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rafayelxsylusho · 3 days ago

Text

🌟 His POV 🐡

I've been working on these for sooooo long and I'm still not sure they are good enough.

Rafayel/Xavier

Sylus/Zayne/Caleb next...Maybe...

There is a line on Rafayel's story based on a poem I read a while ago. (Arabic poem by Ihsan Quddous)

Art: omi-resources

TW: Smut

I was used to the stares and whispers, the murmurs about my skill and the vibrant colors I brought to life on canvas. My paintings always left a profound impression, especially those centered around the ancient civilization of Lemuria, my ancestral home.

But tonight, there was only one pair of eyes I craved, one gaze that set my skin ablaze and made my heart race. She moved through the crowd, her hair cascading down her back, her small mouth curved in a soft smile as she took in my work.

I felt the heat of her stare before I even turned to face her. When I finally met her eyes she tore her gaze away, leaving me yearning for more. It drove me crazy, the way she turned away, breaking our silent connection. I craved her attention, her focus, her very essence. I would move mountains, traverse oceans, just to have her eyes on me. Always.

She doesn't realize I know everything about her, her quirks, her deepest fears, her wildest dreams. I've watched her grow, change, forget. I wanted to give her space, time to rediscover me on her own terms. So we started anew, like strangers, when in truth, I've loved her for lifetimes.

Hundreds of years, searching, waiting until our paths crossed again.

It's amusing how curious she is about me, asking questions, trying to unravel the puzzle pieces of my life. I let her explore, enjoying her enthusiasm and wonder. Starting from the beginning was a small price to pay to see that sparkle of interest in her eyes. She may have forgotten our past, but I'll never forget a single moment we've shared, a single breath we've breathed in sync.

She guessed my favorite color right off the bat, shouting out "blue" with a big, bright smile. Funny thing was, I didn't even know I had a favorite color until she said it aloud. I guess a part of me was waiting for her to define it for me, to give me a piece of myself that I never knew was missing.

When our lips met for the first time in this lifetime, it felt so incredibly right. It was like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into place, a long forgotten memory resurfacing. I've kissed those lips before, in other lives, other times. The feeling of our mouths moving together was as natural and familiar as breathing. It was a homecoming, a reminder of the love that has always bound our souls together, even across time. That single kiss held the promise of a thousand more, each one rekindling the flame that had never truly been extinguished.

Throughout the evening, our eyes kept finding each other across the crowded room, again and again. There was a new spark in her gaze tonight, a different kind of longing that mirrored my own. I could feel the shift, the charge building between us like a storm on the horizon.

Last night, when she rubbed her soft curves against me, I nearly lost control. The feeling of her body, warm and eager, ignited a hunger deep within me. It was exquisite torture, delicious in its intensity. But I held back, determined to make this moment perfect for her, to let her set the pace.

Finally, as the night grew late and the moon hung high in the sky, we made our way to my house, her small body curled up in the passenger seat beside me.

She dozed off as I drove, her head lolling slightly to the side, dark lashes fluttering against the soft curve of her cheek.

I carried her inside, her giggles and protests falling on deaf ears as I held her close, savoring the feel of her soft body pressed against mine. Once in my bedroom, I set her gently on her feet, steadying her as she found her balance.

We chatted about trivial things, the conversation drifting between us like a lazy river as I rummaged through drawers, searching for something suitable for her to wear to bed.

Suddenly, I heard my name called out. With a pajama set clutched in my hand, I turned to face her, only to find my breath catching in my throat, my words failing me utterly.

She stood there, naked, the dress she had worn tonight lying forgotten on the floor. My mouth went dry as I stared, transfixed by the beauty of her body. The moonlight streaming through my floor to ceiling windows casting a soft glow over her curves.

I must have stared for minutes, my eyes drinking in every inch of her skin, committing it to memory. From the column of her neck, to the soft swells of her breasts, the narrow waist and the flare of her hips, she was a vision of perfection.

