoke professionally, grabbing the edge of the curtain and gently pulling it shut. He walked away, ignoring the concerned looks of everyone around him.

He set the file of whatever was handed him and made his way away. The direction was still unclear, but his main goal was away. He ended up in a random storage closet somewhere in the furthest corner of the hospital, closing his eyes and catching his breath.

He felt like the walls were closing in on him and like everything around him was getting smaller. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe.

After a few minutes, he managed to gather himself and stop his racing heart. He stretched his back before he reached for the doorknob and stepped back out into the chaos of the hospital.

When he returned to your room, he found someone else already checking out your foot. When you saw him and locked eyes with him again, you tensed up.

"Dr. Robby." Whitaker greeted, a shaky smile on his face as he snapped on a pair of gloves, "I just started, but I've got everything."

"I can take it from here," Robby stated, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Are you sure? I'm almost-"

"I got it," Robby repeated, cutting the man off and offering him a smile, taking the tools from his hands, and taking over. They switched spots, and Whitaker gave you a smile and a brief wave before he was out of the room, leaving you and Robby in a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Robby worked in silence, and you watched him. You watched every cut, every stitch, everything. You analyzed his face, memorizing every line, every wrinkle, every crease, every gray hair.

"Are you gonna say anything?" You finally broke the silence, feeling like you were going to combust at any point.

"Was waiting for you to." He offered you a smile.

You took a breath, carefully thinking of your next move. You weren't expecting this, that's for sure. When you showed up at the urgent care earlier, you were expecting to be in and out. But they had referred you to the ER after your injury had proved to be more severe.

"This isn't how I was expecting my Friday night to go," You laughed nervously.

"I bet." Robby laughed, helping ease your nerves, "What'd you do? This is a pretty severe break." He commented.

"Was trying to put a light bulb in, fell down the ladder." You explained, wincing when he pressed into your foot.

"Sorry." He winced, "Well, my prognosis is it's definitely broken. Not enough to need surgery, but you'll be here for a few hours."

"For real?" Your eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm sorry." He smiled sadly, "I know you hate hospitals, but it's protocol."

You tilted your head to the side. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving your face. The intensity in his eyes made you look away.

He could read you like a book; it was something you had learned early on. Every little thing you did, the faces you made, your movements, when you spoke, your tone.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" He asked, looking down at the file in his hand, trying to find a distraction.

"I could go for some apple juice?" You admitted shyly.

"I should've known." He chuckled, grabbing the curtain again and leaving the room.

-

"All right, Mrs. Y/L/N, you're all ready to go." The nurse, whom you learned was named Princess, smiled at you. After waiting hours, someone bandaged up your leg (In a pink cast) you were given a pair of crutches.

It took another hour for your release papers to finally be given to you, and another half hour to finally be given the all clear.

"You're not kidding? I'm allowed to go home?" You were almost afraid she was gonna say no.

"I'm serious." She smiled again. "How are you getting home?"

"I'll probably just call an Uber or something." You shrugged, slipping your jacket on.

"We can call you a taxi, if you prefer." Princess offered.

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother anymore."

"No worries," She shook her head, opening the curtain and letting you exit first before making her way back over to the nurse's station and grabbing the phone.

You waited around, taking in the sights around you. Everything seemed hectic, but it seemed to be running on controlled chaos. Or maybe that's just how they wanted it to seem to patients.

"What are you still doing here?" Robby asked, approaching you, his bag slung over his shoulder as he stopped next to you.

"Was gonna call an Uber, but they offered to call a taxi for me." You explained, smiling over to Princess, who gave you a thumbs up, then set the phone back on the receiver.

"I could give you a ride." Robby offered. You quickly turned to look at him. "What?"

"No." You stated.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in another language?" You joked, rolling your eyes.

"Don't waste your money on a taxi, I can give you a ride." He offered with a shrug.

"I'm good, thanks though." You brushed him off, making your way out to the front. of the hospital, the best you could with your new crutches.

"Y/N, I'm offering, come on." He was pleading with you at this point as he followed you out.

"Why?" You raised a brow, "You do this with your other patients?"

"Just the ones who break their legs putting lightbulbs in." He joked.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and weighing your options. After this hospital bill you were about to get, you knew things were going to be tight, and you knew that he was just being nice.

But another part of you wanted to ignore him, forget this ever happened, and go on with your life like you hadn't run into him at all.

Against your better judgment, "Fine."

-

Weeks later, Robby was still checking in on you. You wanted him to leave you alone; you had told him that on numerous occasions, but Robby, being Robby, he couldn't do that.

Being a healer was in his bones, and he couldn't, in good conscious, leave you to fend for yourself.

Every Friday morning, there would be a knock on your door, and on your doorstep, there would be a small to-go cup of your favorite tea and a blueberry bagel with cream cheese, your favorite.

There wasn't a note, but you knew who it was from. Of course you did, who else would remember you liked raspberry tea and blueberry bagels?

On Monday night, he would come over and drop off a few containers of food he had made. He brushed it off as "meal prepping", but you knew it was a lie. He barely had enough time in the day to find something to eat, let alone plan his meals.

There was a knock on your door, and you checked the time. "Right on time." You muttered, hobbling over to the front door.

You made your way over and opened the door. Before you could greet him, your cat Pepper greeted him. Snuggling his legs and weaving between his legs, purring when Robby bent down and scratched his ears.

Traitor, you thought in your head. Robby finally stood to his full height and looked at you, "You know, you don't have to keep doing this, right?" It had been well over a month now.

"I know." He nodded, moving around you and into your kitchen, grabbing silverware and a plate like he owned the place, "I want to. I have the time."

"No, you don't." You crossed your arms.

"Okay, well, I enjoy doing it." He shrugged, taking the containers of food out of the bag he had brought.

"No, you don't." You repeated, "You hate cooking."

"No, I don't." He stopped, raising a brow at you.

"Yes, you do, Robby." You rolled your eyes, "You could literally burn water, how that's possible if still a mystery."

"Okay, fine. I hate cooking, I don't have time to cook, anything else to add?" He asked, crossing his arms and pausing his plating of the food.

"No, I think that sounds about right." You smiled.

"Are you gonna sit there a taunt me? Or are you gonna eat?" He rolled his eyes at you, pushing a plate to the opposite side of the island, closer to where you were standing.

"I'll eat, I guess." You made your way over to the seat, carefully getting onto the stool and grabbing the fork. As you ate, Robby watched you. He ate too, but he watched you, examining your every movement.

He smiled. You ate. Life was good.

-

You and Robby were... something.

It had happened a long time ago, before all the stress and all the long nights, all the sleep deprivation, and long before the bags under his eyes became permanent.

It was the early days of medical school. Sleep was still something he could still get every night, and you were someone he could come home to and vent to about his hard day.

You heard him before you saw him. The walls of the apartment you called home were thin, and the hallway from the stairs to your apartment wasn't very long. He couldn't even put his key in the lock before you were ripping the door open and pulling him in for a hug.

It took him a few seconds to comprehend what was happening, but when his brain caught up with his arms, he wrapped his arms around you and exhaled a deep sigh of relief, one he hadn't known he had been holding in.

"How was your day?" You managed to ask, pulling away just to look him in the eyes. He simply shook his head, hugging you again.

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms in the entryway of your small apartment, neither of you saying anything, just basking in each other's presence.

You eventually pulled away, and Robby made his way into the bedroom, changing into more comfortable clothes while you warmed up a plate of dinner for him. He made his way back out, his shoulders hunched and a look on his face that had you raising a brow.

"What's wrong?" You asked, putting the plate in front of him.

"We need to talk." The tone of his voice made your heart stop, and you stood up a little straighter.

You gulped, "About what?"

He couldn't even look you in the eyes as he began speaking, "I think we should break up." You could already feel tears forming behind your eyes as you waited anxiously for him to continue.

"I just-I think you deserve someone better, someone who can make you happier. I can't, I know I can't, and I know I'm not. I'm barely here, I know I'm barely going to be here if I keep going down the road I'm going down. You deserve someone better." He finally looked you in the eyes.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, and you could see that it went deeper than just his eyes. You could finally see it in his body. How you didn't notice it before was another story.

"Why are you saying this?" You finally asked.

"I can't make you happy, Y/N." He stated, tears in his own eyes.

"I can't say anything that'll change your mind?" You asked, swallowing harshly again when he shook his head. You nodded, "I'll grab some stuff, find somewhere else to stay tonight."

"Where are you gonna go?" He asked, suddenly aware of how late it was.

"That's not your problem anymore." You stated.

This was not how you expected your night to go.

-

You were twiddling your thumbs, trying not to think about the fact that you were in a hospital again. Although this time, you were there for a happier reason.

The pink cast on your leg was finally coming off, and while you had enjoyed it, you were excited to be able to shower without a bag over your leg and walk normally and not have to hobble.

"Mrs. Y/L/N," A woman you didn't recognize, walked into your room, "I am Dr. King."

"Nice to meet you." You smiled, shaking her hand.

"I'll be the one to remove your cast." She grabbed a pair of gloves. "I also heard you liked apple juice." You raised a brow, "Dr. Robby let it slip. I'll be sure to get you some."

"Thank you." You nodded, fiddling with your fingers again. She noticed that.

"So, how do you and Dr. Robby know each other?" She asked, breaking the silence as she slipped a pair of protective glasses on.

"Oh..." You blew out a breath, "We have some history, you could say." You nodded, not wanting to disclose too much.

"I understand." She nodded. She looked like she was thinking hard. "Have you always lived in Pittsburgh?"

You smiled. She was trying to distract you, "Moved here for school, loved it too much to leave." You answered.

"What do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in real estate." You responded, "So if you ever need to sell a house or buy one, let me know." You winked.

"I'll let you know." She smiled.

After many distractions and a few bottles of apple juice, the cast was finally off, and a whole talk on safety from Dr. King, you were on your way home. Once again, you were signing more release papers and waiting for a taxi.

"Look at you. Back on two feet." Robby joked, making his way over to you again, his bag slung over his shoulder. It felt very familiar.

"Couldn't be happier." You nodded, handing the clipboard back to the nurse behind the desk and gathering your stuff up.

"You taking another taxi?" He straightened up, gripping the strap of his backpack.

"You know it." You nodded, turning on your heel and weaving through the people, making your way to the exit.

You finally made it outside, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. You didn't have to open them to know Robby had followed you and was standing right next to you.

"Can I take you out?" He blurted out.

"Out where?" Your eyes opened, and you stared at him.

"Lunch? Dinner? Brunch?" He suggested with a shrug.

"You asking me out, Robinavitch?" You raised a brow.

"I am." He nodded.

"Right." You nodded, laughing and looking away. "Oh, you were serious." You stopped laughing.

"I was." He nodded again.

"Why?' You asked curiously.

"Why not?" He shrugged.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms, examining him, "If I say yes, I get to pick the place." You stated.

"Deal." He nodded.

"And I can drive myself home."

"We'll see about that." He made a face of disagreement.

"And lastly, I pay for myself."

"Absolutely not." He shook his head firmly.

You smiled, "You've got yourself a deal."

-

One date turned into two turned into four, and next thing you knew, you were seeing Robby more and more often. Things weren't official, but things were good, and that was that.

You were also scared.

You still hadn't talked about that night, the night that he had decided seemingly in five minutes that he wanted to end things. It wasn't something you liked to think about, but it was also something you needed answers for.

A knock on your door shook you from your thoughts. You got up slowly and unlocked the door. "Hey! I got your favorite." Robby smiled, holding up the bag. He leaned down and kissed your cheek before moving past you and into your kitchen.

You followed him, your movements slow, which he caught onto, "You okay?" He raised a brow at you.

"Can we talk?" He stopped, his hands freezing what they were doing, and his pulse quickening so fast and loud he could hear it in his ears.

"Of course." He nodded, wiping his hands on the towel on your oven, giving you his full attention, "What about?"

"That night." Was all you said, and he understood.

"Yeah." He nodded, "We can talk about it." He had been waiting for this moment.

He didn't want to bring it up. After all, he was the one who did the breaking up. So, he waited for you to bring it up. But just because he had been waiting, didn't mean he wanted it to happen.

It wasn't a moment he was proud of, nor was it a moment he enjoyed thinking about.

"I have so many questions, questions I've had for years that never got answered." You closed your eyes, running a hand down your face.

"I understand." He nodded again. In that moment, he didn't know what to say or how to say it.

"You broke up with me, you remember that?" You were angry now. His short answers were pissing you off, and his lack of emotion was making you mad.

"I do." He nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

"You said because you wanted me to be happier, and you knew you weren't making me happy." You repeated the very same words he had told you on that fateful night, words you had repeated in your head for years, words that were so ingrained in your brain, you could see them when you closed your eyes.

"I know." He nodded yet again, dropping his head shamefully.

"Well, you were wrong." You swallowed hard, "You're such a smart man, you're the smartest person I've ever known, yet you're so stupid!" He looked up at that, "You made me happy, you make me happy."

"You being back in my life these past few months has made me so unbelievably happy, the happiest I've been in years. Don't you see that? I don't need someone else, Michael, I need you." His eyes filled with tears as he took in what you were saying.

"I'm so angry at you, you know that? You left me because you-you thought you knew what was right. But you didn't. You didn't even ask me, come to me with your problems. That's what you're supposed to do. Come to me and talk to me. We could've talked it out, and we wouldn't be here, starting over." There were now tears streaming down both of your faces.

"I didn't need to be happier or to have someone else, I just wanted you. I wanted to have that life with you, and I didn't care if it meant losing. I just wanted to be with you." His feet finally started moving, and he walked over to you, hesitantly holding out his arms, wanting so badly to go in for a hug.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." He said, "I thought I knew what was best. You were successful, you were doing so good in school, and I was just some kid who didn't know what he was doing. Dreamed of being a doctor, but barely passed by. I thought you needed better." He admitted shamefully.

"I know now that I was wrong. I've spent so many years knowing I was wrong. Spent so much time thinking about you, thinking about how things could've been different. But I can't go back now. I can try my damndest to do better now, if you'll let me."

Instead of responding, you wrapped your arms around him, catching him by surprise. He let out a shaky breath as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you there. He didn't plan on letting go anytime soon. Neither did you.

You weren't done talking about it, but for now, things were good. You had no idea what was going to happen next, but you did know Robby wasn't letting go anytime soon.

One thing you did know was that this was not how you expected life to go.

-

tagging some friends: @kolsmikaelson @writingsforfandoms-multi @2manytabsopen @literaryslapshot @itsjuliak5

add yourself to my taglist!

[xylatox]

If you’re out there || cbg

Been thinking about this fic since the teaser >< I love love love raya’s work and its a quiet place au (easily one of my movie universes) so im looking forward to this world with beomgyu :) 

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you being left behind. I’d rather stay just a little longer. To hold your hand through the end. To take care of you until your last breath. Until I know you don’t have to be alone.” His thumb brushes your cheek again, slower this time. “And when you can’t see me anymore… then I’ll go.”

Raya you already grabbed my heart from the very beginning ugh

Maybe because it was easier to say that than admit she was waiting for a man who rarely looked her in the eyes. Maybe she believed it, after enough nights of watching your father’s gaze follow women who weren’t her.

You’re simultaneously blessing and breaking my heart here

“I told you to study for it, Huening Kai. Am I right?” The full name. Shit. Even he knows that’s when it’s bad. “So we could present together. And now you’re standing here telling me you didn’t even look at your assigned parts?”

I wasnt sure what she was going to be upset over and honestly😭this made me giggle because its so me i cant lie, like wdym you didnt look at your assigned part

A year ago, you would’ve let the anger win. You would’ve said something that bite, just to feel like you still had control, but you now don't. Because now… now you’re learning to make space for the boy standing in front of you.

I dont know what it is with your work Raya, but i always relate to the mcs in one way or another; it mightn’t be in this big grand way but it just feels so cozy you know. This line in particular resonates even more with me as someone who was just always angry

He laughs softly.  “I just think…” he starts, then trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “I just think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s why I did it.”

Oh my god Rayaaaaa :::::(((((((( i cant handle this.

“I, I mean — I’ve watched you since before. Not in a creepy way, I swear. But just… fuck, you could sell poison and I’d still line up for it.”

You will definitely convert me to a bamtori by the end of this year

While Beomgyu poured himself into his Biology degree, interning as a lab researcher with determination, you chased a harder dream.

I GIGGLED. Beomgyu in BIO????😭😭😭I wouldve loved to have him as a classmate (also him in my future dream job teehee ><)

"Shit, my heart is about to burst," he muttered, running a hand through his hair for the fifth time. His eyes kept darting toward the sink, where two pregnancy tests sat waiting. “Should we call your parents? My mom? What do we even need to buy, diapers? Vitamins? A crib? Wait, we don’t even know yet — ”

This has me so giggly. This is so Gyu coded, hes so cute :(((

“I’ll give everything to you,” he whispered, “To both of you.”

It felt like the rest of your life had just opened its doors, and welcomed you home.

Ill sob oh my god this is so sweet.

Everything had felt too perfect.

The subtle foreshadowing before my tears

It's on fire. Your building was on fire.

Girl. girl. Im speechless, things are just going to get worse from here

I gave a silly smile as we got introduced to Soobin and Yeonjun :)))) 

Also love how you make the written convos in bold.

“Don’t make a sound, unless you’re ready to die, sweetheart.”

????Raya give the poor girl a break

The man is on the floor now, thrashing. Yeonjun is on top of him. No hesitation. No mercy.

Oh my god woah

I love that we get Beomgyu’s perspective for this as well; you can literally feel all the love he has for mc and its so sweet

They always ask you that. They always wait for your answer, like they won’t take more unless you say no, as if your hunger matters more than theirs.

I love how they immediately love and care for her. It warms my heart that amidst this apocalyptic world she still has people looking out for her even if Beomgyu isnt here yet

Choi Beomgyu catches you mid-sprint, arms locking around your body like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You clutch the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands move over your back, your shoulders, your hair, as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again. His hands protectively settles on your stomach. His worry presses into your skin like a second heartbeat.

Oh the tears in my eyes i love them :(((( 

Yeonjun's gaze held yours a second too long. Then it drifted to Beomgyu, to the way you leaned into him, glowing like the sun had finally returned to your skin. Slowly, Yeonjun offered a faint smile —small, almost careful. When you directed your blinding smile to him, he looked away as if he was burned, hands tightening just slightly around the strap of his bag, with one thought in his mind. You were no longer his to worry about.

Raya. Raya please tell me im reading way too much into this😭Something about this moment just feels so sad

It doesn’t undo the nights you slept with a hand on your belly and silence as your only lullaby. It doesn’t erase the fear, the ache, the long quiet suffering of missing someone like breath.

But as your tears spill freely, soaking into the space where his heartbeat thuds against yours, you know those days have ended.

Raya you have a way of making me feel hopeful and scared every time for what is to come i swear.

His arms find you, pulling you close, wrapping around your body like he’s trying to shield you from the night itself. His voice is low, calm, pressed right against your ear. “Shh… baby, it’s okay,” he whispers, steady and warm, even as your heart races. “They won’t hear us. Not with the river this loud. I promise.”

NO BECAUSE MY HEART DROPPED. I was actually so scared like; i love the declaration and all and I know beomgyu wont do anything reckless but oh my god

If you had known what the morning would bring, if you had even caught a glimpse of it, you would’ve clawed your way out and screamed for him to stop. You would’ve gripped his face in your hands and told him no.

You would’ve begged him to stay.

RAYA. i literally laughed (NOT IN A HAPPY WAY) out loud. I am in disbelief, do not do this to me.

“You will,” Soobin spits, swaying. “Y/N is the one who matters. You know that. We’re dead weight. If you stay, she dies too. They will die too.”

I feel sick, i am going to throw up

Tears stream down your face, hot and constant, your hands white-knuckled on the controls. You’re not steering toward hope, you’re fleeing from loss. From the truth that’s clawing through your chest like something trying to escape, because you weren’t just leaving the lighthouse. You were leaving your heart behind.

You were leaving him.

Raya please I cannot handle this please dont do this to me

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

Raya youre cruel, i literally feel sick from this, my chest is heavy and i feel like i could throw up

RAYA THE LETTER????? OH MY GOD NO.

then know this: i have no regrets. you gave me a reason to live, and if i can’t be there anymore, you living will be the only reason i can rest.

This line oh my god.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until you hold them in your arms. The baby is warm. Real. Alive. You’re sobbing, loud and wild and cracked open. It's a girl, just like he predicted. Just like what he wanted.

Nooo :(( baby did this on her own with no epidural oh my god im so proud for her and so devastated and I very realistic representation of postpartum oh my god

You press your cheek to her temple. She laughs at nothing, and for a moment, your chest feels light. “You look just like him,” you whisper. “But I think your soul is yours.”

You started waking up with the will to do so.

Please no despite all the pain your fics give me i will always love you

She used to haunt you.

Now, she anchors you — pulls you back to earth when you wake up gasping, when you reach across the bed and feel only emptiness. She pulls you through the dark.

I feel sick, the tears are tickling down :( 

The sea glitters between you, endless and wide.

“You took your time, idiot.”

RAYA YOU ALWAYS HAVE ME IN TEARS AT THE END I SWEAR.

Sweetie, the way i gasped then giggled a bit as more tears fall writing this. I loved this soso much god. Anytime I read your work I always think damn; life really is worth living and all the suffering was worth it or else i wouldnt have been able to read this. I will always and I mean always find a way to read your work. Im so glad I finally got to read this and share my thoughts raya. Just know i always love and appreciate your work more than my words express.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

⠀˚⠀⠀♡⃕ㅤ pairing:ㅤㅤhusband choi beomgyu x wife reader

You haven’t spoken in days. You don’t even breathe loud anymore. Not since the night you saw what happens to those who do. The monsters don’t miss. The monsters come for sound like it’s blood in the water. One gasp. One sob. One accidental whisper and it’s over. Not just for you. It’s for the tiny life growing inside you. And if anything happens to you, you know. It’ll be the death of him, too.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: a quiet place au, apocalypse!, established relationship, pregnancy, angst, romance, hurt/comfort, horror!, death!, descriptions of giving birth, subtle signs of postpartum!d. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything. this is a work of fiction.

𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: MDNI, multiple-smut scenes, missionary, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving

𝗐𝖼: 22k — playlist.

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: thank you to my girl izzy, who made me watch a gameplay and unknowingly sparked the idea for this story. and a big thank you for my angel, cam — for sticking with me through everytime i got confused, scared, or just plain lost. i love you both.

“What?” you breathe out, with pretensing offense. You rest your head against his bicep, his arm curled around you, fingers gently combing through your hair. His other hand traces idle patterns on your skin, his thumb brushing your cheek, to the corner of your mouth, then down the column of your neck. “So you want me to die first?” you ask quietly.

He hums, nodding, a lopsided, boyish smile playing on his lips as you roll your eyes. He laughs under his breath, the sound warm, and shifts closer, his bare skin pressed to yours, “When we’re old,” he says, “so old everything’s white and wrinkled and slow…” He pauses to laugh again, eyes crinkling as they find yours, soft, because he’s seeing the softness on yours too. “If we die from just... being that old, I want you to go first.”

You blink, stunned for a second, and he continues, his voice gentler. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you being left behind. I’d rather stay just a little longer. To hold your hand through the end. To take care of you until your last breath. Until I know you don’t have to be alone.” His thumb brushes your cheek again, slower this time. “And when you can’t see me anymore… then I’ll go.”

They say marriage dulls love eventually. That over time, it settles into something quieter... less magic, more habit. Maybe that’s just how it goes. Maybe that’s what people mean when they call it normal. You see fewer families that are still whole. You meet more children who learned how to cope with absence before they ever learned how to tie their shoes.

You're lucky, they say, if your husband still comes home at night. Not even with flowers or apologies just... home. That’s what your mother always told you. Maybe because it was easier to say that than admit she was waiting for a man who rarely looked her in the eyes. Maybe she believed it, after enough nights of watching your father’s gaze follow women who weren’t her.

And as you got older, resentment took root. Maybe it wasn’t just men you started to hate. Maybe it was love itself or the idea of it. The way it demanded pieces of you and called it devotion. The way it asked you to wait, to bend, to stay small. You built walls. You spoke in sharp edges. You told yourself you were safer alone than ever being seen and still not chosen. You wanted nothing of it; none of that soft, foolish ache your mother carried in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

No one really tells you that even the strongest walls don’t always hold. That storms, no matter how loud, eventually... settle. And that the sky doesn’t bloom with colour until the rain has had its say. You didn’t see it coming. How everything you once said you’d never need, never want, could begin to change. Almost without asking permission.

All because of one person.

You still remember the day you met your husband.

“Hey.”

You froze at the sound of Kai’s voice, jaw tightening as you continued folding flannels at the booth with your back still to him. Cold. Distant. And he knew exactly why.

He sighed, because yeah, he fucked up. And now you were icing him out, and rightfully so. He, along with Taehyun, had worked painstakingly to earn a place on your side. Now here he was, ruining it in one careless moment. “Y/N, I’m sorry, okay? I thought you already knew that — ”

“That what?” Your voice cut clean through the air, sharp. You finally turned to face him, and for a second, he almost wished you hadn’t. Your eyes weren’t tearful or hurt, they were hard. Disappointed.

You weren’t just anyone, you were the spine of this whole group. The one no one dared cross. The one everyone looked to when things got messy. Queen of the batch, they called you. And right now? He knew exactly how small he was beneath your gaze. Kai cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands, his guilt too loud in the silence between you. He glanced at Taehyun, desperate for backup, but Taehyun didn’t even look up. He kept shuffling papers like his life depended on it, like the tension in the room hadn’t tripled.

He wasn’t getting saved.

Not this time. “Uh—”

“I told you to study for it, Huening Kai. Am I right?” The full name. Shit. Even he knows that’s when it’s bad. “So we could present together. And now you’re standing here telling me you didn’t even look at your assigned parts?”

“I forgot, okay?” he stammers, eyes wide and guilty. “There was band practice, and then—there was—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He snaps his mouth shut instantly, lips pressed together in a dramatic pout. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, like a kicked puppy trying to look cute.

You sigh, deep and tired. Not just at him but at yourself, for expecting better. For thinking this time he’d actually take it seriously. Your fingers press to your temples as you close your eyes briefly, grounding yourself before you say something worse. He’s looking at you like he’s one bad breath away from a full apology or running.

A year ago, you would’ve let the anger win. You would’ve said something that bite, just to feel like you still had control, but you now don't. Because now… now you’re learning to make space for the boy standing in front of you.

“Kai…” you start, softer now, “I didn’t ask for perfect. I just asked for effort. Fine, I'll do it.”

Kai’s about to open his mouth, probably to try another sorry excuse — when a loud laugh echoes across the auditorium, careless. You glance up instinctively. There they are; two seniors strolling in like the place was built for them. The taller one with deep dimples flashes a grin, saying something that makes the other throw his head back in a laugh that fills the space. He’s all hair and arrogance, long strands brushing the tops of his shoulders. Your eyes narrow, tracking him across the room.

Do they even realize this is an important event? Do they care? You roll your eyes, jaw clenched as irritation flares anew, like a match struck just a little too fast. Beside you, Kai quietly mutters another apology, but your attention has already shifted, redirected like a storm changing direction. You hate it, how easily they command the room. How everyone watches them. How they know they’re being watched. Just because they’re seniors.

Entitlement looks good on them, and that pisses you off even more.

“I hate that guy,” you mutter.

Taehyun follows your gaze. “Be specific,” he says, monotone. “There are two.”

“The loud one,” you snap. “One with the hair.”

Taehyun hums, unbothered. He knew why. “Of course.”

Kai leans in. “Be honest… is it hate, or is it hate-hate?”

You shoot him a glare so sharp he visibly leans back. “Okay. Hate it is,” he nods quickly.

Even as you turn away, your eyes flick once more to the boy with the laugh that somehow still echoes in your head.

You hate him.

You do.

The day moved in a blur. Fast at first, then agonizingly slow as your turn crept closer.

Most teams had two, sometimes three people standing up there together. You had no one. Alone behind the podium, trying to hold yourself upright on nothing but adrenaline and a little bit of pride. Still, you managed. You held your own. Answered every question crisply, clearly, almost like you’d rehearsed in your sleep. Everything was going fine. One of the panelists shifted in their seat, glanced down at their notes, then asked, “What do you think is the most important thing we should do for prospectives?”

It wasn’t a technical question. It wasn’t numbers or science or theory. It wasn’t anything you could calculate or memorize or recite.

You froze. Not because you didn’t care, but because that part of the project, that question was Kai’s. You stood there, blinking once, then twice. You could calculate a compound’s atomic behavior in a heartbeat, you could solve a formula blindfolded, but this? This felt like a punch to the gut in front of everyone. You focused on facts, ratio and numbers too much. It was so simple, so human, and you're giving silence.

You could feel it. eyes narrowing. Confusion settling. Their expectations hanging in the air like lead. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? Is this all you are? Talk? No follow-through? You’re about to clear your throat, to say something, anything, to fill the itch clawing at your throat, when movement catches your eye.

In the very back, nearly hidden by rows of students, a hand lifts into the air. Not high. Not obvious. Almost like it wasn’t meant to be seen. No one else notices, except the boy next to him, who nudges him, brows raised. Your eyes stay locked on him.

Choi Beomgyu.

He doesn't speak, doesn't call out. He just forms a shape with his hands. Subtle, a quiet symbol drawn into the space between you.

A heart.

It feels louder than anything else in the room.

You look away. Swallow the lump rising in your throat. And when you turn back to the panelist, your voice finds itself. “Heart,” you say, “The most important thing is to reach the heart of your audience. Because if you don’t connect, nothing else will matter.”

A breath slips from your lungs the moment you catch the flicker of approval on the professor’s face.

Everything ended, hours pass and around you, the noise returns. Chairs scrape. Bags zip. Voices rise again like nothing happened. Kai and Taehyun are already across the table, heads down as they quietly gather the presentation materials.

You feel Kai’s eyes flick toward you, but not at you. Past you.

You turn. Choi Beomgyu stands just a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you like he isn’t sure if you’ll stay or walk right past him.

You sigh, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “Alright,” you mutter, “It’s due, isn’t it? What do you want?”

Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard. His voice is quieter than you expect, almost like he wasn’t planning to speak at all. “…A thank you?”

“Thank you,” you mutter, barely meeting his eyes. Out of the corner of your vision, you catch Taehyun dragging a starry-eyed Kai away, literally pulling him by the elbow. A few students glance your way too, some whispering. You know why.

The two students, each known as the best in their own batch, now suddenly in the same frame.

“I know that’s probably not enough,” you sigh, folding your arms. “Men never really settle for just words, do they? What is it, food? A favor? Something for your class? Say it.”

He laughs softly. “I just think…” he starts, then trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “I just think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s why I did it.”

You blink. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. He’s flushed now, stammering through the rest. “I, I mean — I’ve watched you since before. Not in a creepy way, I swear. But just… fuck, you could sell poison and I’d still line up for it.”

A laugh breaks from your chest before you can stop it. He grins, almost in disbelief, like he can’t believe he got you to laugh.

What you didn’t know back then, what no one could’ve told you, was that the same boy standing here, flushed and awkward and a little reckless with his heart, would be the one to melt it all away, would be your exception, and would be the one to stand at the end of an aisle, eyes shining, waiting to marry you.

You blink, stunned for a second, and he continues, his voice gentler. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you being left behind. I’d rather stay just a little longer. To hold your hand through the end. To take care of you until your last breath. Until I know you don’t have to be alone.” His thumb brushes your cheek again, slower this time. “And when you can’t see me anymore… then I’ll go.”

They say marriage dulls love eventually, but as your eyes blur with tears from the way he looks at you, so full of awe, as if you’re still something he can’t believe he gets to hold, and as your heart pulls tight at the gentleness in his voice, you know they were wrong. If anything, he loves you more. As if every day, his heart just finds a new way to fall for you.

“I love you,” you whisper, it's small but he hears it. He doesn’t speak — he can’t. His mouth moves around the words I love you too, but his voice catches before it can reach you. His eyes shine, his throat tight, and all he can do is look at you.

It’s been six years since you first met your husband, Beomgyu. He pursued you like you were gravity itself. He waited for you outside your lectures, rain or shine, just to walk you back to your dorm. He brought you coffee before exams, left sticky notes on your textbooks, made it his mission to learn the things you loved, just so he could love them too.

Within months, you said yes. Not just to being his girlfriend, but to the rhythm of a life slowly intertwining with his. Breaks became your sacred hour. Homework turned into nights side by side, papers spread out like puzzle pieces, his laughter softening the cruelty of long days. You studied. You dreamed. And you fell, so deeply, so fully, it terrified you. By the time Beomgyu graduated, it wasn’t just your hearts that had found home in each other. Your families met and clicked as if the universe had been planning it all along.

While Beomgyu poured himself into his Biology degree, interning as a lab researcher with determination, you chased a harder dream. You wanted to become a general surgeon — something that demanded long hours, relentless focus, and years more schooling. You feared the distance your ambition might create, the strain it could put on, but Beomgyu never flinched. He adjusted, he waited, he stayed.

He carved his own path slowly, carefully, becoming a research specialist step by step, all while holding space for you to grow. He never made you choose. Instead, he became the steady presence who picked you up on your worst days and celebrated even your smallest wins.

And when the time was right, when you were still tired from hospital rotations, hair a mess, hands aching from studying; he knelt on one knee, ring in hand, eyes full of the same certainty he had when he first saw you.

It’s been two years since you said your vows; two years of being married, of building a life not just in promises, but in the everyday. You’re both in your late twenties now, older, a little more tired maybe, but grounded in something stronger than youth. You’re still studying, pushing through the final stretch of your residency, while he’s found his name with respect in the field he loves.

Beomgyu wakes up early with you, even when he doesn’t have to. He packs your lunch on days you forget, leaves notes on your coffee cup when you’re too bleary-eyed to speak. Some nights, he waits up just to reheat your dinner, just to ask how your shift went, even if your words are half-slurred with exhaustion.

And still, somehow, he looks at you like it’s the first time.

Every hard day ends with him. Every version of your future still starts with him. In all the chaos, he remains your calm. In all the movement, he remains your constant. You used to wonder if love could last, if love was real. Now you know — it is. It just takes someone who chooses you every single day, even when the days are long and the words are few.

Beomgyu never stopped choosing you.

"You’re free today, right?" your husband asks as he flips a pancake, his tone light but full of meaning. “I was thinking... we could just stay in bed all day. Cuddle. Make love. Just… be.”

You choke on your orange juice, sputtering as the sweetness burns down the wrong pipe. Even after all these years, he still manages to catch you off guard. “Y-Yeah,” you cough out, cheeks warming. “I don’t have anything today. I remembered you were off.”

He flashes that boyish grin, throwing both fists in the air. “Yes!” he whispers dramatically, the spatula still in one hand. You giggle at the sight, he’s always a little ridiculous when it’s just the two of you, and your heart aches with how much you love him like this. He sets the pancakes down with exaggerated care, and you help him plate the rest, moving around each other in that familiar, wordless rhythm. Now seated across from him, he digs into his food with satisfaction, and you take your first bite too.

He looks up between chews. “Wanna watch a movie later?”

You were just about to speak when something twisted deep in your stomach, a pressure climbed your throat. You barely had time to register the panic flashing across Beomgyu’s face before instinct took over.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, half-rising from his seat. His voice trembled with concern as he watched you press a shaky hand over your mouth.

You couldn’t answer. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as you bolted upright, your body moving before your brain could catch up. You heard him call your name behind you, but the sound was already drowned out by the thudding of your heartbeat and the desperate rush of your footsteps toward the bathroom.

Your knees hit the cold tile just in time.

Everything came up in a rush — sour, bitter. You gagged again, pain wracking your stomach as it emptied itself. The bile scorched your throat, your eyes watering from the force of it. You clutched the edge of the sink with one hand, the other trembling against your abdomen. Pancakes. It had to be the pancakes, right? But… you loved those. You always had.

Everything hurt. Your stomach cramped with each heave, your throat burned, and your head spun like the room had tilted sideways. Every wave of nausea pulled you further under, like drowning in your own body. Everything feels horrible, everything is —

“Hey… breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

Warm hands on your back. Beomgyu’s touch moved up and down your spine in soft, reassuring strokes. After a second, you felt him gently gather your hair, pulling it away from your face. His free hand found your knee, cupping it softly, a barrier between your trembling body and the cold, unyielding floor. “More?” he said, voice thick with worry.

You didn’t answer, not yet. The nausea had finally passed, but you still felt wrung out, hollowed. You reached blindly for the flush, the mechanical whirl of water echoing louder than it should have in the small room. “Are you okay? Something wrong with the food?”

“I… I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, fragile. Your legs feel unsteady as you slowly rise to your feet, and Beomgyu is there in an instant, arms steadying you, eyes never leaving your face.

He follows you to the sink in silence. You grip the cool edges of the porcelain and glance up at your reflection, pale and drawn, but it’s not just your face you’re looking at; it’s his eyes in the mirror, still locked on you.

He looks scared.

You rinse your mouth, trying to rid yourself of the sourness. You reach automatically for the mouthwash but pause when your eyes catch your sealed box of tampons, untouched. Something tugs at your chest. Your breath stills.

When… when was the last time?

“Gyu,” you say softly. He hums in response, giving you space to find your words. You turn just enough to look at him, really look at him. His brows are knit in concern, lips parted like he’s already halfway to asking what’s wrong again. You swallow hard, voice barely a breath.

“You should buy me some pregnancy tests.”

It was the longest three minutes of your life.

You sat on the closed toilet lid, elbows on your knees, hands clutched tightly together. Your heart pounded like a warning bell, loud in your chest, loud in your ears. Across the small bathroom, Beomgyu paced like he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or break down.

"Shit, my heart is about to burst," he muttered, running a hand through his hair for the fifth time. His eyes kept darting toward the sink, where two pregnancy tests sat waiting. “Should we call your parents? My mom? What do we even need to buy, diapers? Vitamins? A crib? Wait, we don’t even know yet — ”

"Beomgyu." You said his name firmly, and he froze. His eyes snapped to yours, wild with thought, but something in your tone reeled him back in. “You’re more frantic than me,” you said softly.

He let out a shaky laugh, barely a breath, then crossed the room in two steps. He knelt in front of you, his hands warm as they cradled your face. His forehead met yours with the gentleness of a promise. "Whatever it is," he said, voice steady now. “Whatever the outcome… we’re okay. You and me.”

You nodded, pressing your eyes closed for a second, to hold the weight of this moment between your bodies. The fear, the hope, the fragile anticipation curling in your chest.

Your alarm goes off, Beomgyu grips your hand.

Two pink lines.

You didn’t know what happened in the next few seconds, it all blurred. You knew it wasn’t final, that a doctor’s confirmation still waited ahead, but none of that mattered, not when Beomgyu looked at you like you’d handed him the universe.

He lifted you with a laugh that cracked, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. His lips found yours again and again, messy, full of awe. You had to push him back just to breathe, only for him to chase after you, kissing you like his life depended on it. You started painting a picture behind your closed eyes.

A home. A life. Beomgyu. And your... child.

He carried you to the bed in a blur, laying you down, “You're carrying my baby,” he whispered, breath ragged, brushing your hair from your face. “God, I can’t believe, I love you, I love you so much—”

Then his mouth was on you again, trailing from your jaw to your collarbone, down to the curve of your breasts. He cupped them gently, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tightened beneath his fingers. He kissed every inch, like he was memorizing you anew, lips worshipping the swell of your chest, the softness of your stomach. When he slid your panties down, he did it slowly, eyes never leaving yours. His fingers parted you, tender at first, then more firm as you gasped beneath him, the heat of your body answering his touch instantly. “You feel so warm,” he murmured, voice almost breaking. “So perfect. Mine.”

His mouth followed, tongue tasting you slowly. Your back arched. His hands pressed your thighs open wider, and you cried out his name, your hands tangling in his hair. He climbed over you, his cock pressed hard and aching against your entrance, you reached for him. He moved slowly at first, savoring every inch of you, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you whispering between breaths. “I love you.”

His pace quickened as your moans filled the room, his hips snapping forward harder, deeper, one hand cupping your breast, the other finding your clit. But even then, his eyes never left yours, wide and glassy.

He came with your name on his lips, his body trembling above yours. He didn’t pull away. He just held you, panting against your skin, his hand sliding protectively over your stomach.

“I’ll give everything to you,” he whispered, “To both of you.”

It felt like the rest of your life had just opened its doors, and welcomed you home.

“Yeah, I’ll drive safely, I promise,” you say into the phone, balancing it between your shoulder and ear as you push the shopping cart forward. “The weather’s nice today, so I thought I’d swing by and visit Ryujin later too.”

“You should’ve waited for me to come home before going out,” Beomgyu grumbles on the other end, and even though it’s just a call, you can hear the pout in his voice.

You smile to yourself. “I couldn’t wait two more days, hun. Maybe it’s the hormones? I just really needed to get out of the house.”

You bow politely to an elderly couple who step aside for your cart. There’s a flutter in your chest, not just from the grocery run, but from the soft awareness that you’re not alone in your body anymore. He sighs, his voice softer now. “How’s the shopping? You still okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, reaching for a box of cereal and dropping it into the cart. “I haven’t thrown up all morning, actually.”

“That’s good.” A pause. Then, “Work’s alright. Busy. The relocation is almost done, they’re giving me one more project before I get to be picky again.”

“Picky?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to be.” You hear a faint smile in his voice now. “My wife’s pregnant.”

“Beomgyu… you’ve been boasting about it to everyone, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have,” he says, without an ounce of shame. “I made it.”

You laugh, unable to help it. “Sir, it’s my body.”

“And I’m the co-founder. Are you trying to use science against me now?”

“Well,” you tease, biting back another grin, “if you only think that way…”

“Don’t.” He cuts you off with a playful groan, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Stop right now or I swear, I’ll drive home just to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it, light and full of something so easy, so whole. You hear his own laughter follow. For a moment, the world feels small. His voice in your ear. Your hand on your stomach. A swell of joy on your chest.

Everything had felt too perfect.

You turned down another aisle, cart wheels squeaking softly against the floor as you absently listened to Beomgyu's voice through the phone. He was moving around on the other end, probably getting ready to head back to work after spending his whole break talking to you.

Your hand reached for a bottle of ketchup when the ground shifted beneath you. It was so subtle at first you thought you imagined it, but then, another jolt. Harder. A low rumble filled the air, then the shelves trembled.

Screams erupted down the aisle,. Someone dropped a basket. Another shouted. The floor seemed to tilt and shudder, the metallic clatter of falling cans and shattering glass erupting around you like a storm. Your phone slipped from your hand.

“Shit,” you breathed, backing away instinctively, heart lurching to your throat. You let go of the cart and crouched low, one arm bracing against the shaking shelf, the other instinctively cradling your stomach.

You dropped to your knees, trying to stay steady as the floor trembled. Panic rose like bile in your throat. You scanned the store, heart hammering, searching desperately for an exit, but you were deep in the back. Trapped between rows of falling items, far from the doors, far from safety. As soon as the tremors stopped, you scrambled for your phone, fingers fumbling to grab it from where it had fallen. The screen was cracked, but still lit and his voice came through immediately.

“Baby? Are you okay?” Beomgyu’s voice was tight. “There was an earthquake. You need to get out of that store, now. Find open space. Keep me on the phone. Just hurry, but be careful.”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding in your ears. “Okay,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I’m okay. I’m — ”

Your words froze. A scream ripped through the air, guttural. You turned instinctively toward the sound, but the aisle was empty. Your feet stilled. The grocery store, which had just been chaos, fell into a thick, sudden silence.

Too quiet.

You stepped forward slowly, eyes darting around, and saw a man at the far end of the aisle. He looked confused, his brows furrowed as if he too had heard it but didn’t understand. He looked at you, seeking answers you didn’t have.

You pressed the phone closer to your ear. “Beomgyu…” your voice was barely above a whisper, “something’s wrong.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sharp shuffle of movement on the other end. “Get out of there. Now,” he ordered, voice low but firm. “Don’t wait. Go home. I’m already on my way.”

“HELP! PLEASE, HELP!”

The scream shattered whatever silence was left. It wasn’t fear, it was terror. Pure, bone-deep terror.

Your breath caught in your throat as people started running, shouting over one another, shopping carts abandoned and crashing into shelves. Panic took over like a wave, and you ran with it, feet moving before your mind could catch up, heart hammering so violently you could barely breathe.

“What?” you gasped out loud, the word foreign and unreal in your mouth. “Was it the earthquake? What’s happening?”

You were seconds from reaching the crowd gathering near the store’s front exit when everything stopped.

Because through the tall glass panels, beyond the automatic doors, you saw it.

It wasn’t human. Its body was long, towering, its legs grotesquely jointed and thin like twisted branches. Its skin looked slick and dark, somewhere between rotted brown and black, like it had grown from the earth itself. And its head was massive, lopsided, glistening under the sun.

It was sprinting.

Right toward the entrance. Right toward you.

Your body moved on instinct, run. You turned, bolting in the opposite direction, the air thick with screams and the thundering of feet. Your hands were shaking so hard, your phone slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor without a sound. You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

You didn’t look back.

Thuds. Cracks. Wet. Tearing.

They're dying. You were moving too fast, too desperate. The screams behind you changed, twisting from fear to agony. It was killing them.

Run.

Your arms wrapped around your stomach like a shield, legs pushing you faster than they ever had before. You turned down an aisle blindly. More screaming. Another crash.

Your ears rang from the sounds. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely keep yourself upright. The store, once so bright and dull and normal, was now a labyrinth of blood and chaos and shadows and you were running for your life through it. It wasn’t over.