When I saw her hands start to move, as if to cover herself, I found my voice. In a whisper, I commanded her, "Don't."

My feet carried me closer to her, unable to resist the pull of her allure. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, to smell the sweet scent of her perfume mixed with the unique aroma of her natural fragrance. I couldn't look away, couldn't tear my gaze from the beauty before me, a goddess made flesh.

"Don't you dare be shy now, cutie. A body like yours could bring any man to his knees, begging for a taste of paradise. It's a body crafted by the hand of god, yet made for the most sinful of delights."

"Then...why aren't you on your knees, Raf?

I dropped to my knees before her in an instant. She flinched slightly, concern flashing in her eyes as if worried about me hurting myself. If only she knew the truth, the only part of me aching was the hard length of my cock straining against my pants.

"One taste, I just need one taste of your sweetness." I sounded pathetic, I knew, but I couldn't help myself. The need was too great, too overwhelming.

My fingers began their journey, trailing lightly from the smooth skin of her calf, feeling her shiver at my touch. I let them dance higher, caressing the flesh of her inner thigh, pausing when my fingers reached the unique birth mark gracing the middle of her thigh.

I traced the shape of it, committing it to memory with the pad of my finger, a intimate exploration. She was so responsive, so sensitive to my touch.

I gazed up at her, my eyes pleading and silently begging. As if reading my mind, she gave a small step forward, closing the scant distance between us until her sweet, dripping cunt was an inch away from my face. The scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, making my head spin with want.

Unable to resist any longer, I grabbed her soft ass with both hands, pulling her flush against my mouth. At the same time, I draped one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her fully to me.

Without hesitation, I dove in, my tongue delving between her folds. I lapped up her sweet arousal like a man starved, relishing the taste of her on my tongue.

Soft moans and whimpers filled the air as I pleasured her, the sounds spurring me on, urging me to take her higher. I could feel her trembling against me, her fingers tangling in my hair as she held on for dear life. In that moment, there was no other place I wanted to be. I was home, lost in the sweet embrace of her body, worshipping the altar of her pussy.

For years, decades even, I had dreamed of this moment, countless nights spent imagining her taste, her touch, her scent. But reality far surpassed any fantasy. Her soft moans, breathless and wanting, filled my ears, her whispered pleas of my name making my head spin and my cock throb.

The way she held onto me, her fingers twisting in my hair, was a sign of her desperation, her need. I knew she was close, I could feel it in the way her hips rocked against my face, in the needy sounds spilling from her lips.

"Come for me, cutie," I urged, my words muffled against her slick folds. "Let me feel you come undone." I wanted nothing more than to taste her release, to feel her coat my tongue as she screamed her pleasure.

As she clung to my hair and whimpered with pleasure, I discovered something new about my sweet girl. She loved being talked through it, her body responding with a sharp clench at my words of encouragement.

I focused all my attention on her pretty clit. I flicked and circled the sensitive nub with the tip of my tongue, feeling it throb against my lips, and then I slipped two of my fingers inside her tight pussy.

Her tiny scream of pleasure spurred me on to work her harder, faster. I urged, my fingers pumping steadily as my tongue flicked mercilessly over her clit.

As she came, her orgasm crashed over her in a silent scream, her body convulsing with the force of it. Her nails dug into my scalp, anchoring herself to me as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her. I felt her breasts push up, straining towards the ceiling as she arched her back

Once she came down from her high, I licked her arousal from her trembling thighs, savoring the taste of her pleasure. Then, I scooped her body into my arms and carried her towards the bed. Her cheeks and chest were flushed a pretty red.

As I laid her down gently on the soft mattress, her elbows supported her weight, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.

I started to undress, peeling off my shirt and tossing it aside carelessly. Her eyes followed my every move, I kept my eyes on her, watching the way her breath hitched, her lips parting slightly as she took in the sight of my hard cock springing free from the confines of my underwear.