Another one ripped through the grocery store’s left wall like paper, jagged limbs piercing through the broken frame, its massive head twitching unnaturally as it unfolded itself into the store. The sudden eruption sent you stumbling; you hit the floor hard, landing flat on your back, the breath knocked from your lungs. It was already inside. Long legs scraped against tile, too many joints bending in ways that made your stomach turn. It moved with intent, frenzied.

It was running towards a woman, five feet in front of you.

“Mommy!!” A child. No older than six. His tiny voice cut through, making the creature snapped its head around, twisting its body in a full.

You gasped. In less than a second, it lunged.

The boy didn’t even have time to move. One hideous limb lashed out, a blur of motion and then there was blood. His body hit the shelf behind him, crumpling like a doll, small hands twitching once before going still. The mother screamed. A scream that sounded like it broke something in her throat. She ran but not away. Toward him. Toward where her son used to be and the monster met her halfway.

You could only watch. Helpless. Paralyzed. The creature descended on her like a machine — limbs slashing, tearing. Her scream didn’t last long. The sound turned to wet gurgling, bones cracking beneath the weight of its strikes. Her blood painted the tiles in uneven splashes.

You pressed a hand to your mouth. You feel the burn in your eyes.

It should’ve gone for the woman. She was right in front of it —motionless, exposed. The obvious target. The child screamed. He was farther away, barely in its path. He just screamed for his mother, a sharp, panicked sound.

And that was all it took.

It turned. It moved. Not toward the closest body, but toward the sound. The child made a noise, and the monster struck. Then the mother screamed, and it went for her next. You glance at it. It’s not attacking you. Its head is smooth. Perfectly round. No eyes. No mouth. No face at all. It has no eyes. It hears. If your theory’s wrong, if it can see you — you’ll be dead.

You stay still, your body trembling against the cold floor. Every instinct screaming to run, to hide, to cry but you keep your mouth shut.

You don’t make a sound.

You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your skin had turned ice-cold, and every hair on your body stood on end like a warning. It moved slowly at first, almost aimlessly, like it was feeling its way through the dark. Then, out of nowhere, a police siren shrieked past outside. The creature recoiled, let out a piercing, guttural scream, as if it had been set on fire. He went out, harsly running towards it's next target, leaving you alone.

Your legs are weak, but you forced yourself to stand. The store was dead silent now. Too silent. The smell hit you. Thick. Coppery. Blood.

Everyone's dead.

You didn’t dare speak. Not even a whisper, the sound might draw it back. Your feet moved on their own; slow, unsteady, barely touching the ground, every creak of the tile felt deafening. You were trying not to breathe too loudly.

You needed to get home. Home. Just get home.

You’d have to drive, but if you drove… they’d hear. They’d come. Just like they did when that police car screamed past, sirens blaring — the car was torn apart like it was nothing.

You swallowed hard. Your throat was dry. Your phone. Where was your phone?

Beomgyu.

His name hit you like a punch to the chest. Choi Beomgyu. He told you to go home. He said he was on his way. No. No no no no. He can’t come here. He can’t. Your breath caught. Panic bloomed sharp and fast, stealing the air from your lungs. You pressed a hand to your chest like it might hold you together.

You were supposed to scream. That’s how the body processes fear, but how do you let it out, when silence is the only thing keeping you alive?

You move through the store like a ghost, each step slow and deliberate as you make your way to the essentials section. Outside, the world is chaos. Screams slice through the air. The guttural shrieks of monsters rattle your bones. You flinch every time. Your hands tremble. But you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

You have to do this. He’s waiting for you. You need to see your husband, just once more, even if it’s the last time.

You sling the backpack over your shoulder. You trade your shoes for boots — quieter, sturdier. Thank God you wore pants. Beomgyu’s sweatshirt still clings to your frame, carrying the faintest trace of him. You pull gloves over your hands, muffling every touch, every sound. The back door creaks when you open it. You freeze. Wait. Then move. It takes forever.

No matter how long it takes, no matter how many times your heart threatens to shatter, you're going home.

You’ve been walking for almost three hours.

You should’ve been home an hour ago, but your steps are slow, too slow. Every time a monster crosses your path, every time something horrific stares back at you from the shadows, your feet freeze. They root to the ground like they’d rather become stone than move forward.

You kept going. One more turn and you'd be home. You could already feel it. The warmth of your apartment, the way the hallway light flickers, the sound of his voice saying your name. You could almost see his face. You didn’t care what came next. Not the monsters. Not the sky falling. You just wanted to see him again.

You smelled it first. You saw it next.

It's on fire. Your building was on fire.

You almost stumble when you see them, multiple monsters gathered across the street, drawn like moths to the roaring flame consuming your home. The crackling fire must’ve called to them, like some kind of death song. You press yourself against the wall, heart pounding in your ears, eyes scanning the streets with desperate hope.

Is his car here? Is he? He drove. If he drove, he wouldn’t have made it back. Not through this hell. The realization sinks in like a knife twisting in your mind, cruel. You had hoped. Foolishly, stubbornly. Even without a phone, without power, without a single sign, your heart had held on to the idea of seeing him again.

Now you stand in front of a burning building and wonder what’s left to hold on to.

That morning flashes through your memory, so painfully clear now. The way he got up quietly, kissed your cheek, your forehead, your nose, over and over like he couldn’t bear to leave. You let sleep take you, too warm, too safe to stir. You didn’t even say goodbye.

If you had known…

If you had known, you would’ve woken up. You would’ve pulled him back into bed, wrapped yourself around him like it could stop time. You would’ve held him until the sun rose twice.

A piercing screech rips through the air, dragging you violently back to reality. Your breath hitches as your body flinches on instinct. You stagger back a step, your vision swimming, not from fear, but from the tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

You stare at the fire swallowing your building, and the truth finally settles, cold and merciless: He’s not here. He’s not coming back. The chance of finding him… it was impossible.

The fire devours everything you once called home, and in your mind’s eye, it scorches more than walls and furniture. Your college photos, where he smiled like the world was a little softer with you in it. Your wedding day, frozen in frames, dressed in love and laughter. The letters he wrote, the ones he hid in lunch boxes and slipped between pages of your books, always signed with too many hearts. All gone.

You're now a hollow shell with shaking legs and a heart left behind in a home that no longer exists. You start walking because there’s nothing else to do. You don’t know where you’re going. There’s nowhere left to go. No plan. No direction. You dreamed of years with him in that apartment — mornings, chaotic dinners, shared laughter in the kitchen. Your child one day, his eyes, your smile. You dreamed of life.

Everything that was his, everything that was yours, is now reduced to ash.

You’re curled up inside an abandoned house.

It’s not safe, but it’s hidden. You chose it because there’s less chance they’ll hear you here. You sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, trying to eat. Your hands move like they belong to someone else, raising food to your lips in slow, mechanical motions. Just two bites and your stomach twists violently, rejecting it. You press a hand to your mouth, fighting the urge to throw up.

And then it comes again, your tears. You don’t even try to stop them now. They slide down your face, soaking into your sleeves. Your throat tightens with a sob you can’t release because crying out loud would kill you.

You cry in silence, your body shaking, your chest heaving like you’re trying to breathe through water. Your heart hurts. Physically hurts. And for what?

What’s your purpose now?

You were supposed to be a doctor. You had plans, you spent years of studying, training, pushing your limits because you wanted to help. You lived with your hands busy, always reaching for someone else. You belonged in the noise, in the rush, in the healing. Now… there’s no one left to help. No one to save. Not even yourself.

The only peace you ever truly knew was in his arms, holding his hand, feeling his heartbeat next to yours. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you wonder if it would be easier to just stop breathing. Should you give up?

Is this how it ends?

You run your hands over your head, fingers digging into your scalp like you’re trying to wake yourself from this nightmare. It made you feel your bracelet. Still there, wrapped around your wrist. His gift. His promise. A piece of him, holding on.

No. You can’t give up. What would he think if you did? Are you really going to leave him behind? Are you going to take your child with you into nothingness, before they even have a chance to live?

The thought slams into your chest like a hammer. You gasp, and your breath catches on guilt. Your hands fall to your stomach, shaking. Your eyes are dry, swollen, wide open; sleep hasn’t touched you since the last time he held you. The backpack presses into your spine like punishment. It’s heavy with food, with survival, but you refuse to take it off.

It's for you, for Beomgyu, and it’s for the tiny life growing inside you.

You’re going to find him. You have to.

Beomgyu is smart — brilliant in ways that always amazed you. Steady in a storm, the calm to your chaos. He thinks ahead, plans, protects. He wouldn't give up on you. He’s out there right now, searching, heart clenched just like yours, whispering your name.

You won’t let him search in vain. You press your hand over your stomach again, eyes burning with the fire that refused to die with your home. You’re going to find him.

In a world where sound means death, love — no matter what — will find a way to speak.

Your footsteps barely make a sound.

Stay quiet. Stay alive.

The earth bites at your bare feet, the pain is familiar now, it's almost a comfort. A week ago, you watched your home dissolve into flame and smoke, and it’s been a day since you last slept.

You remember those lectures, they taught you about ecosystems; how every life is woven into another, a perfect balance of give and take, but ever since that day, you are a creature of instinct, hiding from the eyes that stalk the dark. You are prey — breathing, moving, breaking beneath the weight of a world that no longer feels like it belongs to you.

Your stomach growls. It's been hours since your last bite, and now more than ever, you know you can't ignore it. You're not just feeding yourself anymore. You're eating for two.

A sharp sting shoots through your foot. You flinch, glancing down just long enough to spot a smear of red blooming beneath a piece of broken glass. You moved to remove it, slowly. You don't look back at it twice.

Up ahead, you see a grocery store, the sign hangs by a single hinge. You scan the street, abandoned cars, shattered windows, silence stretching thick around you. No movement. No monsters. Not yet.

You push the door open.

Inside, dust and decay hang in the air. Inside, two sets of eyes meet yours from across the aisle. Wide, startled. Human. Just like yours.

Just as afraid.

It’s hard; trying to learn names, to meet someone new, when none of you can speak. Everything will take effort, a will. A notebook and a pen.

The first one you came to know was Soobin. Tall, easily over six feet. His eyes are wide and searching, his hair tousled by the wind, and when he smiled, you noticed the dimples tucked into his cheeks, softening everything. Then there’s Yeonjun, the older one. Sharper features, eyes shaped like a fox, always watching. There’s a seriousness to him, still, he welcomed you the best he could, a nod, a shared look, a warmth that didn’t need sound. You learned they were roomates even before all of this happened, and they managed to stay together, something that made your chest ache.

Strangers were supposed to be dangerous, but something about these two…felt like you already knew them.

It’s your turn with the notebook.

You sit at the table, pen trembling slightly in your hand. Soobin and Yeonjun lean in just enough to read over your shoulder. They told you the store had already been picked clean — nothing left but dust and broken shelves.

So you write anyway. It’s all you can offer.

I'm Y/N. You pause, then press the pen harder. I'm looking for my husband, and I'm pregnant.

There it is, laid bare between the lines. You need them to understand that you're a risk. Your hand hesitates before writing the next part, the words scrape against something tender. If you think I'll be a problem, you can walk out that door, and I won't even look.

Your throat tightens, then you add, in a small, hurried scrawl — But… could you please help me get some food first?

You don’t look up. You’re too afraid of what you’ll see on their faces.

A gentle weight settles on your shoulder. You flinch before realizing it’s Soobin. His hand is steady, reassuring. When you look up, he meets your eyes and nods once, firm and certain.

Then he takes the pen. We'll help you find him, he writes.

You feel a solid in a world that’s been crumbling around you.

You turn to Yeonjun. He doesn't say anything but he jerks his chin toward the broken doorway, already slinging a pack over his shoulder. The look in his eyes is clear as daylight.

Come on, it says. We got you.

You’re not alone anymore.

You slipped easily into the space between Soobin and Yeonjun. It was reckless, you knew that. Three people moving together meant more noise, more danger, but being apart felt worse. As if, despite everything, people were meant to stay close.

Your thoughts snapped back to your husband. The ache didn’t just sit in your chest — it clawed at it, hollowing it out. You could still feel his fingers, ghostlike, curling around yours. His last touch. Your hand drifted to your stomach. A reflex. Yeonjun glanced over, catching the movement, but said nothing.

You searched. You searched everywhere. Every street, every shattered doorway, calling his name in your head even when your lips stayed shut. Was he ever here? Is he even alive? In a world this broken, how do two people ever find their way back?

A thought sparked, something like an idea, but it died just as fast. Your body had other priorities, hunger twisted through you like a threat. You needed food, you needed him, but you could only chase one at a time.

You glance over your shoulder, eyes catching the dull lettering of the grocery ahead, the next stop. Soobin raises two fingers, pointing left. A silent signal. He’ll cover that side. Yeonjun peels off toward the center aisles, moving like he’s done this a hundred times.

That leaves you with the right. Your steps are slow. Every possible creak of the old floor sounds too loud in your ears. You scan the shelves like it’s life or death, because it is. Empty. Empty. Crushed box. Broken glass. Then, cans.

Unopened. Untouched. Real food.

A breath nearly escapes your lips. Relief flutters in your chest, fragile and disbelieving. You move toward it, heart pounding. One hand reaches for the cans. The other tugs your backpack open, inch by inch, slow enough that the zipper barely whispers.

Then, a hand. Over your mouth.

It clamps down hard, cutting off your breath before the gasp can even rise. You freeze. Every muscle in your body locks.

“Don’t make a sound, unless you’re ready to die, sweetheart.”

His voice is so small, but it curls around your ear hot and foul. You flinch as his breath hits your skin, as the rough scrape of his beard grazes your neck. Your eyes sting. You could fight him, but deep down, you know what waits beyond the walls, things far worse than this man. You shift, just a fraction, and he feels it. Cold metal bites into your ribs. The blade doesn’t pierce, not yet. It just promises to.

You stop moving. You stop breathing. You surrender, not because you’re weak, but because survival, for now, means silence. If he hurt you, youu know the truth: there’s no hospital. No rescue. No safety coming. If this goes wrong, it ends here. His hand slips from your mouth only when he’s certain you won’t scream but it doesn't mean mercy. His grip just shifts, closing around your throat instead. Tighter. Controlling.

You can’t breathe. He drags you backward like you weigh nothing, your heels scraping the ground, until he throws you down hard. The floor is uneven and you catch yourself with shaking hands, terrified that even a whisper of sound might bring something worse.

Your mind is chaos. Screaming. Do you cry for help? Do you risk it? Do you die now or later?

Beomgyu.

You shut your eyes. Everything in you trembles. You feel him settle over you, heavy, disgusting, his breath rancid and far too close. It coats your skin like oil. You’d rather die than let this happen —

A sickening, wet gurgle cuts through the silence, and the weight on top of you vanishes. You gasp, chest heaving, and force your eyes open. The world swims for a second and then sharpens into something worse.

The man is on the floor now, thrashing. Yeonjun is on top of him. No hesitation. No mercy.

His right hand is clamped around the man’s throat, every tendon and vein in his arm straining with force, crushing down hard, precise, too precise to be chance. His other hand smothers the man’s mouth, muffling the sounds, denying him even the dignity of a scream. Yeonjun uses his entire body like a weapon, knees pinning limbs, muscles taut with pure intent.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t stop watching. It's an execution, and he’s doing it for you, because of you.

Tears blur your vision as the man beneath Yeonjun convulses, still clinging to life. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore. Then you see Soobin, he’s moving toward the scene, eyes wide, taking it all in. His gaze lands on you.

He sees the disheveled mess of your hair, the way your pants are undone, your hand trembling where it’s pressed to your stomach. The tear tracks down your cheeks. The blood. And Yeonjun, Yeonjun is killing someone.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate. He rushes over, voice caught in his throat, and reaches for you slowly, carefully, like you might shatter. He pulls you into him, your sobs muffled against his shoulder, arms wrapping tight around you as if to hold the broken pieces together.

Choi Beomgyu gazed at the fading ink scattered across his atlas, a map once full of purpose, now a constellation of lost turns. His eyes wandered the streets around him, searching for a thread to lead him back to the place he used to call home.

He had barely lifted his foot when your face came back again. Your eyes, wide with something between wonder and warning. The way you tilted your head when you were about to say something you knew he’d carry for days. Not even an hour had gone by where you didn’t consume his thoughts, knocking the air from his lungs and paralyzing him for a moment. He missed you. Fuck he missed you terribly and it was enough to render him utterly immobile at points.

Slowly, he drew breath back into his lungs, as if your memory had knocked the wind from him again. Your smile lingered in his mind like a permanent mark, something carved so deeply it could never fade.

He didn’t regret much in his life. Not really. But there was one thing that still clung to him in the quiet: saying yes to this project. It had taken him so far away when everything began to fall apart, when the creatures first touched the earth and turned it into something unrecognizable.

He remembered the shape of you in his arms that morning. You were half-asleep, warm against him, head tucked beneath his chin. He had held you tightly, longer than usual, something in his gut whispering that he shouldn’t go. That he should stay.

You had been tender that week, more emotional than usual, your morning sickness growing worse by the day. You tried to wave it off, brushing his worry aside with a soft laugh, saying you could handle it. But he knew the truth without needing the words. He didn’t want to stay because you were fragile. He wanted to stay because he loved you. Because something in him already knew that those small moments beside you were more precious than anything the world could offer.

And now, as the world burned quietly behind him, all he could think about was how badly he wished he had listened to himself.

You were the one who gave his life direction. The one who turned his quiet ambitions into somewhere full of heart.

He still remembered the first time he really saw you, serious eyes behind the glasses you used to wear, walking across the college grounds like you belonged to another world. He noticed everything. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear. The soft shift in your lip gloss, from peach to plum.

You didn’t even know it, but you changed everything.

He started showing up in places he had no reason to be. Hallways, benches, classrooms that had nothing to do with his schedule. He didn’t care. If there was a chance of crossing your path, that was reason enough. He used to dream about doing big things, things that would make the world remember his name.

With you, he didn’t want to be remembered. He just wanted to matter.

Where is he now, without you by his side?

His chest tightens, another tear threatening to fall questions flash through his mind. Where are you? Are you safe? Are you eating well? How are you holding up? How could he have left you? Alone, pregnant, in the middle of all this ruin?

His body trembles, but he keeps his lips sealed. He wants to scream, to let the pain claw its way out, but he knows — if he does, if he lets himself fall apart, he may never find his way back to you.

He exhales shakily, eyes scanning his atlas again. He traces the route with his finger, committing it to memory, over and over, as if repetition alone might lead him back to you.

He opens his bag and spots the other notebook, the one he had been working on for days. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, he wrote. Plans. Escape routes out of the city. A way to get you out.

He dreamed of getting you onto a boat, finding an island. Somewhere the monsters wouldn’t follow, because he noticed they never touched the water. It became an obsession. He fell deep into it, mapping out every detail. He wrote about how to plant seeds, how to care for them, how to harvest and store food so it would last. He filled pages with water purification methods, survival skills, solar energy setups.

He wrote everything he could; every instruction, every method, every technical detail, even the tender, private things no one ever teaches you to write about. He couldn’t help it. When the nights stretched on too long and sleep wouldn't come, he found himself scribbling through the quiet, as if the act of planning could hold the world together.

He even wrote about how to deliver a child.

You’re going to be a doctor. He knows that. You’ve studied the science, memorized the steps, probably laughed at the outdated textbook he clung to like scripture. Still, he copied it all down, page after page. Not because you needed it. But because he needed it, needed to feel like he was doing something, anything, to be useful to you. To be ready for the moment he might never see.

He wanted so badly to be there. To hold your hand. To keep you steady through the pain. To see the first breath, the first cry. To help you bring life into a world that had done nothing but try to take it.

But he wasn’t sure life would give him that chance.

So he wrote as if he could carve a future into the pages. He planned for a life he might never live, for a child he might never hold, because loving you meant preparing for everything, even the parts he’d never get to share.

He did it because, without question, he would give his life for yours.

He starts walking with heavy heart.

He can't wait to see your face again.

You eat the cereal with your hands. It’s warm, soft on your palms.

"Did you check that spot too?" Soobin asks, his voice low as he takes another bite. "We should mark it before we forget."

"I did," Yeonjun answers, cradling his cup, "We could go further south if we push a little."

Soobin nods slowly, chewing the last of his food. Then he turns to you. "You want seconds?"

They always ask you that. They always wait for your answer, like they won’t take more unless you say no, as if your hunger matters more than theirs.

You shake your head. "No, I’m full. If I eat more, I’ll probably throw up again. Everything’s been... hitting harder lately."

Yeonjun watches you, something flickering in his eyes, he adjusts his backpack, but his attention doesn’t leave you. "You want me to bring you something? Anything?"

It’s been a month since you last saw them. Now, you’re almost three months along. Your belly is still small, but there’s a pressure growing beneath your skin. A heaviness that feels alive.

"I want to go," you say quietly. "I didn’t go yesterday."

Yeonjun lets out a breath and looks at Soobin. "Fine. You're sticking to Soobin."

Soobin reaches for your plate without a word and tosses it into the trash bag. The small gesture is gentle, almost second nature. You watch as the two of them move around the room, gathering what they need like it’s routine now; water, packs, weapons. You quietly sling your own bag over your shoulder, your eyes sweeping over the basement.

You’d only known them for a week when the three of you stumbled on this place. A half-flooded stairwell led you down into silence. Down here, everything is muffled. For a little while, it let you talk without fear. For a little while, it felt safe.

It was here you learned Yeonjun used to be in the military, an intelligence officer. The way he spoke about it was calm, detached, and it explained how he was able to kill the man who hurt you easily. It made sense now, how he moved, how he watched the world like he was still in a war.

Soobin was a journalist, once. You weren’t sure what kind of stories he used to tell, but something in his eyes said he’d seen more than he ever planned to write.

The three of you had your places in the old world. You belonged somewhere, back when society had a shape, but now you’re all pressed together in this dark, breathing basement. No roles, no titles. Three people trying to hold on, and somehow, even the ground feels like it could turn against you.

You tried to explore the city whenever you could. You wanted to believe you were helping, thay you were doing something for find your husband.

Yeonjun once told you, "If Beomgyu’s alive, he’ll come to you. To this city." And that was enough. Enough to keep you here. Enough to make you stay, even when everything in you wanted to run and search every corner of the world.

You still went with them most of the time — on supply runs, short recon trips, but the days were getting harder. Morning sickness hit you like a wave that never let up. Some mornings, you couldn’t even lift your head off the pillow. The room would spin, and your stomach would twist until you were dry heaving into whatever you could reach.

But when Yeonjun and Soobin left without you, and you're all alone, all you could think was; What if he’s out there right now? What if today was the day he came, and you weren’t there? What if he leaves again, thinking you’ve already gone?

It was unbearable.

You feel it rising in your throat again, the nausea curling sharp and bitter, but you force it down. You don’t have a photo of him. Nothing physical to hold onto. All you could offer Yeonjun was a description: long hair, brown eyes, a soft nose. His kind eyes.

You stand. Your body is begging you to rest, but you won’t.

You’re going to find him.

You walk slowly, every step careful. Soobin trails a step behind you, equally silent. Yeonjun moves ahead, eyes scanning the surroundings with his keen eyes. He’s always the first to enter, the first to clear the way. You’re nearing the place now, the one they thought might hold something useful.

You stop at the edge of the road, eyes sweeping the stretch ahead. There’s not a soul in sight. Just the skeletal remains of the world; empty cars rusting in place, glass glittering like ice on cracked pavement. A city caught mid-breath and never exhaled.

Yeonjun gives a signal. One hand raised, sharp and brief. Soobin nods and disappears inside with him. You stay outside.

You stand there alone, heart echoing against your ribs, eyes tracing the silence. You think of your mom. Wonder if she and her husband made it out. If they found shelter. If they’re warm. You think of Taehyun and Kai — how they promised to meet you, how you couldn’t wait to tell them the news. You wanted them to be godfathers. You pictured their stunned smiles, the way they’d tease each other about who the baby would love more.

Now you just hope they’re breathing.

Your throat tightens. Your eyes start to sting, and you blink too fast, hoping the tears will stay where they are. There’s a deep ache rising, slow and thick, like something caught in your chest that won’t move.

Are you giving up?

You turn your head.

To your right, there's a figure. It's still. Watching you.

Your breath snags in your chest. For a second, everything stops. Then your body moves before your mind can catch up, your feet carrying you forward, faster, harder. You feel a jagged stone bite into your heel, but you don’t care. You can’t stop.

You’re not even close yet, but he opens his arms.

That smile —so boyish, so heartbreakingly familiar — spreads across his face like sunlight cracking through storm clouds. His eyes full of disbelief and relief and something so painfully tender, it breaks you.

Choi Beomgyu catches you mid-sprint, arms locking around your body like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You clutch the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands move over your back, your shoulders, your hair, as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again. His hands protectively settles on your stomach. His worry presses into your skin like a second heartbeat.

You feel him breath.

You’re home.

Two men inside the store stops to watch. In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something hopeful in the way two lovers find each other again. In the ash of everything lost, something warm still flickers.

Beomgyu can’t stop touching you.

He hasn’t said a single word. None of you have. When Soobin and Yeonjun stepped out of the store and saw you still wrapped in his arms, it was like Beomgyu already knew everything.

He knew you’d been with them. He knew they kept you safe.

Now he walks beside you, never letting go of your hand. His fingers stay wrapped around yours, warm and steady, like he’s afraid you might disappear again if he loosens his grip. Every few steps, he squeezes your hand — three times. You remember what it means. His thumb keeps brushing over your palm. His eyes flick down often, scanning the ground ahead of you, making sure there’s nothing sharp or dangerous in your path. He’s guiding you, gently, without needing to say a thing.

As you neared the entrance to the basement, Yeonjun and Soobin wordlessly veered off toward another path. They didn’t need to say anything, it was clear they were giving you and Beomgyu a moment alone. Your heart swelled with gratitude.

You turned to look at them, eyes wide, a smile breaking across your face as if to say; I found him. It was written in every part of you, in the way your shoulders had softened, in the way your steps felt lighter, in the light blooming behind your eyes.

Soobin smiled back instantly, almost proudly, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as much.

Yeonjun's gaze held yours a second too long. Then it drifted to Beomgyu, to the way you leaned into him, glowing like the sun had finally returned to your skin. Slowly, Yeonjun offered a faint smile —small, almost careful. When you directed your blinding smile to him, he looked away as if he was burned, hands tightening just slightly around the strap of his bag, with one thought in his mind. You were no longer his to worry about.

You never really were.

“Be careful.” You freeze.

It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice again, echoing gently down the narrow stairwell. You’re halfway down, and Beomgyu is just below you, one step lower. His hand is wrapped around yours, steady, guiding, making sure you don’t rush the descent. He watches your footing, not because he doubts you, but because he can’t bear the thought of you falling — even now, even for a second.

When your feet finally reach the floor, your chest tightens and your breath breaks. Before he can say a word, you pull him into your arms, hard, your face burying into the space between his neck and shoulder. Your body clings like it remembers the shape of him better than your mind ever could.

He catches you with a quiet laugh, though you feel the way it shakes in his chest. “What is this?” he murmurs, arms wrapping tight around you. “I’m usually the clingy one.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, already crying. “I missed you so much. I can’t— I can’t believe you found me. I kept hoping but... I didn’t know if hoping was enough.”

You feel him breathe in, shakily, “I looked for you every day,” he says, his voice thick, barely keeping steady. “Every goddamn day. I didn’t care what was out there. I just… needed to find you.”

He pulls back only enough to see your face, to brush your tears away with trembling fingers. “I promised you, didn’t I?” he whispers.

His lips press to the crown of your head. His arms tighten around you like he’s trying to put you back together just by holding you. You close your eyes, and when he kisses you again — your hair, your temple, your cheek, something in you breaks open. The tears come fast and uncontrollable.

Every moment you had suffered alone fades under the warmth of him.

“I told you I’d find you,” his voice cracks. “I told you I’d get to you. I’d get you back.” His hands slide from your shoulders to cradle your face. His thumbs brush your tears.

“How’s my wife?” he continues, “Has it… has it all been too much? I’m so sorry. And the baby — ” his voice falters, eyes glistening. “How’s our baby?”

You guide one of his hands to your stomach. His eyes drop, and when his palm meets the curve of you, he stills. His breath catches like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“We’re okay,” you whisper. “I’ve managed. Somehow.” You let out a soft laugh through your tears, and he smiles, completely undone.

“I’m here now,” he says, his hand never leaving yours. His eyes find yours and hold there, “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you again. Not ever.”

You look into his eyes, and the world blurs around the edges.

In them, you see a thousand versions of the man you’ve loved. The boy with sleepy eyes and ink-stained fingers, laughing across a college hallway. The groom with trembling hands, choking back tears as he vowed to stay. And now, husband worn by distance, a father held together by hope. A man who found you through ruin because loving you never stopped being his compass.

You nod, and then your body moves on instinct, into his arms, into the only place that’s ever truly felt like home.

He catches you, like he always has.

It doesn’t undo the nights you slept with a hand on your belly and silence as your only lullaby. It doesn’t erase the fear, the ache, the long quiet suffering of missing someone like breath.

But as your tears spill freely, soaking into the space where his heartbeat thuds against yours, you know those days have ended.

You stir the pot with a soft smile, the warm scent of the soup rising around you. Beside you, Beomgyu quietly sets out the plates, his own smile lingering as he watches you in silence. Carefully, you begin to ladle the soup, dividing it evenly between four bowls.

“Perfect timing. I’m starving,” Soobin announces as he steps in from the basement entrance, Yeonjun close behind, dropping his bag with a thud.

Everyone started eating silently.

The fire had burned low, its soft embers glowing red in the center of the dark room. You sat close to Beomgyu, your knee brushing his. His hand hadn’t let go of yours since you all sat down. Beomgyu cleared his throat, making Yeonjun looked up from where he sat. Soobin turned his head slowly, his brows slightly raised.

Beomgyu didn’t look at them right away. His gaze was fixed on the floor, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. What I’d say. How I’d say it. But I don’t think there’s a right way.”

He finally looked up, and when he did, there was something heavy behind his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice catching a little. “Yeonjun. Soobin. You didn’t have to take care of her. You didn’t owe me anything. But you did. You kept her safe. You made sure she had something to eat. A place to sleep. You looked out for her when I couldn’t.”

Yeonjun shook his head. “Of course we did.”

Beomgyu shook his head back, more firmly. “No. You don’t understand. You saved my family.” He swallowed hard. “That’s something I’ll never forget.”

Soobin’s jaw flexed, like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Beomgyu took a breath. “But I didn’t come here just to say thank you. I found something and I think it’s our only chance.”

You looked at him, heart beginning to pound. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “I watched the monster,” he said. “I got close enough to learn how it moves. What it wants. And I found out what it’s afraid of.”

Soobin leaned forward. “What?”

“Water,” Beomgyu said. “It won’t cross it. I tried. I led it toward the river. As soon as I stepped in, it stopped chasing me. Like it hit an invisible wall. I waited, and it never came closer.”

Yeonjun sat up straighter. “You’re sure?”

“I’d bet my life on it,” Beomgyu said. “Which is why I’m done hiding. I’m done letting it trap us in basements and shelters and holes in the ground.”

He turned to look at you, and for a second it was like you were the only two people in the room. “I want her to live. Really live. Not in fear. Not underground. I want her to breathe fresh air and feel sunlight without checking over her shoulder. I want a life with her. As my wife, with our child who can laugh freely. On our own terms.” You felt your throat tighten, his words sinking deep into your chest.

Beomgyu turned back to the others. “There’s an island. I found it a while ago in the map. It’s surrounded by water on all sides, and it’s untouched. It's safe, the monster won’t reach it. We could build something and start over.”

Soobin rubbed a hand over his face, thinking hard. “How far?”

“Two or three days’ travel, depending on how we move,” Beomgyu answered. “It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible either.”

“You really believe this’ll work?” It was Yeonjun.

“I have to,” Beomgyu said. “Because I’m not going to lock her in another basement and pretend it’s living. Not when I know there’s more out there.”

There was a silence. A deep, contemplative one. You could feel the shift in the air as the weight of his words landed. Soobin’s voice broke the quiet. “You’re right. We’ve been surviving for so long, I think we forgot what it means to hope for something better.”

Beomgyu looked between them, his chest rising with a shaky breath. “You’ll come?”

“We’re with you,” Soobin said.

“Let’s get out of here,” Yeonjun added, nodding his head.

Beomgyu turned to you again, eyes soft, voice barely above a whisper. “You ready?”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, but your hand in his said everything.

To live.

Your bare feet press into the cool earth as you quietly follow Beomgyu. His hands are warm, fingers gently wrapped around yours.

It’s late. When Beomgyu heard there was a river nearby, he didn’t hesitate, he brought you with him. A backpack rests against his back, packed with clothes you’re supposed to change into later. He stops at the riverbank, his hands giving yours a soft squeeze as he takes in the scene. You follow his gaze. The moonlight spills over everything, silver and soft, making the water shimmer.

All you can hear is the steady rush of the river and the beat of your own heart.

Beomgyu drops the bag with a quiet thud that still manages to startle you. You squeeze his hand to catch his attention. He turns to you, a tender, mischievous warmth flickering in his eyes.

I got you.

He helps you change, careful and quiet, his touch reverent like he’s handling something fragile. His eyes never leave you. They stay soft, full of something deeper than want. He watches you like he's trying to remember this forever, like every small shift of your body is something precious. You move, and he watches — not in hunger, but in awe. He leans in and kisses you, a small, delicate thing at first, like he couldn’t help himself. Then again. And again. Each kiss is a little longer, a little deeper, breaking the stillness of the night with something tender and aching.

Every time a piece of clothing falls away, his lips find a new place —your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your collarbone. His hands are slow but searching, both greedy and gentle, as though he’s trying to memorize you in the dark. The space around you is filled with breath, the whisper of fabric being pulled away, the quiet gasp of skin meeting night air. He takes his time — not because he has to, but because he wants to. The world has fallen away. There’s no fear.

You should feel exposed. Vulnerable. You should feel small out here, with nothing to hide behind but night and moonlight. Monsters do walk the earth. But right now, with his hands on your skin and his mouth pressed to your shoulder, none of that feels real.

All you feel is him. And all you feel is you're with him.

When you’re both down to your underwear, he laces his fingers with yours and gently pulls you toward the water. Your clothes lie scattered behind you, his backpack nearby, forgotten in the hush of it all.

You let out a quiet gasp the moment the water touches your skin. It’s colder than you expected, sharp enough to steal your breath. Beomgyu hears it and a boyish smile blooms on his face like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

You both begin to move, letting the river cling to your bodies. You dip your hands into it, run it through your hair, over your arms. Beomgyu steps in closer and helps you, brushing wet strands from your face, smoothing water over your shoulders with slow, open palms. He never stops smiling.

He's painfully, achingly beautiful.

You can't stop looking at him. Even like this — drenched, flushed, eyes shining, you couldn't believe he's here. With you.

Then, in the hush, his voice cuts through the air. “Do you know how much I love you?”

You freeze. Your heart kicks up, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You snap your hand over his mouth, eyes wide, panic flooding your chest. He’s not supposed to speak. You both know that. Your breath quickens. His eyes search yours, calm even as yours fill with fear. Then, with both hands, he gently pulls yours away from his mouth. And shouts.

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU.”

You gasp, the sound sharp, almost wounded. It slips out before you can catch it. The fear floods you so fast it feels like drowning — your chest tightens, your eyes flick to every corner of the dark, waiting for something awful to rise from it.

But Beomgyu is already there.

His arms find you, pulling you close, wrapping around your body like he’s trying to shield you from the night itself. His voice is low, calm, pressed right against your ear. “Shh… baby, it’s okay,” he whispers, steady and warm, even as your heart races. “They won’t hear us. Not with the river this loud. I promise.”

You try to believe him, but your body won’t let go of the panic. Your eyes keep searching, flicking past him to the trees, the edges, the places where darkness pools. He sees it — every trace of it. His hands slide up to your face, cradling you gently, and he turns your gaze back to him.

“Look at me,” he says, quiet but firm. “Baby, look at me.”

He holds your face like it’s something breakable. Like you’re something precious. His eyes are full of everything, “I’m here,” he says, and his voice wavers. “You can speak here. With me. It’s safe.”

You didn’t expect those words to undo you.

But they do.

Tears rise fast, burning at the edges of your eyes before you can blink them away. Your chest caves in, your breath catching on a sob that doesn’t quite make it out, because it’s not just the fear — but it's the feel of safety. His lips press to your temple, over and over, slow and steady, like he’s kissing every thought away. Every fear. Every shadow.

“Beomgyu.” Of all the things you could’ve said, it's the only thing that makes out of your lips and he hears it. He holds you tighter, arms locking around you like he can feel the way you’re coming apart. Like he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, barely audible. “I’ve always got you.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like the old you again.

Not the one shaped by fear. Not the one always looking over their shoulder, waiting for the world to crack open, but the version of you that could breathe without flinching. The one that could laugh without guilt. The one that still believed in softness, in safety, in being held without needing to run.

You think about his plan. You see him on that island. Sunlight in his hair. Laughter in his mouth. His hand still in yours. You see quiet mornings. Salt in the air. Your child running through the sand.

It surprises you — how quickly it comes back. How easily Beomgyu pulls it from wherever it’s been buried. Just by being here. Just by looking at you like you’re still whole. You rest your forehead against his, still trembling, still wet with tears, but lighter, like some part of you had been locked away and he just found the key without even trying.

His thumb brushes your cheek.

You rise onto your toes and kiss him lightly, a whisper against his mouth. He answers with a groan, his hands, already firm around your waist, tighten, drawing you closer. Your bodies press together, water running down your skin.

It all blurs after that.

You don’t remember how he led you out of the river, or when your feet touched dry earth again. All you know is the feeling of his mouth never straying far from yours, his hands guiding you with quiet urgency, his breath tangled with yours. You feel the soft fabric of your clothes beneath your back, a supposed anchor on the ground, but it’s him that keeps you from floating.

His kisses come fast, deep, like he’s afraid to stop. You try to pull back to catch your breath, your lips swollen and wet, but he finds you again instantly, like your mouth is the only place he knows how to go. You breathe through your nose, one hand on his shoulder, the other tangled in his hair, holding him close even as you try to steady yourself. It’s overwhelming — how much he wants you, how much he loves you, how much he means it.

“Beomgyu…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. Your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Beomgyu grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing your wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Beomgyu thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. Your hooded eyes met his. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Beomgyu slightly rut his hips on the bed.

“Out here?” You asked. He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back. “Shit,”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn't help myself.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands gripped his steady shoulders. “I'll take care of you, okay?”

“I missed you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He kissed your skin tracing everything. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. He moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. Once satisfied, he pulls back, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and palms his erected cock.

“Beomgyu, please…” You cried when Beomgyu started to rub his shaft on your slit. You're sensitive. Every time his head hits your bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Beomgyu took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, feeling his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

Beomgyu kissed your bracelet when he was entirely in. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of the moon.

Beomgyu started moving slowly when you nod your head, careful to not give any pressure to your stomach, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“You’re made for me. You were made for me that I couldn't stop thinking about you everyday we were apart.” Beomgyu growled, kissing your ear lobes.

“Yes, yes, Beomgyu, please… I've missed you so much.” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“I love you. So fucking much.” He stared into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Beomgyu spilled his load inside you.

The world feels soft.

Beomgyu laughs — just a breath of it, barely a sound. He’s looking at you, eyes warm and shining, hair a mess. There's a smile on your lips, one that you know wouldn't go away anytime soon. “I think we should probably wash again,”

You let out a shaky laugh of your own, nodding slowly. “Yeah… probably.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you again, quick and sweet this time, before pulling himself up and reaching for your hand. You take it, and he helps you stand. The grass sticks to your skin. You both look like a mess.

A beautiful, completely loved mess.

Beomgyu keeps close, brushing his hands over your back, your shoulders, helping you rinse off with the same kind of careful attention he always gives you. Even now, even after everything, he still wants to take care of you. You splash a bit of water at him, half on accident, half on purpose, and the way he laughs makes your chest ache. In the middle of a broken world, you found something that made you forget.

If you had known what the morning would bring, if you had even caught a glimpse of it, you would’ve clawed your way out and screamed for him to stop. You would’ve gripped his face in your hands and told him no.

You would’ve begged him to stay.

You're jolted awake by a rough, urgent shake.

A gasp escapes your lips as your eyes fly open, meeting Beomgyu’s — wide and panicked. He doesn’t say a word, just presses a finger to his mouth. You hear shuffling somewhere nearby, feet scuffing the floor. The sound drags you fully upright as Beomgyu hauls you to your feet.

Yeonjun’s voice cuts through the dark, you don’t catch the words, but the tension in his tone curls around your chest. You feel your heart pounding at your back, thudding like footsteps too close behind.

You’re confused. You’re supposed to be asleep. Supposed to wake up with the sun, gather your things, and head for the island like you planned. So why are you being woken up now?

“Hey,” Beomgyu whispers, leaning in close. “We need to move. Now. Stay right next to me. Don’t let go.” You nod, too scared to speak.

You slip out of the room, makeshift curtains brushing against your arms like ghosts. Your breath catches as your eyes land on a man standing at the entrance to the basement, someone you've never seen before.

An intruder.

His eyes are wide. There's dirt on his clothes, blood maybe, and in his shaking hand, he holds a gun. In one swift movement, Beomgyu steps in front of you, shielding you completely from view. His body becomes a wall.

"Leave now," the man growls. His voice is rough, edged with fear. "Or I’ll fucking shoot."

Soobin’s voice rises from somewhere to your right, “And bring every monster straight to us?” He takes a careful step forward. “We’ll leave. You can have this place, just put the gun down.”

“Where are you going?” the man demands, pointing the gun. “Tell me.” His voice is unsteady, laced with paranoia. His eyes flick from face to face, wild and unfocused. “Do I have to kill you all?” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ll know I’m here. You’ll all know. Food, food’s making everyone lose their minds. I have to kill you.”

His finger twitches. The click of the gun being cocked cuts through the room like a blade.

“No!” Soobin shouts. In a flash, Yeonjun lunges forward, slamming into the man. They hit the ground hard, bodies twisting, the gun scraping against the floor.

“Fuck — stop it!” someone yells. It might be Beomgyu. It might be you. You don’t know. You’re shaking. Your legs won’t hold steady, all you know is Beomgyu grabbed your hand, pulling you back, pulling you away.

The gun goes off. For a moment, everything stops. The sound still ringing in your ears, but the basement has fallen into a dead, ringing silence.

The door is wide open. You don’t have to be told — they’re coming. They heard it.

You stumble to the side, eyes scanning the room. The stranger lies crumpled on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Yeonjun’s hands are still pressed to the man’s neck, trembling. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Soobin—”

You turn and see Soobin clutching his thigh, blood seeping through his fingers. His face is pale, jaw clenched tight as he leans into the wall for support.

“They heard that,” you say. “The monsters. We need to move. Now.”

Beomgyu pulls you forward, stumbling through the basement entrance as the first screech slices through the night. It's not far. It's too close. Your chest feels like it might cave in. Behind you, Soobin’s limping, dragging his leg. Blood streaks down his thigh, every step a raw, gritted miracle. Yeonjun is practically holding him up, jaw clenched.

You turn to Beomgyu. “Help them.” He pauses, eyes locking with yours, hesitation written all over his face. Fear.

"Go," you whisper again, voice cracking. “Please.”

Soobin sees Beomgyu step in to help, “Fuck No,” he growls. “Don’t even fucking think about it. Take her and go.”

“You’re bleeding out,” Beomgyu fires back. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“You will,” Soobin spits, swaying. “Y/N is the one who matters. You know that. We’re dead weight. If you stay, she dies too. They will die too.”

You want to scream at him. To punch him. To beg him to shut up and run, instead, your voice comes out hollow. “Don’t do this.”

“We’ll find you,” Yeonjun looks at you. “Just—keep going. If we’re not at the docks in thirty minutes…” He doesn’t finish.

The next screech tears through the trees.

Soobin pushes Beomgyu with what strength he has left. “GO! We'll die here.”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe as your body trembles beneath the weight of what’s happening. Beomgyu’s hand wraps around yours, tugging —pulling you away but your feet refuse to move.

Your eyes stay locked on them.

On the two people who’ve saved you more times than you can count. Who shielded you when the world was falling apart. Soobin is barely standing now, blood soaking through his pants, the stain growing darker with every step. You know what that means. Without help, without first aid, without a blood transfusion — he won’t make it.

You know it like a law of nature.

Yeonjun catches your stare. He holds your gaze, and in his eyes, you see no plan but one truth. He’s not letting Soobin die alone.

The tears come faster now, hot and aching, slipping down your face like they’re trying to carve the grief into your skin. You want to hold it in — to bite your tongue, to stay composed, to be the version of yourself they would’ve needed but something in you breaks.

You remember Soobin’s soft, tired smile as he passed you his last piece of bread. The way Yeonjun would nudge you during tense nights just to remind you he was still there. You remember the warmth of their presence when everything else was cold and cruel. You remember laughing with them once.

Would you have been friends if the world hadn’t ended? If you met in some ordinary place with clean air and normal lives? Would Soobin still have been loud and protective, would Yeonjun still have had that steadiness that made you feel safe? Would they still have chosen you?

Would you have been friends?

Your chest crumples, folding inward under the weight of guilt and sorrow you weren’t ready to carry. You hate yourself for it — for moving, for breathing, for leaving when all you want is to run back and hold onto them until the monsters take you too. How do you live with this? How do you keep going when you know the last thing they saw was you, walking away?

Beomgyu’s hand is still in yours. Tight. It was as if he could read your mind. He pulls you forward. You take one last look at the place that held the only people who made you feel safe.

They don't look at you.

The boat rocks beneath you, a fragile cradle adrift in an endless stretch of black water. It creaks softly, as though mourning its own presence in this place. All around, the lake swallows light and sound alike, vast and terrible. The moon hangs overhead; distant, cold, and half-hidden behind slow-moving clouds, offering only the faintest glow, just enough to paint a silver line across the rippling surface.

Beomgyu crouches near the motor, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His fingers tremble as they fumble with the ignition. You see the way his shoulders curl inward, how his body fights the cold and the fear. Each breath he draws fogs the air like a whisper of everything unsaid between you.

A violent jerk. The motor snarls to life. A metallic scream that shatters the silence, ripping through the night like a wound torn open too fast.

From across the water, something shrieks. It’s high-pitched, keening, filled with something ancient and wrong. The sound claws at your spine, drags your heart into your throat. Beomgyu swears, as he slams the switch off. The motor stutters, dies. Silence crashes back down, heavier than before, suffocating.

He turns to you. His face is pale, eyes wide, wild, but not breaking. There’s something in his expression: an apology, a promise, a plea.

He’s scared.

Your throat closes. You shake your head, violently, as if you can shake away the sound, the cold, the truth. Tears burn hot as they spill down your cheeks, turning everything to watercolor — his face, the sky, the glint of water around you. “No,” you whisper, then louder. “No. No. No.”

He cups your face in both hands. His touch is gentle but urgent, like he’s trying to memorize you through his fingertips. His thumbs brush away the tears even as more fall. He leans in until his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow, his voice barely a whisper.

“Listen to me,” he says, as if you’re the only thing left in the world worth speaking to. “The lighthouse. If I set off the alarm, they’ll come to it. All of them. It’s the only way.” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t pull back. “I promise I’ll come back to you. As soon as I can. Okay?”

You can’t breathe.

You’re drowning on dry land, lungs stuttering in your chest. Your hand flies to your mouth, stifling a sob that wants to tear its way free. Your shoulders shake, and you’re shaking your head, hard, as if denial could somehow become magic, could rewrite this moment, this choice. Could unmake the dark.

He grabs your shoulders now, steadying you, grounding you. You feel the strength in his grip, but it’s the fear underneath it that nearly undoes you.

“I’ll come back,” he says again, softer now. Like a lullaby meant to soothe a child before the storm hits. “I swear it. I’ll just set the alarm. That’s all. I’ll be fast. It’s only a monster or two, right?” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s loud enough — they’ll follow it. They always do.”

You’re gasping, shoulders heaving, eyes wide with terror. You reach for him, mouthing please, please, like a prayer torn from your soul, like the word alone could hold him here with you.

“Turn on the motor,” he says, voice barely above the sound of the water lapping against the boat. “Wait until I set it off. Then you go.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the word scraping out of you like glass. “No.” It’s barely a sound, a whimper with nothing behind it but pain. He leans in again, presses a trembling hand to your chest, right over your heart. You can feel the heat of him, the pulse in his palm, how human he is and how fragile.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispers, like it’s a truth that can live beyond this night. “I’ll always be with you.”

Then his voice breaks. Just for a moment. A single crack that shatters everything. “Do it for me. Do it for our child.” he says, eyes glistening now. “Please. Can you promise me that?”

You want to scream. You want to grab him, hold him, drag him back into the boat and never let go. You want to tear the sky open, to rage at whatever gods let this happen, but all you can do is shake.

Tears stream down your face, silent and relentless. Panic floods your lungs, thick and sharp, suffocating you from the inside.

It’s small. Weak. A terrified, shaking nod that you gave him.

It’s enough for him.

Beomgyu leans in, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead. His hands come to rest on your stomach, fingers splayed, clinging to the shape of a future he’s terrified of losing. His breath stutters as he closes his eyes, trying to hold himself together, trying to find the courage to do what he must.

He thinks of you, every night you held him when the world felt too heavy, every morning he woke to your warmth, your voice, your smile. He thinks of the moment he first saw you, how everything shifted. And now, he thinks of the tiny heartbeat beneath his palms. His baby. The life you made together. His throat burns. He doesn’t want to go.

He doesn’t want to leave.

He doesn’t want to leave you.

When he looks at you again, his eyes are glassy, his jaw clenched like he's fighting something inside himself. For a second, he looks like he might undo it all. Like he might fall to his knees, beg forgiveness for even thinking of leaving. You see it in the way his mouth opens, closes. The way his fingers twitch against your skin.

He exhales, as if he was surrendering.

He runs.

His feet hit the dock, loud and jarring against the soaked wood. You watch his silhouette stretch, then blur, then vanish into the fog, swallowed whole by the night. Your body wanted to run after him.

The motor is silent, the water uncaring. Your sobs fill the space he left behind. You cover your mouth with both hands, curling in on yourself, choking on everything you can’t say.

Grief doesn’t care about survival.

Out in the distance, the lighthouse looms — a black tower against a blacker sky. A smudge of shadow, barely visible through the fog.

The siren starts.

It erupts without warning, a scream of metal and wind, a shriek that splits the night down its spine. It wails — long, unrelenting, merciless. A sound made to summon death.

The monsters answer.

You hear them first — screeches rising from the treeline and the water’s edge, inhuman and furious. Then you see them. Dozens. Maybe more. Crawling from the dark, leaping like shadows pulled by strings, limbs too long. They move toward the sound, toward the light.

Toward him.

Drawn like moths to flame.

You’re frozen. Paralyzed in the center of the rocking boat, breath locked in your lungs. The siren still echoes in your ears, though it's fading now — its afterimage seared into your mind like lightning behind your eyelids.

It stops.

The alarm cuts out mid-wail, a guillotine of silence. The absence of sound is deafening, unnatural. And you know.

You know what it means.

Your body doesn’t move, can’t move. Only your eyes, wide and glassy, locked on the lighthouse in the distance. Come on. Come out now. You can't even speak his name.

Dark shapes twist and writhe around it — shadows crawling over stone, blotting out the structure in violent waves. The creatures consumed. You watch helplessly as they pour over every surface, spilling like oil, thick and writhing, until the tower looks like it's bleeding darkness. Your heart stops.

Do it for me. Do it for our child.

Please. Can you promise me that?

Can you promise me that?

You kick the motor. Hard.

It roars to life with a scream like tearing metal. The boat lurches forward violently, cutting through the water. The fog whips past you, moonlight slicing in thin ribbons across the surface. Your sobs vanish in the sound. Swallowed by the engine, the waves, the night.

Why did you let him go? You knew this wouldn’t save him. You knew. So why? You should’ve held on tighter. You should’ve clung to him like your life depended on it because it did. You should’ve buried your face in his chest. Why did you let him go?

Tears stream down your face, hot and constant, your hands white-knuckled on the controls. You’re not steering toward hope, you’re fleeing from loss. From the truth that’s clawing through your chest like something trying to escape, because you weren’t just leaving the lighthouse. You were leaving your heart behind.

You were leaving him.

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

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

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy loves you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

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

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

You sat there, staring at nothing. Your face hollow, your eyes dry. You don’t know how long the boat’s been still, you only know it stopped. You must’ve reached the island, but you don’t care.

He's not here.

You don’t remember standing.

One minute you’re sitting there, still and silent, and the next your feet are moving — stiff, like they don’t belong to you. The dock creaks under you as you step off the boat, but even that sound feels distant, like it’s happening to someone else. Trees sway in the wind.

He’s not here.

The ground feels too solid, like it’s mocking you. You stare at your hands, like maybe they’ll stop shaking. You keep walking, because what else is there to do?

One foot in front of the other. The boat pulls away behind you.

He’s not here.

You spot a cabin ahead. A small, weathered thing nestled between the trees—and suddenly, you remember his hunches. He knew this place. He was right. He was always right.

You push the door open. It creaks under your hand. Inside, it’s cramped, barely furnished, but it’s enough. You exhale. For a moment, the silence almost feels like peace.

He’s not here.

“What am I supposed to do now?” The words escape you in a whisper before panic takes hold. Your breath catches, short and ragged, and soon you're gasping. Your chest convulses with sobs you can't control. A scream tears from your throat. You hurl your backpack to the ground. It thuds against the floor. Rage spills out in curses, flung at the walls, at the stillness, at the unbearable absence. You grip your hair, trembling, and begin to rock, trying to hold yourself together as everything else breaks apart.

“You told me…” The words tore from your throat, ragged and broken. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you screamed into the emptiness, hollowed out by the ache twisting through your chest. “You told me you’d come back.”

You cried, long after your voice gave out and your body folded in on itself. Arms wrapped tight around your ribs, as if holding yourself could keep you from falling apart entirely. Your face was hot and swollen, eyes raw from the endless wave of tears.

Again and again, you called his name.

The only sounds are your own ragged sobs and the shallow breaths you no longer want to take. Each inhale feels like a betrayal, each exhale a reminder that you’re the only one alive.

You curled into a fetal position, lost in the tide of your thoughts, barely noticing as the light fades. At some point, the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Now, darkness presses against the windows, and still, you haven’t stirred. The world outside continues on, but in here, time doesn’t move. You don’t move.

Your stomach growls, a hollow, aching sound that reminds you how long it’s been.

You shift to your right, slow and heavy, and your eyes land on your backpack — the one you threw in a fit of something you couldn’t name. It sits there, slouched and half-open, like it gave up, too.Things spill out from the top. Torn corners, bandages, small bottles rattling inside a plastic pouch.

Your chest tightens.

Beomgyu packed it. Every piece. He had gone over it with you more than once, made sure you understood; this is how you clean a wound, this is what you take when your fever spikes, this is what you plant when there’s nothing left. You swallow hard.

Something else is there. Tucked just beneath the flap, barely visible. Something you don’t remember. Something he never mentioned, and before you can even think about it, your body moves on its own. You’re already pushing yourself up, legs unsteady, heart in your throat. You open it, your hands trembling around the edges of a notebook you don’t remember packing.

The pages fall open easily, worn from use. Every single one is filled.

His handwriting. Small, uneven. Rushed, but careful in the way only Beomgyu could be when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t scared. Instructions. Notes. How to plant seeds. When to water them. How to tell when a crop’s gone bad. How to clean water when there’s nothing clean left. How to fish with a line or with nothing at all. How to start a fire even in the rain.

And then, childbirth.

You stare. The words blur. His cramped, chaotic scrawls turn into something wet and aching in your eyes. You let out a breath, shaky and cracked. “Idiot,” you whisper, choking on the sound. “As if you were waiting to die for me.”

The pages tremble as you turn them, one by one, until you reach the end.

The last page. The words there are scrambled, rushed, overlapping like he couldn’t write them fast enough. Your eyes scan them and then your breath catches.

hi, baby.

this might be stupid. really stupid but i couldn’t sleep and i kept thinking... what if? so i wrote this. not because i want you to read it. god, i hope you never do. but just in case. just in case

i’ve seen this kind of thing in movies. the husband leaves a letter, the wife reads it when he’s gone, and everyone cries. that’s not real, right? that’s just a story. …right? i hated it when the wife is alone and she cries alone.

it’s breaking my heart to even think about you reading this. to imagine you alone, holding this, looking for me and not finding me. but tonight, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking until i wrote it.

maybe you’ll need it. maybe something will happen. maybe i’m already gone.

and if i am, i’m so fucking sorry.

you have to know... it would have taken everything in me to walk away from you. if i left, it wasn’t because i wanted to. it was because i had no choice and even then, i wouldn’t have done it without thinking of you every single step. it's not because of you, it's because i wanted to do it for you. it's all me. it's all me okay?

you’ll cry. i know you will. and it kills me, it kills me to think of you hurting. i know how deeply you love. it’s one of the first things i ever adored about you. but please, don’t let it break you. don’t let it swallow you whole, because if i could see you now, if i could hold you one last time, i’d beg you to keep going.

i love you. i love you so much it hurts. i don’t know how to put it into words that feel big enough.

i hope you never need this letter. i hope this just ends up being some stupid, crumpled piece of paper you find years from now and laugh at. i hope i’m just being overdramatic, writing in the dark, because i miss you too much.

if not, if this is the last thing i ever give you.....

then know this: i have no regrets. you gave me a reason to live, and if i can’t be there anymore, you living will be the only reason i can rest.

i love you, wife. i will always, always love you.

and wherever i am, wherever you are — i’ll always be with you.

i swear it.

ps: don't cry too much, okay?

Your hands tremble as you finish reading the letter your husband left behind. Tears spill down your cheeks, stinging your swollen eyes. You clutch the letter to your chest like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, his words still echoing in your mind, sinking deeper with every breath you take. You can barely breathe. You whisper his name in broken sobs, your voice shaking.

“Beomgyu…” His name falls from your lips like a prayer. The words he wrote — those last, aching pieces of his heart — are now etched into yours, carved so deep they’ll never leave.

Choi Beomgyu had loved you until his very last breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words cracking in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ‘Gyu…” You say it again and again, as if some god might hear. As if apologies might bend time and undo death.

As if loving him hard enough, hurting deeply enough, could bring him back to you.

You kneel in the dirt with hands blistered from days of digging. The morning sun is sharp, too bright, like it doesn’t know how much you’ve lost. But you let it burn your skin. It’s easier than thinking.

You unfold the notebook beside you, Beomgyu’s handwriting smudged from when your tears fell on it the first time. He had drawn a simple diagram, barely legible, labeled: Keep corn away from potatoes. A small, crooked heart was doodled at the corner. You stare at it a second too long.

Your hands move, almost automatically, scooping soil, pressing the seeds in just like he wrote. Cover. Water. Pray they grow. You do it again, and again. Row by row. Your knees ache. Your back screams. But you keep going, because he made sure you could.

Later, you find the animals.

Two pigs and a limping cow, left behind like forgotten ghosts. You lure them in with scraps, whisper soft apologies when they flinch. You build a pen from broken wood and wire, fingers bleeding, sweat mixing with dirt on your face. You name the cow Cloud. Beomgyu would’ve laughed at that.

The notebook stays tucked in your waistband now, always with you. You read the same page each morning like a prayer. You will make it. You will live.

So you do.

It’s always the same dream.

Beomgyu is humming. The soft kind he used to do when he didn’t know you were listening. His arms are around you. You feel him breathe against your neck, whispering words that don’t quite form.

Then you blink, and he’s not there.

You wake up choking on a sob. The world is pitch black around you, the fire long since burned out. Your chest rises and falls too fast. You curl into yourself, wrapping your arms around your belly, shaking.

“Beomgyu,” you whisper, barely a voice at all. “Please, just one more night.”

But only the wind answers. A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. You press your palm to where he was supposed sleep beside you, and the cold there is unbearable.

You cry until you forget why you started.

The pain starts at dawn.

You’re bent over the table sorting dried herbs when it hits — a sharp, deep wrenching that doubles you over. You gasp, grabbing the edge of the table, your breath coming fast.

You stagger to the bed. The mattress is lumpy, stuffed with straw and old cloth. You lie down, sweat slicking your forehead, trying to remember what Beomgyu wrote.

Breathe. Stay low to the ground. Keep clean towels nearby. Boil water.

You crawl to the pot. Heat the stove. Prepare, just like the notebook said. The hours stretch long and cruel. You scream once, twice. Bite down on cloth. You curse him for leaving you. You beg him to come back. The contractions come like waves, each one pulling you under.

Then, finally, a cry. So small. So soft.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until you hold them in your arms. The baby is warm. Real. Alive. You’re sobbing, loud and wild and cracked open. It's a girl, just like he predicted. Just like what he wanted.

You press your cheek to theirs, whispering over and over: We made it. We made it.

Outside, the sun begins to rise again.

The baby’s cries used to feel like thunder in your skull, loud and jarring, each sound a reminder that Beomgyu wasn’t here to hear them too.

Now, weeks later, you move before she even wakes fully. You don’t think. You just rise, gently lift her into your arms, press your nose into the wisps of hair that smell like earth and warmth and something clean. You hum to her, a tune you don’t remember learning.

You think Beomgyu might’ve hummed it first.

You still cry some nights, quietly. You talk to her, tell her about the day’s weather, the crops coming in slower than you hoped, the time the pig got loose and ran through the garden. Your voice cracks sometimes, but you speak anyway. You plant with her strapped to your chest. You sing while washing her clothes. You braid dried grass into little toys and pretend you're doing it just to pass time — though truthfully, you like watching her fingers wrap around them.

You’re not okay, but you’re not drowning anymore.

She’s almost a year now.

Not walking yet, but strong enough to push herself up and reach for things she shouldn’t. Her eyes are too familiar —s harp and round, framed by lashes that look exactly like Beomgyu’s. Her mouth even curves the same way when she cries.

You avoid looking at her for too long.

There’s a guilt that rises in your chest every time you hold her. Like you’re stealing a future Beomgyu never got to finish. Sometimes you hold her at a distance, like something fragile you don’t know how to care for. She doesn’t notice. Not yet. But you feel it. You feel it deeply.

That night, the dream returns. He’s there — Beomgyu. Sitting beside the old garden, barefoot, smiling like it never hurt. You fall into his arms and start sobbing without saying anything. He doesn’t say much either. Just rubs your back like he used to.

When you pull away, he points at something behind you.

You turn and there she is, your daughter. Looking right at you. Beomgyu kneels beside her and whispers something. You don’t hear the words, but when you look again, her name forms in your mouth.

Beomgyu loved sunlight.

You wake up gasping, cheeks soaked.

You stumble into the next room, where she’s sleeping curled in a blanket. You fall to your knees beside her, trembling. “Your name is… your name is Hayeon,” you whisper, like it’s the first truth you’ve spoken in months. “That’s what your father called you.”

And for the first time since she was born, you really see her. Your hands don’t shake this time when you touched her. You sob into her tiny shoulder, pressing your lips to her skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

The next morning, the sky is heavy with clouds, but no rain comes.

You sit on the step outside the cabin, Hayeon nestled in your lap. She babbles nonsense, pressing her palm to your chin and tugging at your collar like she owns you.

You let her.

“I didn’t know how to be your mom,” you say aloud, voice barely audible over the wind. “I didn’t know how to breathe without him. I didn’t know how to… look at you.” She doesn’t understand. Of course she doesn’t. But you say it anyway, because maybe you need to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, firmer this time. “For not being there. For looking away. You didn’t deserve that.”

You press your cheek to her temple. She laughs at nothing, and for a moment, your chest feels light. “You look just like him,” you whisper. “But I think your soul is yours.”

You started waking up with the will to do so.

“Hayeon, don’t go off too far,” you call, voice light but firm.

She doesn’t answer—at least not in words. Just a bright giggle, shrill and wild, carried on the wind. Her little boots slap against the dirt path as she chases a yellow butterfly between rows of sprouting greens. You see her leap over a patch of tomatoes, arms flailing, hair flying behind her like smoke in sunlight.

You watch her from the bench outside the cabin, your back resting against the worn wood. There’s a basin of laundry beside you, half-finished. The sun’s warm against your face. You let it linger.

You smile, quiet and soft, like it belongs to a version of you that’s finally starting to return.

He would’ve loved it here.

You think that more often these days. Not with the same ache. Not like a wound reopening. But like a truth. A gentle one. Beomgyu would’ve loved the garden coming to life, the way the wind combs through the trees, how the ocean hums just beyond the hills. He would’ve sat here beside you, probably building some dumb little scarecrow with Hayeon and naming it after something ridiculous.

He would’ve made her laugh until she hiccupped.

You imagine him crouched next to her, showing her how to water the seedlings without drowning them. Teaching her to whistle. Drawing shapes in the dirt just to see her copy them. You watch her fall onto her knees, gasping with laughter as the butterfly flutters out of reach. She claps her hands, delighted anyway. You feel your heart stretch with something like peace.

She’s safe. She’s growing. She’s happy.

You remember the first time she asked about him.

The stars are out tonight.

The sky’s painted in deep indigo, scattered with tiny, blinking lights. You’re sitting on the porch steps, your arms wrapped around Hayeon, who’s nestled against your side, thumb resting near her mouth the way she does when she’s tired but too curious to sleep. The wind is gentle, brushing through the trees, stirring the hem of your dress.

She’s quiet for a while. Just breathing, head resting on your shoulder, small chest rising and falling. You think she’s about to fall asleep.

Then softly, barely more than a murmur she says, “Mama… what was my dad like?”

The words land like a pebble in still water. Everything shifts. You don’t move at first. Your breath stills. It’s the question you’ve been waiting for. Slowly, you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are open, wide and soft, glinting with the starlight.

You take a shaky breath.

“Your dad…” you begin, voice almost breaking. “He was kind. The kind of kind that made you feel safe just by being next to him.”

Hayeon listens silently, thumb dropping from her lips.

“He was funny, too. He used to make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. He’d do the dumbest impressions, or start dancing in the middle of nowhere, just to see me smile.” You close your eyes for a moment. You can see him again — arms flailing in the garden, lips pursed in mock seriousness, Hayeon’s laugh echoing over a memory that never got to exist.

“He was brave,” you whisper. “He stayed brave, even when the world was falling apart.”

A silence settles.

“Did he love me?” she asks.

You look at her fully now, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“More than anything,” you say. “Even before you were born, he loved you. He wrote about you in his notebook. He dreamed about you. He… he wanted so badly to meet you.”

You feel tears rise, but you don’t let them fall. “He didn’t get to stay,” you say gently, “but he left everything he could so we could live. He gave me the strength to raise you. To keep going.”

Hayeon leans in closer, silent. Then, in the smallest voice, she whispers. “I miss him.”

You feel the bracelet around your wrist, worn smooth from time and touch. You don’t have a picture of him. No frame to hold against your chest, no smile captured in ink, but you have this.

And somehow, it’s enough.

You look at your daughter; her face lit by the amber dusk, eyes squinting as she plays in the tall grass, wind tugging at her hair. An image of him. The same jaw. The same shape of her hands. The same spark in her laugh when she runs.

She used to haunt you.

Now, she anchors you — pulls you back to earth when you wake up gasping, when you reach across the bed and feel only emptiness. She pulls you through the dark.

Someday, you’ll pass the bracelet on to her. So she’ll have a piece of him too. So she’ll know that he was real. That he loved so hard, it made life possible even after he was gone.

You're scared of forgetting him.

The sky looks softer now. The air is light. You close your eyes and breathe in deep.

Your voice shakes as you speak, “If you’re out there… are you out there?” You pause, tears catching on your lashes. “Just like you said you would be?”

Your fingers press gently to the bracelet, the metal warm against your skin. “I want you to know, we’re safe. Because of you.” You bite your lip. “Because you made it possible. It was all because of you.”

A long silence. A bird calls in the distance. Your daughter laughs again, far away. You smile, even as your voice breaks.

“I’ll see you again,” you whisper. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

The wind moves through the trees — soft, almost like a hand brushing your shoulder.

Almost like he heard you.

You'll be okay.

epilogue

The morning mist clings to the surface of the sea, curling around the shoreline like a secret not yet spoken. You wake to the sound of waves lapping against the dock but there’s something else, too. A low hum.

A boat.

Still half-asleep, you rise and step outside, the wood cool beneath your feet. The sky is pale, painted in hushed pastels. The sea stretches endlessly, but you spot it. Your breath catches.

There’s a figure on board.

He raises a hand, waving toward you with calm familiarity, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. There’s warmth in it.

Your lips curve into a wide smile. Your eyes burn.

The sea glitters between you, endless and wide.

“You took your time, idiot.”

taglist: @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @lostgirlysstuff , @tinycatharsis , @randomheyl , @beomsdoll , @hanniehq , @run2gyuz , @prettypeachprincesz , @w0nderfulb1iss , @dedandelion , @demidelulu , @usuallyunlikelyfox , @raspberrii , @jellyyjn , @mrsjohnnysuh , @hyukaaa , @neobeomjii , @lumpynoofles , @taelerys , @haowonbins , @strawberryshoujosundae , @whoisgami , @sophiemoloney , @fatbixchwithanopinion , @fairfootedflekk

[goldfades]

joe x reader (6k celly, congratulations)!!

21. "i love you. i love loving you. it's something i'd like to do for eternity."

💐 proposal with this prompt, if it’s it on a vacation, I would love that!

aaahhh i love vaca joe, he's my fav. i hope you enjoyed, my love!

here's the song i was listening to while writing this, for the vibes:

warnings: nothing but fluff! kinda emo, proposal stuff, but very very soft joe!

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not in this villa, not in this country, definitely not at this level of sun-drenched, champagne-flavored happiness, tucked away in the hills of Positano with Joe standing barefoot in the kitchen of your rental, flipping lemon pancakes and wearing the goofy little “CIAO BELLA” apron he swore he’d never touch, but here you were.

He’d just finished his first full healthy season in a while — 6,000 passing yards, MVP buzz, the kind of record-breaking year that made sports anchors speak about him with a reverence usually reserved for retired legends and planets in perfect orbit.

And he did it all like he always did—quiet, calculated, hungry. You knew better than anyone how hard he worked for this. The hours behind closed doors, the weight of expectation sitting on his chest heavier than any defender. You’d lived it with him. The rehab, the film, the games where every throw felt like a gamble with history. So when he crossed that final finish line and still looked like your Joe: soft-spoken and sleepy-eyed with cleats slung over his shoulder and that worn-down Bengals hat, you just about cried.

And then he said, “Let’s go away. Just us.”

And now… here.

It was only day three but it felt like you’d already unraveled and rewound yourself a dozen times. Long mornings in bed with the shutters open, letting the wind tell time for you. Afternoons spent wandering sun-bleached alleys, gelato sticky on your fingers, the ocean always catching the edge of your eye. And nights, those were yours. Bottles of wine, Joe’s feet in your lap and music humming low while you traced lazy circles into his skin.

He was lighter here. Laughing more. A little less made-of-stone and a little more made-of-boy. The kind who danced you around the kitchen just because Nina Simone came on, the kind who kissed you with his hands in your hair like he never wanted to be anywhere else.

You’d both needed this. The breathing room, the quiet.

But there was something else, too. A hum under your skin. A shift you couldn’t name. You’d caught him staring more than once — mid-sentence, mid-laugh, mid-forkful of pasta. Just looking, like he knew something you didn’t, like he was memorizing you.

And maybe that should’ve tipped you off.

Maybe the way he asked you to wear that dress tonight: the red one you almost didn’t pack, should’ve made you suspicious. Or the fact that he booked a private table on a rooftop with a view that looked stolen from a postcard. Or how his hands trembled, just a little, when he poured the wine.

But you didn’t know yet. Not then.

You just knew that you loved him. That loving him had always felt terrifying and soft and safe all at once. That whatever he was about to do, whatever he was carrying in his heart, you’d take it.

Every last drop of it.

The rooftop was already dripping in romance before you even got there.

It sat perched at the top of a boutique hotel that Joe had found on some forum weeks ago, buried in a thread titled “Hidden Gems in Positano”. It wasn’t huge, just one table, candlelight, string lights hanging from beams overhead and a view that could probably make the coldest person on earth believe in God.

The sun was sinking, one of those Mediterranean goodbyes, slow and deliberate. It washed the town in gold then blush, then something close to fire. The sky looked like it had been lit from within. The kind of view that silences you without even trying.

You’d dressed slowly that evening. Something about the way Joe had asked you, quiet and unassuming: “Would you wear that red dress tonight?” had stuck. He’d kissed your shoulder before he said it. Soft and casual, like he was asking a favor but also like it meant everything.

He wore a linen shirt you’d teased him about when he bought it in town yesterday: “You look like an off-duty yacht captain” but somehow it worked. His curls were still damp from the shower. He’d shaved. Not fully, just trimmed, like he cared about the night, about how it would live in memory.

He pulled your chair out for you. He always did, but tonight he looked at you a little longer before sitting down.

Dinner came in courses, each prettier than the last. Handmade pasta with fresh basil. Veal with lemon sauce. Caprese so fresh it didn’t taste like food, just like sunshine. Joe wasn’t saying much, which wasn’t weird exactly but his silences felt tighter than usual. Not tense. Just concentrated like he was holding something between his teeth and hadn’t figured out how to chew it yet.

You reached across the table, resting your fingers lightly on his. “You good?”

His eyes softened immediately. “Yeah. Just…” A pause. Then a crooked smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my whole life.”

Your heart clenched in that way it sometimes did with him, like he cracked open something delicate in you without trying.

“You deserve it,” you whispered.

He looked away then, toward the sea. The sky was darkening, the lights below flicking on like stars in reverse. His profile was half-shadowed, half-golden. You wondered if you’d ever stop memorizing him.

When dessert came, he didn’t touch it.

You were halfway through a bite of tiramisu when he stood up. Not in a jerky, nervous way. It was slow. Purposeful.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe held out his hand, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting down a grin and failing. “Just for a second.”

You wiped your mouth, confused but smiling and let him pull you to your feet.

The music below drifted up from someone’s stereo, a Frank Sinatra record playing somewhere, warbling slightly in the open air. Fly Me to the Moon.

Joe’s hands found your waist, and he pulled you in close.

“Are we dancing?” you asked, already laughing.

“Yeah,” he said, breath close to your temple. “Kinda. Just… stand here with me for a sec.”

So you did.

You melted into him like you’d done a thousand times before, cheek pressed to his chest, heart syncing to the rhythm of his. He was warm. He smelled like aftershave and lemons and salt air. He held you like he was afraid he might forget the shape of you if he let go too soon.

A long moment passed. And then he pulled back just enough to see your face.

His eyes — gray-blue, stormy and steady, were searching yours. And something shifted in them. Something deep and impossible to miss.

He cleared his throat. Smiled once. Then dropped to one knee.

Your brain fizzled into white noise.

You stared down at him, mouth open, chest frozen mid-breath.

He was holding a ring. A simple one. Gold band. A diamond not too big but clear enough to catch the moonlight. But more than that, he was looking up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his entire life.

He didn’t rush it. He didn’t stumble.

He just said your name, quiet and sure. Like a vow all by itself.

“I didn’t know what I was doing when I met you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I just knew I liked the way you looked at me. Like you saw more than the jersey. More than the interviews or the stats, like you saw me.”

Your hands were trembling now.

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he continued. “Didn’t plan to fall for you so fast. Didn’t plan to need you like this, but it happened and I’ve spent every day since feeling like the luckiest man alive.”

You felt tears burn hot behind your eyes.

Joe’s voice was steady, low. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the back of your hand.

“I love you. I love loving you, and it’s something I’d like to do for eternity.”

You exhaled shakily. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“I know it’s big. Forever always is. But I don’t want perfect. I don’t want easy. I just want you. As you are, as we are. I want the morning breath and the sarcasm and the fights about where to order takeout from. I want the messy, real, loud life we’ve built.”

Your knees were giving out. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

Joe held up the ring. Not as a bribe, not as a prize. Just as punctuation. A promise.

“So… will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

You didn’t even realize you were crying fully now until your voice came out wet and cracked and somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Yes,” you breathed. Then louder, clearer. “Yes.”

He stood in one fluid motion, slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that were shaking just a little now. He kissed you like it was instinct, like breathing, like coming home.

The string lights flickered above you. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.

And then he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, voice thick and wrecked and full of everything he didn’t say out loud often.

“I love you. God, I love you.”

You were smiling so wide it hurt. Your hands were in his hair.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He kissed your forehead.

“I love you.” A kiss to your cheek. “I love loving you.” A kiss to your mouth.

And with the stars blooming above you and the sea whispering secrets to the cliffs below, you let him.

[gojoscumrag]

would satoru be more into the praise or degradation kink?

satoru praising you isn’t just a kink. it’s a compulsion. he loves your body. your face. your moans. the way you break for him. and he tells you. over and over.

“look at you… taking me so well. my perfect girl. so sweet for me.”

he can’t shut up. his voice is low and hoarse, breathless with awe, because he still can’t believe you’re real. when you cry under him, he calls you beautiful. when you choke on his cock, he calls you strong. when you come so hard your thighs shake, he kisses you all over.

“you’re so good for me, baby. my pretty girl. i’m so lucky. so fucking lucky.”

he holds your face like a prayer. moans like he’s worshiping you. fucks you like he wants to memorize every inch of your skin and whisper love into every sore spot.

and the best part? when you praise him back—call him good, perfect, yours—he falls apart instantly. he clutches your waist, buries his face in your neck and fucks you like his heart’s unraveling.

praises turn sex into a love story. and satoru? he was made to tell you just how much he loves every ruined part of you.

but when he’s feeling mean? when he’s desperate, spiraling, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded?that’s when the filth pours out of his mouth like sin.

“is that all it takes to make you cry? fuck, you’re so pathetic for me.” he says it low, dangerous. his hand is wrapped around your throat, your face is flushed and you’re soaked between your thighs because his words hit too deep.

he calls you names. he laughs when you whimper. he thrusts harder when you try to hide your face, “you like this, huh? being used? that’s what you are, baby. just a tight little hole for me to fill.”

but here’s the thing, satoru’s degradation is laced with obsession. he’ll spit words that make you blush and sob and arch off the bed… but the moment he sees a flicker of doubt in your eyes? he’ll grab your jaw and say, “you’re mine. you hear me? no one else gets to touch you like this. no one else gets to fuck you this good.”

he degrades you because he knows you’re his. he does it because it’s a way to brand you. and when you ask for it. when you tell him to call you names, to be rough, to make you cry? he breaks. he gives you every filthy word you crave. and kisses your tears like they’re sacred.

so, which does he crave more? praise kink makes him feel loved. degradation kink makes him feel needed.

and satoru’s a greedy, messed-up romantic. some nights he needs to be soft. needs to praise you through every orgasm until you’re breathless and glowing. but other nights? he needs to break you. needs to fuck the desperation out of himself and replace it with your whimpers, your obedience, your tear-streaked moans begging him to keep going.

so, which one wins? he needs both. he wants to worship you and ruin you. he wants to tell you you’re a good girl while calling you his little slut in the same breath. he wants to see you cry and then kiss the tears away.

because satoru? he doesn’t just want to fuck you. he wants to know every version of you, especially the ones that break for him.

[honeydippedfiction]

I just know the first time Joe made Angel really lose it was while he had her folded in mating press. I'm talking brain mushed, pussy soaked, squirting for the first time, voice hoarse. And Joe is ferallll about it - 🐯

Navigation

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, (Graphic depictions of consensual sex, oral sex, squirting, mating press). MDNI🔞

WC: 3.3k

A/N: god they freaky

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It starts with distance.

Two weeks apart, and it might as well have been a lifetime.

Angel had flown home for a long-overdue family reunion—sun-soaked afternoons spent dodging nosy relatives, navigating folding chairs and spades games, and fielding the same question over and over again: “And where’s that boyfriend of yours, the quarterback?” Every time she answered, her smile dipped a little, heart tugging just slightly.

Joe had wanted to come. He tried. Looked at flights, rearranged his schedule twice, even called his coach hoping to work around the mandatory spring workouts and media junkets. But LSU football had its own orbit, and this time, it didn’t make room for her.

So they made do.

It became routine—midnight check-ins and grainy FaceTime calls lit by lamplight. He’d be shirtless in bed, chain glinting against his collarbone, voice low and teasing. She’d be wrapped in a silk robe, hair tied up, skin glowing from her nighttime routine, legs curled up on her childhood bed like she wasn’t slowly unraveling for him on camera.

“Tell me what you’d do if I were there,” he whispered one night, voice all gravel and heat.

Angel didn’t hesitate. She bit her lip, slid her hand slowly up her bare thigh, her voice soft but wicked. “I’d ride you, real slow. Just enough to keep you desperate.” She angled the camera downward, just enough to tease, just enough to let him ache.

Joe groaned, shifting in bed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wrapped a hand around himself. “You tryna kill me, baby?”

“No,” she murmured, letting the strap of her robe slide off her shoulder. “Just reminding you what’s waiting for you.”

They flirted like that almost every night—pushing each other to the brink and then pulling back just enough to keep the longing sharp. It was all heat and suggestion, until both of them were left breathless, skin buzzing from a lover’s absence that was starting to feel unbearable.

By the time she flew back, something heavy and electric had built between them.

The sun was barely setting over LSU’s campus the day she returned, and spring break had turned everything into a blur of loud music and too-little clothing. Someone was throwing a courtyard party—a DJ, drinks, half the football team and more than enough bikini-clad students dancing like summer had already arrived.

Angel didn’t dress to be subtle.

She stepped into the courtyard like a storm: skin kissed by her hometown sun, bikini black and strappy, barely covering anything at all. Her curls were still damp from her shower, and her smile? Dangerous. Calculated.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she walked in.

Joe was already there, leaning against the edge of the makeshift bar with a red Solo cup in hand, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His friends were talking, laughing, slapping each other on the back—but he wasn’t listening. Not really.

Not when he caught sight of her.

His whole body stilled, eyes locked on hers like she was the only real thing in the world. And for a second, neither of them moved—just stared, devoured. Every breath, every memory, every missed moment crashing into that one silent look.

Angel was the first to smile. She sauntered over slowly, hips swaying, the way she knew drove him crazy.

Joe watches the way her hips sway when she walks over like she owns the damn place, like she’s not the same girl who had him gasping her name through the phone just nights ago. Her skin’s glowing, her lips glossy, and her eyes say come get me then when she leans in for a hug that lingers too long.

“Hi, stranger,” she said lightly, fingers brushing his bare arm.

“Missed me?” she murmurs, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw.

“You have no idea,” he growls, already hard beneath his swim trunks.

Joe set his cup down without taking his eyes off her. “You wore that for me?”

Angel arched a brow, smirking. “Maybe. You like?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re tryna get me arrested.”

“Then take me somewhere private before you commit a felony,” she said, low and sweet, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He didn’t need more convincing.

They stayed just long enough not to be rude. A couple drinks, some small talk, a slow dance where Joe’s hands stayed glued to her waist, fingers pressing into skin like he couldn’t believe she was real again. She laughed, leaned into him, whispered a few unholy things that made his eyes darken instantly.

And then they were gone.

Back at his apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before Joe was on her—kissing her like a man possessed, lifting her with strong hands under her thighs, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“You wore that just to fuck with me,” he growls against her neck.

“Maybe,” she breathes, nails dragging down his back. “Worked, didn’t it?”

He’s manhandling her bikini top off, walking her backward toward the bedroom as she tugs at his waistband.

“I missed you,” she gasped against his mouth.

He didn’t slow down. “Missed you too, baby. Been losing my fucking mind.”

She giggled, breath hitching as he dropped her onto the bed and peeled her bikini off like it personally offended him. “You had FaceTime.”

“Not the same,” he growled, crawling up her body, eyes drinking her in like he hadn’t seen her in years. “Couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t feel you shaking under me. Couldn't make you cum the way I need to.”

She whimpered, threading her fingers into his hair. “Then do it. Show me.”

And oh, he would.

That night wouldn’t just be sex. It would be everything—weeks of pent-up tension, all the teasing, the longing, the whispered late-night fantasies exploding into something raw, primal, and consuming.

It was the moment before the storm. The inhale before the quake.

Because Joe wasn’t just going to make love to her.

He was going to ruin her.

Σ>―🧡→

It started like it always did—the soft brush of lips against hers, the low rumble in his chest when she opened for him, the warm slide of his tongue that made her toes curl. She loved the way he kissed, like it was a slow build, like he had to savor every second, every sound, every taste. She loved that his mouth was hungry, but also patient, that he’d take his time, but still manage to make her heart race in a way she’d never felt before.

This kiss was no different—except that it was. There was a hunger in him she hadn’t experienced in a while, not since the days they were still exploring each other, when everything was new and all they wanted was to spend every second pressed together.

Angel was already breathless when he finally pulled away, but before she could complain, his mouth trailed down her jaw, to her neck, to the hollow of her collarbone, and then lower.

She arched off the bed as he licked a slow stripe up the center of her body, his hands skimming up her sides, the rough pads of his thumbs flicking over her nipples. He teased her like that, just barely touching, until she was gasping, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Joe—”

“Shh.” He lowered his mouth, circling one nipple with his tongue before sucking lightly. She bucked, her hips rocking against his stomach, seeking friction. He chuckled against her skin, moving to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

When she whined, tugging at his hair, he finally relented, kissing down her stomach, hands sliding down to her hips. He gripped her tightly, thumbs digging into the crease of her thigh, and lowered his mouth to her cunt.

His tongue slipped between her folds, and she cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other twisting in his hair.

“Fuck, Angel,” he murmured, licking up her slit again, parting her, drinking her in. “I’ve been dreaming about this. About how wet you get for me, how sweet you taste.”

She gasped as his tongue flicked over her clit, slow and teasing, his eyes locked on her face. He watched her, like he was memorizing every reaction, every little thing that made her shiver or moan or writhe on the bed. He swirled his tongue around her clit, then closed his lips around it, sucking lightly.

“Joe!” She jerked, her hips canting up to meet him.

He smiled against her. “So sensitive.”

“Please—”

He didn't let up, using his mouth like he was starving, like he needed to devour her whole. It was so good, so perfect, and yet—

“Need you inside me,” she gasped, tugging on his hair. “Now, please.”

He made a sound low in his throat, but obeyed, surging up her body to take her mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. She could taste herself on him, and it made her head spin, made her cunt throb.

He reached down, gripping his cock and lining himself up. She was already so wet, so ready, and when he pressed into her, she could have cried from the sheer relief of it. He stretched her so perfectly, filled her so completely, and when he was buried to the hilt, she let out a ragged breath.

He didn’t give her time to adjust, just pulled out and slammed back in, making her cry out. She wrapped her legs around him, her ankles locking at the small of his back as he pounded into her. It wasn’t like the gentle, sweet lovemaking they’d been doing before she left. No, this was pure, unadulterated fucking, and she was here for it.

“Fuck,” she moaned, meeting his thrusts, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Just like that.”

“You feel so good.” He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath hot on her lips. “Been dreaming about this pussy. Need you so much.”

“Take me,” she whispered, kissing him hard. “Make me yours.”

He groaned into her mouth, his thrusts getting harder, deeper. 

She felt the coil in her belly tighten with every thrust, her breathing ragged as he fucked her just right.

“Fuck—this pussy missed me?” he groaned, eyes rolling back.

“Yes—fuck yes—” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He pulled back and thrust again, harder this time, the bed creaking under them.

He found a rhythm, a pace that was relentless, deep, every thrust perfectly angled to hit that spot inside her that made her sob. One of his hands slid up to her throat, not squeezing, not choking, just holding—his thumb brushing over her jaw like he owned her.

“You like that, baby? Feel me right here?” Joe groaned, his hand pushing on her lower stomach over the bulge there.

She nodded, gasping, her eyes rolling back. “Y-yes. Fuck, harder—”

And he gave it to her.

Hips snapping into hers, the sound of skin on skin slapping off the walls, her moans growing louder, messier, more desperate. Her nails raked down his back, her thighs locked around his hips, clinging to him like she was about to fall apart.

And she was.

The coil inside her snapped, her body shaking as the orgasm tore through her. She cried out his name, her cunt clenching around his cock as he kept pounding into her, drawing out her pleasure, making her feel every ounce of it.

She was still shaking when he buried himself inside her, groaning her name against her neck as he came. She held onto him, her legs still wrapped around him, as he shuddered above her.

Angel whined as she felt Joe slip out of her, his cock still rock hard. “Baby–” 

She didn’t even get the chance to finish.

He kissed her, a deep, searching kiss, before he pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark, intense. Hungry. And then he moved down her body, kissing his way down her chest, over her stomach, to the apex of her thighs.

He hadn't even touched her yet, and her heart was already racing.

“But I'm not done with you yet. Gonna take my time with you,” he said, his voice low.

She gasped as he licked a broad stripe over her cunt, still sensitive from her orgasm.

“Joe!”

“I know you can cum again, Angel. I know you can be a good girl for me.”

And with that, he lowered his mouth to her and began to eat her out, slow and methodical, his tongue working her clit, his fingers slipping inside her. She was still sensitive, and within seconds she was writhing, her hips bucking against him. But he held her down, his arm across her hips, his fingers pressing inside her as his tongue circled her clit. She gasped, her fingers twisting in his hair, and when she came, she cried out his name again, her body shuddering.

She didn't even have time to catch her breath before Joe moved up her body again, his cock hard again and pressing against her entrance. Joe’s on her, hands gripping her thighs, folding her effortlessly into the deepest angle, her legs pressed to her chest, body pinned beneath his. He kissed her as he pushed into her, and she moaned against his mouth. He was so deep, so thick, and even though she'd just cum twice, she wanted, no she needed more. She needed all of him.

When he was fully sheathed inside her, he pulled back, looking down at her. His curls fell over his forehead, his eyes intense as he gazed down at her.

“You take me so good, baby,” he rasped. “Always so perfect.”

She whimpered as he started to move, thrusting deep and hard, the new angle making her eyes roll back.

“Oh—fuck—” she gasped.

“Yeah, that's it. Take it.” He kissed her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She kissed him back, her hands gripping his biceps, her legs wrapped around him. He broke the kiss, looking down at her again, his gaze intense. “You're gonna cum for me again, baby. One more time.”

“Yes—yes—”

His grip on her hips tightened, and he slammed into her again, again, again. No mercy, no hesitation.

Just filthy, hard thrusts that made the bed rock against the wall. She screamed, her hands scrambling for something, anything to hold on to, but there was nothing—nothing but his body, his cock driving into her like he was trying to brand her with every thrust.

Her third orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, and she came all over his cock again, soaking him. Her body trembled under his, but still, still, he didn’t let up. His body pressed into hers, hands braced on her legs keeping them pinned to her chest, his cock buried deeper than ever before, driving into her, dragging along her walls, making her sob and shake.

The angle was brutal. Relentless. She’d never felt like this before—full, owned, like she was completely at his mercy.

And Joe? Joe was gone. Whispering filthy things in her ear, hissing her name through clenched teeth, praising her for being such a good girl. He was watching her, gaze locked on hers, as she unraveled completely, as her body broke apart under his.

It was too much. It wasn't enough. It was perfect, it was terrifying.

She could feel the sweat dripping down her spine, her hair plastered to her forehead, her entire body shaking. She couldn’t stop cumming, couldn’t stop clenching, couldn’t stop begging for more. And he was relentless, never letting up, never slowing down, never giving her a second to breathe.

She was shaking, her whole body trembling as he kissed her, his fingers working her clit, her cunt still pulsing around his cock.

Angel gasped, eyes wide, mouth open. Her whole body froze.

“Joey—!” She squealed, trying to push at his chest. “Wait—wait. Can’t—something’s wrong—”

Her breath caught, her eyes rolled, and her whole body began to shudder.

And Joe felt it, too—that tightening, the frantic pull, the way Angel’s walls clamped around his cock like her body was begging him to fuck it loose.

Joe groaned. Loud. Wrecked.

Ferally turned on.

“Yeah?” Joe grunted, voice low, rough. His hips snapped harder now, more urgent, more demanding. “You gonna give it to me, baby? Come on. Let it go. Show me.”

And Angel did. Just like that. She came completely undone.

Angel shattered beneath him. Her legs trembling, her back arching off the bed.

An almost wounded cry spilled from her lips, and for a split second, Joe thought he'd done something wrong, thought he'd hurt her or pushed her too far, but then—

Then, she squirted for the very first time.

It caught her by surprise, her body overwhelmed by too much, too fast, her hands weakly pushing at his chest.

But her eyes—

Her eyes said, Don't stop. Don't ever stop.

Joe lost whatever control he had left.

"Oh fuck—Angel—" He snarled, his voice more animal than man as he held her hips down, watching in pure disbelief and raw, unfiltered awe as her pussy gushed around his cock. "Oh, fuck—baby—"

His hand dove between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight, fast circles over the sensitive bud.

“Look at you making a fucking mess baby.” Joe panted, his voice wrecked. “Angel—baby—fuck. You didn’t even know what you could do—”

“I—” Angel sobbed, her hips jerking beneath him. “Oh fuck—oh fuck, please—I—”

“Yeah.” Joe groaned again, pressing down on her clit as he slammed into her, making her squirt again, harder this time. The slick gushed out of her, soaking his cock and dripping onto the sheets, making a fucking mess, but Joe couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. “That’s it, baby. Let it go. Look at what I do to you. Mine.”

He fucked her through it, through every single wave, pounding into her soaked pussy, growling every single time her walls tightened around his cock.

“Fuck—fuck—” he rasped, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes locked on her face. “Angel, baby, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“You can—” she gasped, still squirming, still writhing. “Please, Joey. Please—”

He fucked her harder, his hand tightening on her hip, the other braced next to her head. He was going to cum, he knew he was, and when he did—

When he did, it was with a snarled curse, his cock pulsing inside her as he emptied himself, filling her with thick ropes of cum. He groaned through his teeth, his forehead still pressed against hers, body shaking as he kept thrusting, slow now. Drawing out every pulse, every spurt, every drop.

Angel moaned at the feeling, warm and full and messy. She could feel his cum leaking out of her as he pulled out, but he didn't go far, just dropped his weight on her, burying his face in her neck, kissing her there before he rolled them over so she was on top, straddling his waist.

She could feel him, softening inside her now, and she shuddered, her body still sensitive, still twitching. She could feel the mess between them, feel his cum and her slick still leaking from her. Joe's hands smoothed up and down her back, gentle now, soothing.

“That was—” She swallowed, still trying to catch her breath. “Wow.”

He chuckled, pulling her down to kiss him. His mouth was warm, comforting, and she kissed him back, slow and sweet.

“Mmm,” he mumbled against her lips. “Perfect.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, resting her forehead against his. “Perfect.”

He kissed her again before she could pull back, then wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Love you,” he murmured, his voice soft, his eyes closed.

“I love you, too,” she said, and she could feel his smile against her cheek.

They stayed like that for a while, both breathing heavily, before he finally pulled out and laid her beside him. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, and kissed the back of her neck.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

She smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It’s good to be back.”

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore, @danielle143, @kayyybay, @destinyg237

[ruewrote]

𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕.

PAIRING: jesse x gn!reader WARNINGS: no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: hold on, we're going home by drake WORD COUNT: 801 REQUESTED: yes

navigation | request | jesse masterlist

inside, the place was crowded, people pressed shoulder to shoulder with drinks  in hand. fairy lights hung from rafters, giving the whole place a golden sorta glow. the party was already lively.

you hovered by the wall, hands tucked into your jean pockets.

jesse had been on your mind all day.

not that that was new. he had a way of showing up uninvited. in your thoughts, in your patrol schedule, in the way someone said something a little too sarcastically. 

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” came his voice, smug as ever from your right.

you turned, and there he was, his hair was a little messy, cheeks a little pink from the cold. he held two glasses in his hands.

“i’m a person of mystery,” you said, accepting a drink without asking.

he smiled around the rim of his drink. “nah you’re a creature of habit. i knew you’d be lurking.”

you rolled your eyes. “thanks for that glowing review of my personality.”

jesse leaned one shoulder against the wall beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. “you’re not lurking because you’re antisocial. you’re lurking because you’re picky.”

you raised a brow. “picky?”

he nodded, “you don’t like crowds. you don’t like bad small talk. and you don’t like dancing unless you’re with someone who makes it worth it.”

your heart gave a little stutter. “are you rehearsing this or what?”

he just smirked. “tell me i’m wrong.”

you looked away, but your smile gave you away.

the music shifted. slower now, still playful, but with a sway to it that made couples start pulling each other toward the center of the floor. you watched as dina dragged ellie reluctantly forward, both of them laughing. 

people were loosening up, cider kicking in, boots sliding on wood.

“you gonna join in?” you asked, nodding toward the crowd.

jesse tilted his head like he was thinking about it. “maybe. depends.”

“on?”

“on whether or not i can convince you to come with me.”

you gave him a look. “oh, so now i’m the prize?”

“always were,” he said, casually enough that it didn’t hit until a beat later.

you looked down at your drink, tried not to smile too obviously.

“you think you can just say that and get me to follow you?” you asked, teasing.

“not just say it,” he said. “i also brought bribes.”

he held up a slightly broken wrapped chocolate chip cookie from his jacket pocket.

you stared at it, then at him. “you really thought this through.”

“i had time to plan. you’re predictable, remember?”

you took the cookie, unwrapping it before breaking it in half. “you’re full of shit.”

“and yet, here you are,” he said, offering his hand.

you hesitated … but he was standing there, waiting, looking at you with eyes that were so soft.

“just one,” you said.

he grinned. “that’s all i need.”

he led you into the throng of dancers. the floor was a crowd of stomping boots and swaying hips. music pulsed through the wood beneath your feet. jesse’s hand found your waist, your fingers curled at the back of his neck, and just like that, you were moving together.

at first, it was awkward. you both misstepped, laughed it off, bumped into a table. but then the rhythm settled between you and something clicked. your bodies synced. 

you caught his eye. he didn’t look away.

“you’re not half bad,” you said, breath hitching just slightly from the motion.

“i told you,” he murmured, “i’m full of surprises.”

the room blurred around you. the laughter, the fiddles, the stomping of boots, it all softened to background noise.

his hand was still on your back. yours slipped just a little closer to his collar.

“you look like you wanna say something,” he said softly.

you did. but you weren’t ready. not yet. 

so instead, you said, “you’re stepping on my foot.”

“i’m not,” he said, grinning. “but i’ll pretend i am if it gives you an excuse to stay close.”

you rolled your eyes. “you really can’t help yourself.”

“neither can you.”

the song began to slow, and he didn’t let go right away. his thumb brushed along your side. his face was inches from yours now, all jokes gone, eyes searching.

“wanna get some air?” he asked, voice lower this time.

you nodded before you could talk yourself out of it.

and as you slipped out the side door with him, into the cold, snow catching in your hair, the buzz of music fading behind you, his hand brushed yours.

neither of you pulled away. for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then he glanced sideways at you, smile warmer than usual.

"next time, i hope i won't need an excuse to hold you like that again."

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© 2025 ruewrote copyright reserved.

[heavenlyscandal]

tattoo artist!choso kamo x reader

synopsis: a quiet artist-turned-tattooist, Choso Kamo carries a hidden love for his college art partner

choso kamo who’s your classmate, the boy who sat a few rows down in your college art class. Always quiet, intense, focused. You noticed him before he ever noticed you, drawn to the way his hands moved across paper, the way his sketches weren’t just good, they were alive.

choso kamo who became your class partner after a few projects paired you together. At first, it was quiet cooperation. Then, it became something more, shared playlists while you worked, late nights laughing over half-finished canvases, inside jokes scribbled into sketch margins. You didn’t realize how quickly he became your person, neither did he.

choso kamo who fell for you slowly but surely, between shared brushes and coffee breaks, in the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams. He never told you, not directly. But he memorized the way you smiled when he handed you your favorite pen, how your voice softened when you told him his art was brilliant. He didn’t know, he couldn’t have guessed that you felt it too.

choso kamo who studies the language of flowers in his free time, browsing through hundreds of books in the library whenever he could, his fingers tracing delicate illustrations and handwritten notes. Researching every petal, every hidden meaning, he searched for the perfect blooms he’d one day give to someone special — to you. And finally, one late night, he found them, the three flowers that spoke every unspoken word in his heart.

choso kamo who graduated with you but life pulled you both in different directions. You, the girl who loved to travel, who wanted to see the world. Him, the boy with ink-stained fingers and a dream of opening his own tattoo studio. Neither of you confessed. You both didn't because you didn't want to ruin the friendship you both built. You wanted the best for each other, even if that meant walking away.

choso kamo who chased his dream for you, because it was your belief in him that lit the spark. Your words still echo in his mind: “your art deserves to be permanent.” so he made it so. He became a tattoo artist, built a name for himself and pushed through long nights and quiet grief, fueled by the thought of one day tattooing the girl who once looked at his sketches like they were magic.

choso kamo who, a year later, owns his own studio, walls lined with designs he once showed only to you. The clients coming in non-stop and his name whispered with admiration in the tattoo world. He knows he should be content, well he is, but there’s still a quiet pit in his chest, a space shaped exactly like you. The girl who made him believe his art was worth something. The girl who left, not because she didn’t want to stay, but because you both were too scared to speak what mattered most.

authors note: hellooo, this is my first post and i hope you like it. i have been working on these for the past week and making this at school. let me know if you want a part two ^_^ <3

written by angelonfire | plagiarism not authorized

[therealjerma985]

Beauty Rest

Summary: Bucky Barnes x reader || You and Bucky exchange first I-Love-You’s.

Word count: 1.4k (I need to put my notes app DOWN.)

Warnings: YEARNING FINAL BOSS. I’m losing my mind, basically just fluff, like two mentions of sex, no use of y/n, first person, maybe some OOC Bucky I’m sorry 💔💔, I’ve only posted like twice on here, I have no idea how to format, I wrote this at like 3 AM and I am posting around the same time, not proofread at ALL (edit: it’s 11 AM so now a teensy bit proofread)

Author’s note: I personally am a shifter, and this is part of a scenario I’ve scripted, so I wrote some details specifically for me (I LOVEEEE me some Sade), but this is still written in x reader format. I’m terrified to post this. Enjoy!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s been exactly 7 months and 4 days since Bucky and I have made it official, and I love you has not been said aloud once.

There have been half-slips on both ends, near I-love-You’s hanging from lips after sex or during a quiet moment. Quiet moments that we, respectively, never thought we deserved to have in our lives—raw and intimate and scary.

I do love him, I especially love the side of him I know no one else gets to experience besides me. He’s a giant made of muscle, and entirely doting. I try not to think too hard about whether he’s already had this before—a sweet man from Brooklyn dripping with charm and wearing a lady-killing smile—but it still sometimes creeps up on me.

Maybe it’s unimportant because he’s different now, hardened in a way that can never truly be undone. But I don’t want to fix him—to restore him to that same man, I just want to show him that he deserves the love I contain so much of that it will one day kill me.

A straw will break my back. I’ll see a flower too pretty or hear a laugh too happy or feel his hand squeeze mine just a bit too tenderly and keel over.

It will have been a good and bright life I had.

I can’t say I particularly understand why the L-word hasn’t been said, but I haven’t questioned it much because it didn’t matter, when this was fun and a fling. It’s more than that now.

It doesn’t really help that he’s a brick wall when it comes to being vulnerable. I understand it, especially taking his background into consideration. Words that are said are unable to be pulled back—It’s terrifying.

I, however, want to say it—to put it into the universe. I’ll wear a goddamn neon sign on my back so it can be read clearly.

Natasha once asked me about our relationship. She’s never one to pry, and I adore that about her, but just wanted to know if I was happy. I couldn’t hold my tongue, and walked her through every possible nook and cranny of this complicated, gorgeous thing between him and I. She smirked when appropriate, frowned when appropriate, and after I was done pouring my heart out, said only “I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, right?”

I don’t move to lift my head when I hear the familiar, heavy footsteps of Bucky’s boots in the hallway grow louder, but I grin just the same.

The ‘rooms’ in the Avengers tower are actually just multi-room apartments, despite whatever Tony dismisses them to be. After such a long time of trying to gain our trust, Bucky eventually slipped into the natural order of things in the tower, including into my life. His ‘room’ has been untouched for months because he always prefers mine. He stayed on my couch before we even began to date, then reached my spare bedroom—then reached me.

Sade lulls softly from the CD player on the coffee table as I lay across the couch, book in hand but eyes glazed over and re-reading the same page. I’m not bored by the book, but instead by the absence of him in the room. Something silent and comforting.

“Do you know what time it is?” I suddenly hear a deep voice murmur into my ear. Despite my excitement at his return, I hadn’t even registered Bucky’s short walk over to me, crouching to get closer. Turning slightly, I’m greeted to the sight of him smiling at me, arms folded and resting on the edge of the cushion by my head.

I blink slowly, pursuing my lips while I’m mentally turning his question over for a bit too long. I am tired, but I haven’t checked the hour on my phone, resting by the CD player, in a while. “No, actually.”

He huffs a little laugh, his hair falling forward as his head and gaze tilt down. “You didn’t have to stay up for me.” His fingers are feather-light against my jaw, then down the side of my neck.

“I stayed up because of my long track record of insomnia,” I narrow my eyes at Bucky in what I hope is a menacing way, but by the mirthful expression on his face, I can tell I’m failing.

“Almost every single night—no matter what the hell happens beforehand—you fall asleep as soon as you hit the pillow,” he calls my lame attempt at a bluff, his brows pulled into a ‘really?’ look. “It’s a little disturbing. Might have to start checking your pulse soon.”

“Smart-ass,” I mutter.

“Liar,” He mutters back, matching my faux-attitude.

He then slides his hand down my arm—in a way that both wakes me up and distracts me—before snatching the book from my hand. He then quickly presses a kiss to my temple, to soften the blow.

“Hey!” My eyes go wide at his quickness while I shoot up, trying to reach the book from the hand of his now outstretched arm.

I haven’t loved like this in a long time. Maybe not even in this lifetime.

I could’ve been a movie starlet, one that couldn’t bear to part from her significant other, devastated by every single premiere without them in attendance. Or maybe a poor man, slaving away at work every hour of every day to provide anything his lover wanted.

I could spend all week thinking of more examples, but find it to be unnecessary. It swelters like the sun, is all I think to myself.

It has finally come to my attention that my body is screaming at me to sleep, and the threat Bucky is now making to sling me over his shoulder and carry me to bed sounds all too enticing.

“I love you, but you need your beauty rest,” Bucky teases as he sets the book down on the coffee table, before stiffening, back still turned. The words sounded so natural from him that I suppose neither of us noticed it at first.

He seems to sense me slowly break out into a wide, sly smile, because he groans and refuses to turn for a long moment, dropping his head between his shoulders.

The act of Bucky saying it first is unexpected, but entirely welcome. I half-thought it would be a serious moment between us, with some possible tears involved on my end. The words bring me back to my dazed and sleep deprived state, almost as if he had just told me a bedtime story. Everything is slightly pinker.

“That wasn’t…how I meant to tell you,” he eventually says sheepishly as he finally faces me again.

To wipe the elated look off my face right now would be an impossible feat. “How did you mean to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he suddenly sounds a bit defensive, though sounding more directed at himself rather than me. “Something more romantic. A candlelit dinner, or a slow dance…I don’t know.” He’s beginning to flounder.

“What, no rose in between your teeth?” I laugh, which he can’t help but reciprocate.

Bucky sees something in me that makes him feel disgustingly gooey inside. Suddenly, every romantic movie I’ve forced him to watch isn’t so far-fetched.

“I love you, too,” I say back, voice barely above a whisper. When my smile goes soft enough for my mouth to close, he takes the opportunity to press a slow kiss to my lips. After he pulls only a fraction away, it’s to kiss the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, my eyelid, my forehead, all the way to the crown of my head.

This is the exact opposite of how I would expect a super soldier—especially one who once fought and tried to kill me—to be in private.

I press my own hand on top of his, still lingering on my skin as he speaks, barely able to be understood since he doesn’t budge from my hair. “I never thought this was possible,” he says. I hum an ‘mhm?’, something adjacent to asking for clarification. “This…you.”

The floodgates have suddenly opened as Bucky continues: “I didn’t know that anyone was worth putting a picture of in my wallet. Writing letters to. I think about you all the time.” He suddenly grows quieter. “You brought something back to me that I haven’t had in over 70 years. Christ.”

I am now fully prepared to cry, but can’t find it in me when he brushes his thumb across my cheek.

He’s moved again before I can fathom it, now looking into my eyes. “I want to make you coffee every morning. Watch you pour that disgusting creamer into your cup.”

Deciding that he’s done sharing his feelings for what I can only presume is the entire year, Bucky breaks his gaze before I can properly burst into sobs. I yelp in surprise as he then grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Resistance seems like a lost cause, so I just go pliant against him instead as he turns off the music and carries me to the bedroom. I do complain the entire time, however, leading to him dropping me onto the mattress unceremoniously.

I struggle to let go of his hand when he insists he needs to shower. “Go to bed,” he says affectionately, a thinly veiled command more than a request.

Who am I to deny him?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Another author’s note: kinda unimportant at this point, but I would like to say that Idgaf if you hate on shifting, so don’t waste your time commenting something negative about it 🫡!!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

i’d love to read a continuation of your recent snippet about the suspended hero who is working with the villain, and the villain makes them apologize on their knees! i would love to see a snippet later on in their “partnership” where an even worse enemy makes hero beg, but this time villain doesn’t like the fact that this is happening. maybe along the way they realize that there’s some lines that can’t be crossed, and completely breaking the hero, like this enemy is attempting to, is one of them. thanks!!

pt. 1

"What are you doing?" the villain hissed. They grabbed the hero's arm and pulled them close enough to make the hero's heart drop.

"Could you-" The hero looked at their arm and as soon as the villain's eyes followed, the grip around their arm loosened. The villain didn't let go of them, though.

"They are toying with you. They are using you, you know that, right?"

The hero bit the inside of their cheek.

"They have information."

"They are torturing you psychologically. It's only a matter of when they put their hands on you." The hero stared at their enemy and they barely recognised the person in front of them.

Usually, the villain acted rationally. They acted like an adult. They were organised, clean, neat. But now, they seemed to be acting like their age: restless, emotional, ardent.

Their usually perfect appearance was tainted by messy hair, dark circles under their eyes. A hoodie had replaced the fancy clothes.

This was a temporary alignment. Nothing personal.

"You also made me beg on my knees, so what's the difference?" the hero asked. They averted their gaze and concentrated on calming their heart down. Once they had left the premise of the supervillain, their hands had started to shake. They buried their fists in their pockets.

"What's the difference? What's the difference?" The villain grabbed them by the collar. "I didn't humiliate you in front of other people, I didn't make you cry. Your heart was going crazy the entire time, you were scared shitless in there."

"I'm fine," the hero spat. They put their hands around the villain's wrists. "I told you I am doing whatever it takes to solve this murder. So what's a little humiliation along the way? What's a little humiliation compared to what my colleague, my friend, went through?"

That shut the villain up.

They let go of the hero, took a few steps back and simply stared.

"I am grateful for your help and I will pay you back one day," the hero said. "But please don't judge me for my actions. The agency suspended me. I have no one in my corner at the moment."

The villain snorted. "You have me in your corner, you absolute fool."

Now, it was the hero's turn to be speechless.

They had never expected the villain to say something like that. They had never dared to think the villain might actually do this of their own volition and not only because the hero was going to repay them. Or because toying with a desperate hero was fun.

It was strange to see the villain this worked up. Usually, they'd be the first one to laugh when the hero stumbled over their own feet.

The silence stretched between them. Long. Uncomfortable.

Neither looked at the other.

The hero stared at their shaking hands and debated their next step.

"You cannot possibly be alright with them using you like that," the villain said. Their voice was shaking. "They know they have power over you. What if they are bluffing? What if they don't have any information at all? I know you are desperate. I know you want answers. But not at this cost."

"You know I don't-"

"Not at this cost." The hero looked at them again and this time, the villain looked unbelievably soft. "Please."

The hero mumbled the villain's name, eager to find a resolving answer, but within seconds, the villain was in front of them again, taking both their hands.

"Please," they said, begged. Their eyes were fixed on the hero's. "We will find another solution, I promise. We will find another way, just..."

Their eyes dropped to the hero's lips. It was within the split of a second. Barely noticable.

But the hero had seen it.

"Come to me when you need anything," the villain said. "Please, just come to me next time."

The hero nodded and although they were incredibly relieved that they didn't have to return to the supervillain's estate, they couldn't help but feel that the villain's and their role had exchanged completely.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.

[wintrcaptn]

Apples and Butterflies Part 3

Joel Miller x reader

Summary : You caught your bf in bed with another girl two months before winter break. Now with no where to go for the next few weeks, your roommate invites you to her hometown so you don't spend the holidays alone.

But you never expected her dad to be the guy who pretended to be your date so you didn't look pathetic in front of your ex. The same guy you can't stop thinking about...Joel miller.

Part One | Part Two

A/N : hope you’re enjoying this little fic so far! Please leave feedback <3

Your POV

It didn't take too long for me to pack my suitcase. Jeans, knitted sweaters, dresses, and long sleeves. But as I folded the last few items, I stood there lost in my thoughts.

Thoughts that somehow lingered back to Joel. Coffee guy.

His broad shoulders. His salt and pepper wavy hair. The way his calloused hand felt against mine. His deep, southern accent. Just the thought of him made my stomach flutter.

Why was I standing here remembering every feature of his face? A man I had only known a few hours ago.

It didn't even matter, because I know if I had spent four years here and never ran into him until now? I'll never run into him again. It wasnt unusual to see the same faces around town. But his? I had never seen it before. There's no way I could possibly see him again.

That's not how fate worked.

"My dad should be here any minute to take us to the airport." Sarah, my roommate and best friend for the past four years, said.

I turned to her, scrunching my brows together. "Your dad flew here from Texas, just to fly back with you?"

She sighed, and nodded. "He's a little over protective. And doesn't help that I might have gotten lost one time and missed my flight." She chuckled. "And now he won't trust me to fly alone ."

I let out a soft laugh, the memory of that day resurfacing. She called me in a full panic, not being able to board her flight due to being late, and it was her first year without her dad. But he managed to get a last minute flight the next day to come get her himself.

That thought made my smile fade.

There was a part of me that quietly envied her for having someone in her life who would drop everything with no hesitation, just to be there.

It made me think of my mom.

"This is insane." I mumbled, plopping my sweater on top of the other clothes in my suitcase.

"What's insane?" Sarah asked.

"That I'm flying to Texas with my roommate, to visit her family who I know nothing about. I mean—I don't even know what to do out there."

"First off, my family is small. Mostly just me and my dad, unless uncle Tommy and Maria come visit with my cousin Benji." She said, shoving a pair of socks in her bag. "But it'll be fun! We can go to the Christmas tree farm. They have hot cocoa, ice skating, Santa's reindeer train, and a Ferris wheel. Plus, my dad never decorates until I get there. So we'll get a tree and decorate together!"

"That actually sounds amazing." I said, smiling to myself. It sounded like a real Christmas. Something I hadn't had in a long time. Not even when I spent my holidays with Dylan and his family. They didn't like to over due it with gifts or decorations. They enjoyed traveling to places that weren't cold and had lots of alcohol.

"It's so magical. But if it's not, at least you'll get to hang out with me, and I'm pretty great."

We both tilted our heads back and laughed in unison. Until a firm knock echoed from the door.

Sarah glanced at her phone before tossing it on to her bed, making her way over. "That's probably my dad. He is gonna help us take our bags to the car."

I nodded, leaning over to zip up my suitcase, mentally preparing for the flight.

Until a voice spoke. Deep, familiar, rough in that way that made chills cover me completely.

My heart dropped.

Joel. Newspaper Joel. Coffee guy.

Broad shoulders under a worn beige button up. The same eyes that had held mine in the cafe. The same man that called me darlin' and made my skin buzz with just a look.

He wasn't just a figment of my imagination. He was here. Standing in the door. Real, tangible, and Sarah's dad.

Our eyes met, and suddenly my breath caught in my throat.

Joel's body stiffened just slightly enough to barely notice. Long enough for recognition to flicker behind his guarded expression. Then it was gone.

"Dad, this is Y/N." Sarah smiled, oblivious. "My roommate I told you about."

Joel nodded, still holding my gaze. "Y/N." The way he spoke my name had felt empty compared to this morning. "Nice to meet you."

Nice to meet me? Did he forget this morning? The most embarrassing moment of my life?

"Y/N, this is Joel. My dad."

I swallowed hard, and forced a breathless smile. "Oh—nice to meet you too."

Sarah turned toward her side of the room. "I just need to grab my charger, then we can leave."

As soon as she walked over to her bed, Joel and I found our gaze locked on one another once again. Not a single word. Just a look. Steady, sharp, like he was studying my face for some reason I couldn't figure out why.

There were a million questions roaming through my mind. Did he really not remember me? Was I that insignificant for him to forget about me?

When all I have been doing was think about him...

I twisted at the hem of my long sleeve, tugging it down. I hate how nervous he made me feel. His silence made my stomach churn. We'd only met this morning. An offbeat encounter.

Yet, the way he looked at me now—like I was nothing but a stranger—left an ache in my chest.

Sarah threw her bag over her shoulder, completely unaware of the tension in the room. "Okay, I'm ready." She said just before pointing to another bag closer to the door. "Can you take that one to the car? It's too heavy for me."

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he leaned down to pick up the duffle bag. Which he did with little to no effort.

"Why don't you come down to the uber with me so we can get a move on." He asked his daughter.

"Yeah, okay." She turned back to me. "We'll be outside. Don't forget to lock up."

I could only nod in response. My mouth felt too dry to let out a single word.

As they stepped out, I caught a glance from Joel. It was fleeting, but it happened.

I exhaled a long sigh, trying to make sense of it all. Debating whether or not I should cancel last minute.

I could come up with some fabricated story. Maybe, my long lost relative called and wants to meet me? Or, maybe I could lie and tell them I landed an internship at a private practice?

No. There's no way Sarah would believe any of it. Besides, I already booked my flight. Money is too tight for me to waste it over something this ridiculous. What if he truly did forget and I'm making this out to be more than what it was?

"You can do this. It's just a month and a half." I mumbled to myself.

With that, I grabbed my suitcase and made my way down the stairs, the wheels bumping softly against each step. The cool air hit my face when I pushed open the front door of our building, and I spotted them just a few feet away from the curb.

Sarah stood with her arms crossed, while Joel lugged her bag into the trunk of the uber. And without realizing it, I slowed my steps.

"I just don't think it's the best idea." He said, voice low but not a whisper. "It's last minute. Long flight. I mean, how well do you even know this girl? She looks...."

He paused for a moment, catching a breath as he stood up and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "She looks complicated."

Complicated? The word hung in the air like smoke. Heat blooming in my chest, rising fast.

Sarah didn't miss a beat. "You're over thinking it. And you literally just met her. How does she look complicated? Y'know what? Never mind that. She's my best friend, and she's coming."

I stepped forward, my jaw clenched as I dragged my suitcase with a little more force than necessary. The sound of the plastic wheels against the concrete caught their attention.

My eyes fell on his, my gaze burning into him as I stepped forward.

"Alright, we should get going now so we don't miss our flight." Sarah said, sliding into the back seat of the car.

Joel cleared his throat like he swallowed something sharp. He reached down for my suitcase, his fingers brushed over mine for just a second too long. It felt as if something seeped through between us. Something thick with tension, and that same quiet pull that I couldn't name before.

I pulled my hand away, and stepped back an inch.

And I could see the way his jaw tightened, as he glanced down and pulled my suitcase to him.

"I got it." He mumbled. Just as he hoisted the bag into the trunk.

I slipped into the car next to Sarah, and shut the door. My heart hammering, pulsing in my ears.

I was going to Texas with my best friend. And my best friends dad. The man who called me darlin' and now thinks I'm too complicated.

What a great way to start winter break.

——————————

The hum of the plane surrounded us, soft like white noise. Sarah had claimed the window seat the second we stepped on board, leaving me to slide into the middle. Joel took the aisle seat without a word, his towering frame a solid wall of quiet tension beside me.

He hadn't looked in my direction since we left our dorm. Not when we checked in, not at the gate. Not even when he shared a bag of sour gummy worms with me and Sarah, while waiting to board.

But now, now he was only inches away. And I could feel every bit of it.

For the first hour of our flight, I shared earbuds with Sarah while we watched 'Never Been Kissed' on the little screen. I tried to focus on the movie, but my mind kept wandering to the man beside me. He was quiet, stoic but there was a weight to his presence.

His arms were crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button up were pushed up enough to reveal his thick forearms, tan and dusted lightly with dark hair. The veins along his arms stood out, prominent and defined, trailing down toward his strong, capable hands. With a few scars near his knuckles.

And he smelled amazing. Not like cologne, nothing fancy or synthetic.

Coffee, leather, the faintest traces of something like cedar. It was warm and grounded, the kind of scent you want to lean into without thinking.

I tried not to breathe him in, but it was hard not to.

Every so often, his knee would shift and brush against mine. The contact—brief—sent chills up and down my spine. I held my breath each time, unsure if it were intentional or not. If he even felt it at all.

After a while, Sarah had drifted to sleep. Her head leaned against the window, mouth slightly parted as her breath evened in slow little breaths.

The silence felt like torture. Almost unbearable. I glanced at Joel, who had barely moved. His jaw tight, eyes fixed on the dark screen in front of him. I couldn't take it anymore. I licked my lips, and swallowed the nerves rising in my throat.

"So..." my voice came out softer than I intended, though I tried not to wake Sarah up. "anything interesting in the news lately?"

His eyes flicked toward me, but didn't linger.

"What were you reading? Classifieds? Comics? Obituaries?" I leaned in a little closer than before.

Still no answer.

I would usually take the silence as a hint and give up. Turn my attention to my phone and pretend he wasn't there. But I didn't want this winter break to be so...whatever this was.

"Are you stalking me?" I asked, a playful smirk playing on my lips.

That got him.

He looked at me, slow as his eyes furrowed into confusion. The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly. "If anything, you're the one stalking me."

"I go there all the time, you on the other hand..."

"Ya sat at my table."

"Well, you didn't say no."

He glared at me for a moment and huffed. "Ya didn't give me a chance to answer."

"You could've told me to leave at any time."

"Didn't seem worth the energy." He shrugged.

I squinted my eyes at him and mirrored his pose. "Wow, you're charming."

Joel's gaze dropped to my lips then flicked back up. "You talk too much."

Heat began to radiate through my body, though I tried to ignore the feeling. "Is that suppose to be an insult?"

"Observation." He said, matter of fact.

In that moment, Joel turned his attention back to the black screen in front of him.

But I wasn't ready to end this conversation. Little as it was, I wanted more.

"Why'd you lie earlier?"

Joel didn't answer right away. His jaw tensed, the muscle twitching once before he slowly exhaled through his nose. There was a slight shift in his eyes. Guilt? Regret? I wasn't sure what it was.

"I didn't lie." He said quietly, almost like he wished I hadn't asked. "I just didn't...explain"

"You acted like we didn't meet this morning."

He leaned back into his seat, turning toward the window, looking at Sarah then back to me.

"She doesn't need to know everything." He muttered. "It's not exactly something worth mentioning."

Something twisted in my chest as his words played in my head. "Y-you mean, me? I'm not worth mentioning?"

"N-no. I mean that moment. This morning. No point dragging it into this trip. She'll never let it go and will ask a billion questions and I ain't in the mood to deal with it."

I let out a small breathy laugh, not out of amusement but clarity. Heat crawled up my throat as I nodded, masking the sting behind a tight smile.

"Right." I said, flatly. "Wouldn't want to make things complicated."

I didn't mean for the words to come out so cold, but it did.

'She looks...complicated.'

Something in his expression had changed, the stoic, unreadable mask he usually wore racked in this moment. Regret flashed across his face. He looked remorseful.

Good.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, and I was not ready to hear what he had to say.

I stood up too quickly, hoping to escape the sudden pressure in my chest. But just as I rose to my feet, the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. The jolt wasn't violent, but it was enough to throw me off balance.

I reached out instinctively, and my hands landed square on his chest—warm and firm beneath my palms. Half in his lap, face just inches away from his. Joel's hand pressed against my waist, steadying me. Not in a reactive way, but with purpose. Like he meant it.

I was close, too close. Enough to see the darker flecks in his eyes, the faint scar along his right temple, the way his vein pulsed in his neck.

Neither of us moved. For a single heartbeat, it was just us. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, loud enough to drown out everything else.

I snapped myself out of it. "Shit, sorry." I muttered, breathless as I pushed off of him. My cheeks and ears burning in embarrassment.

I turned away and hurried down the aisle to the bathroom, my hands still tingling from where they'd touched. But as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on my back. And worse, I wanted him to keep looking.

The bathroom was barely big enough for me to turn around in, but I shut the door like it could somehow block out what had just happened, and I let out the breath I held in for what felt like forever.

I leaned forward, leaning over the tiny sink, heart still thudding in my chest. I closed my eyes, and there he was again.

The way he felt in my hands, solid and warm beneath soft cotton. The heat of his hand pressed against my waist, not delicate or clumsy, but as if it belonged there.

And god, his scent. It clung to me now without warning. And his eyes?

I exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the heat that bloomed low in my stomach. Those eyes, wrecked me.

It would've taken nothing—nothing—to lean in closer. To close the inches between us. My lips had been right there, hovering above his. I could still feel his breath on my cheek. Could still imagine what it would've felt like to taste him.

And god, I wanted to.

"I can't." I whispered to myself. "I can't."

I opened my eyes, blocking hard at my reflection in the mirror.

"He is Sarah's dad." I said.

My best friend's father.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Trying to block it all out.

This can't happen. Whatever that was, whatever sparked in my chest and the space between us. It didn't matter.

I have to bury this feeling. Pretend it never happened.

Even if my skin still remembered his touch. Even if my heart wanted him.

[pure-kirarin]

Hongo x reader (tripping on them)

This is the part 2 of @austrianmusiclover13's request ! I hope that you will enjoy it. First time writing for Hongo :)

------------- sfw

genre : fluff The ambiance was calm and steady, as if you were alone in the room. You took a slow, circular look around the Doctor’s Cabin. It was neat and organized—unlike any other part of the Red Hair Pirates’ ship. It was true that Hongo was particularly meticulous about keeping his surroundings clean.

You tried to focus on everything around you—anything but the very man kneeling in front of you, your sprained ankle resting on his thigh, a little souvenir from the last battle with the Kid Pirates. Yet it was hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of his touch against your skin as he bandaged your ankle with meticulous precision, a gesture he had performed thousands of times as the doctor of the Red Hair Pirates. 

“I told you to back off. You didn’t listen to me,” he said, his reprimand fading like a sigh. “I was sure I’d make it just in time!” you replied with a pout. “Like always, you're incredibly stubborn.”

He was used to your defiance—how you moved through battle as if you were invincible, as if your life held no value in your own eyes when the fighting began. And yet, it was surprisingly endearing to him—the fire in your spirit, the fierce energy behind every punch you threw. It was like a flame of youth flickering through the monotony of his emotions.

“You’re lucky it was only a sprained ankle. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

You played it off with a laugh “Don’t be so pessimistic, even if it was worse, I’m sure that you’d put me back in one piece !”  

“I’m afraid I’m no magician.” He said as he knotted the bandages and gently released your ankle. He lifted his face, still in the same position, and your eyes met. You felt uncomfortable every time you met his eyes, you felt as if there was something that you couldn’t wrap your mind around. 

“Why do you care so much? You’re not my father.” You looked away, feeling your face heat up.

“Because I care about you” he paused, then added, “just like I care about every other member of the crew.” The words sounded rehearsed, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

The sudden shift in atmosphere made your heart race. His position; kneeling so close, your ankle on his thigh—the closeness between your bodies made you lose your usual composure. Hongo had always been an enigma: quietly watching from the sidelines, patching your wounds, a steady presence you rarely questioned. This was the same proximity, but somehow it felt different, charged.

Noticing your growing discomfort, he stood up, breaking the tension. You followed instinctively, eager to leave the cabin and escape the weight of unspoken feelings hanging in the air. As you moved forward, you lost your balance but Hongo was quick to reception you into his arms. Before you could realize anything, he muttered : “You could’ve just asked if you wanted a hug.” 

It was suddenly too much for your senses, the smell of his cologne, a mixture of soap and patchouli, the touch of his bare torso against your cheek, and his hoarse voice resonating in your ears. It took you a moment to realize what he had just said, and god ! It was so unlike him. 

“I’m not that touch-starved!” Or maybe you were—since it took you a dozen seconds to finally jerk away from him.He crossed his arms, a playful smirk curling on his lips at your reaction and thinking to himself how cute it was. 

“It’s my duty as a doctor to make sure that you’re both physically and emotionally stable.” “Wow! Taking your job way too seriously, aren’t you? That’s actually pretty admirable.” you said in a sarcastic tone. 

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Admirable, huh? Maybe I’ll have to find more excuses to take my job seriously.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a little. “Just don’t make a habit of it, or I might start expecting this kind of care all the time.”

[hangels]

oh, and happy birthday.

summary : happy birthday, who knew those words could cause such chaos? Definitely not art. A birthday gift from Patrick would truly change everything.

note : hii! this is my first fic. I wanted it to be something deep and so I hope you guys enjoy this! always looking for mutuals to add to my taglist. :), also this is not 100% accurate to the timeline..I just wanted to write something like this. 🥹🥹

Art Donaldson stared at the ceiling of his dark room, the steady hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. It was his birthday. The quiet wasn’t exactly comforting. it was heavy, thick with memories he thought he’d buried. Tashi, his girlfriend, was asleep beside him, her soft breaths steady and calm. But Art couldn’t sleep. Not tonight.

Months ago, things had spiraled out of control. He never meant to hurt Patrick, never meant to take his girlfriend away. But it had happened, and it had shattered something between them, something that even time couldn’t fully mend. Patrick hadn’t spoken to him since, had kept his distance like a wound too raw to touch.

Until tonight.

The phone vibrated softly against the bedside table. Art’s heart stuttered when he saw a new message received on the screen. A message: Happy birthday. Meet me at The Lantern? Tomorrow night? Celebrate? From Patrick.

Art hesitated, fingers trembling. For months, he’d convinced himself Patrick was gone from his life for good. But a flicker of something — hope, guilt, longing — made him type back a simple.. “Yeah.”

The next night, Art told Tashi he was going out with a few of his boys. He kissed her gently, the apology in his eyes. Outside, the air was crisp with spring’s first chill. The streets hummed with distant laughter and neon light. He walked towards The Lantern, heart pounding like a war drum.

Patrick was there, standing near the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wary but unmistakably alive. When their eyes met, the years of silence collapsed between them like a fragile bridge finally touched by footsteps.

“Happy birthday,” Patrick said quietly, voice rough with emotion.

“Thanks,” Art replied, voice breaking slightly.

They talked. awkward at first, words stumbling over old wounds and unspoken apologies. But beneath it all, the spark was undeniable. The flickering flame of what had once been something raw, real, and fierce.

As the night deepened, the city around them blurred. The past didn’t vanish, but for those stolen hours, it didn’t matter. They found each other again in the cracks between hurt and forgiveness.

When Patrick finally pulled Art close, whispering, “I missed you, kinda.” He awkwardly laughed, the weight of everything lifted for a moment. The flickering romance, the friendship between them wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Art’s breath hitched as Patrick’s hand found his, rough fingers curling gently around his wrist. The noise of the city faded completely, swallowed by the pulse between them — quiet but insistent. Patrick’s eyes, dark and searching, held a question Art didn’t want to say out loud but felt deep in his bones: “Is there still a place for me?”

Art stared him right in the eye, almost as if he knew what was being asked. “oh stop, you already know the answer to that, fucking asshole.” He laughed, earning one from Patrick..

Patrick chuckled, “I know, you just can’t ever seem to get rid of me. Huh? I bet it bothers you.” He murmured, art lightly shaking his head with a small grin. “Like gum on my damn shoe.” And after that, the atmosphere around them went quiet.

The space between them dissolved with a shaky laugh and a desperate, aching kiss. soft at first, testing, like both afraid to break what fragile thing they were rebuilding. Then, slow and sure, like coming home after being lost in the dark.

patrick then pulling away, a small grin as he was preparing to leave. Art softly furrowing his eyebrows.

“oh, and happy birthday.” He murmured before leaving.

leaving art to just sit there, eventually going home. He just couldn’t get that out of his head. A new message received now flashing on his screen once again.

From Patrick: it was nice to see you again.

[mendesblurb]

Sparks Fly

Shawn Mendes x female reader

Warning ⚠️: mostly fluff, maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors

Word count:~600

A/N: Got Inspired by the Taylor Swift song 🤓, also first story since forever. Hello, 2025!

——//

The New York skyline glittered, a million tiny diamonds scattered across velvet night. You stood there, overlooking the East River, pulling your coat tighter against the crisp air.

You’d come for work, meeting him was something impulsive, unplanned.

Hey. I’m in town. Break a leg tonight 🤓

Come and meet me ❤️, I’ll take you around the Big Apple after.

True to his word, he did.

The restaurant he picked was tucked away on a quiet corner. Warm light. Perfect pasta. Wine that loosened your thoughts away from your laptop. Conversation that felt familiar, easy, and safe.

Now, you walked beside him along the riverbank. The city lights danced on the water.

You stopped at a lookout point. The Brooklyn Bridge arched in quiet grandeur.

You craned your neck to take it all in, the glittering skyline, the way the city lights shimmered like reflections on glass. It was breathtaking, almost unreal, like something out of a dream. For a moment, you forgot everything else. The sound of distant traffic faded beneath the hum of the river, and all that remained was this moment, this view, this quiet magic.

Truly a beautiful sight, you thought, just as your heel caught on a crack in the pavement. You stumbled, unexpectedly thrown off balance. Your shoulder bumped into your companion with a soft thud, the contact sudden but not unwelcome.

Before you could catch yourself, his hand shot out, steadying you by the arm, “You okay?” he asked, a hint of concern laced in his voice, though the corners of his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile.

You nodded, breath catching for a beat. “Yeah… yeah. Just distracted by the view I guess,” you said, eyes still wide.

“Some things never change, huh?” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

You laughed softly and brushed his arm, “Shut up,” you said, more breath than voice. Although your hands didn’t part. His fingers were warm, steady.

The closeness stole your breath. He didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in. Your heart hammered. His face hovered close, too close and without thinking, you shifted away, just slightly, “What are you doing?” you asked, barely louder than a whisper.

Neither of you said a word for a beat or took a step back.

His voice came low, uncertain, “You’re right. We shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Then he exhaled, like he’d finally dropped the weight he’d been carrying for years. “What if I can’t?” he said. “I can’t ignore it anymore, Y/n.”

You froze. Because part of you had been waiting to hear that for years. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it too , maybe even more times than you cared to admit.

“This is…” you began, flustered, “This is not like me. I don’t stumble. I haven’t been this clumsy in years.”

He gave a knowing smirk.

You rushed on, words tumbling out, “Also — I’m in a strange city. I’ve never even been here before. And okay, maybe I’ve had a little too much wine. And maybe my shoes aren’t made for walking on cobblestones, or stepping perfectly on uneven pavement,” You huffed a breathless laugh, “Plus, someone this tall, attractive, and smells damn good shouldn’t be standing this close. It’s unfair.”

You were rambling, and he knew you tended to do this when the nervousness crept in. He always found it cute.

He chuckled, eyes glinting, “Are you done?”

“I… okay. Yes, I’m done,” you said, smiling softly. “I’m running out of excuses.”

“Thank God,” he murmured, voice thick with relief.

This time, when he leaned in, you didn’t stop him.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like opening a door you’d both stood behind for far too long. Then it deepened, years of tension melting into something undeniable. His arms wrapped around your waist. Your fingers tangled in his hair. The city blurred behind closed eyes, only light and heat and him.

——//

Taglist (open) : @monikamendes @holland-styles @bvttercupbby @lonelyreputation @badreputationlove @shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean @benito-mi-vida @swiftmendeshoran @yournameoneverypage @shawn-is-bruh @mendesbhraanth @perfectlywrongformendes @imaginashawnn @smendes-forever @nervousmendes @whenyoureadyholland @shawn-youth @myboyshawn @camilalewiss @camilalewisss @theregoesmyherojd @nanijaac1 @shawnieeboyy @silverswallow @inlovewithmendes-blog @mendeslola-blog @mendesx123 @23kofmendes @jellyloml @chipofmendes @poohofmendes @wutheringmendes @shawnmendesbuddy @chocochipcookie305 @shiningshawns

Story Code:01062510