"Do you want to do this? Are you sure?"

She nodded, a grin spreading across her face, eager and ready.

There was no hesitation when she boldly spread her thighs for me, inviting me in, welcoming me into the warm space between her legs.

As I positioned myself between her soft thighs, she whispered "Your cock is just as pretty as you." I had to bite back a moan at her words.

"Thank you," I managed to rasp out, a blush creeping up my neck. No one had ever called me pretty before, not in that way. "You're the first one to call me pretty"

"I don't know why," she murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along the length of my shaft, making me shudder. "The first thing I wanted to do when I met you was sit on your pretty face." Her bold words sent a surge of lust straight to my groin, and I knew then and there that this woman would be my undoing.

"Are your pick-up lines always this bad, cutie?" I asked, chuckling softly.

She laughed in response, a melodic sound that made my heart skip a beat. "No," she admitted with a grin. "But I figure I'd start slow. Give you time to fall in love with me first, before I break out the real cheesy ones."

I captured her lips with mine, kissing her deeply and slowly. Our mouths moved together in a sensual dance, her smile curving against my lips.

As we kissed, I felt her small hand wrap around my cock, guiding it to her entrance. The head slipped inside her with a soft, slick sound, and I groaned into her mouth, feeling her heat enveloping me.

In a fast move, she sank down on my cock, taking me to the hilt in one smooth motion. Her teeth sank into my lower lip as she pushed forward, a gasp escaping her throat.

"Goddammit, Y/N," I groaned, my voice strained with pleasure and disbelief at the exquisite feeling of her, so tight and perfect around me. She had me wrapped around her finger, and she knew it.

Her smile faded, replaced by a slight frown as neither of us moved, paused in the moment.

"Too big...Raf"

I remained still, not wanting to hurt her, waiting for a sign that she was ready. Her nails sank into the muscles of my shoulders as she clung to me, her body trembling slightly. I could feel her starting to clench around me.

"Please, Raf, move. I could spend the rest of the night just like this, but I need...I need you to move."

Her plea was all the encouragement I needed. I always did what she wanted, what she needed. So I began to move slowly, not yet thrusting deep, testing her limits, gauging how much she could take. She was dripping wet, her arousal coating my cock from tip to base, making each movement slick and easy. Yet, despite her excitement, I could feel a hint of discomfort in the way she tensed around me.

Leaning down, I trailed kisses along her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. As I lavished attention on her sensitive skin, I couldn't resist her pert nipples, just begging to be tasted. I drew one into my mouth, suckling gently before grazing it lightly with my teeth, giving her a teasing bite.

My other hand came up to play with her neglected breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak, coaxing more of those delicious sounds from her lips. I wanted to make her relax, to let go and surrender to the pleasure.

I felt my own release building, the heat of her tight, wet pussy threatening to undo me. I thought of everything and anything to keep myself from spilling inside her too soon, the weather, the latest book I had read, the color of the walls in my studio. Anything to prolong this moment, to make it last for her.

I started to thrust deeper, pulling her leg over my hip to open her up to me fully. With each push of my hips, I sank further into her, stretching her, filling her completely.

Suddenly, her discomfort shifted, morphing into pleasure. I could feel her body responding, her walls starting to ripple around my driving cock.

"Oh god, Raf!"

She was screaming with each thrust, unable to contain the ecstasy that consumed her. In a moment of self consciousness, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, trying to muffle her cries.

"Take your hand away"

"Bu...but I'm too loud"

"I don't give a fuck," I growled. "This is my house, and we aren't hiding anything here. I want to hear what I'm doing to you."

She didn't hesitate, immediately removing her hand from her mouth.

"Good girl"

At the praise, she let out a long, drawn out moan, her back arching off the bed as she pressed herself closer to me. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and guided it to her clit, placing my fingers exactly where she needed them most.

Together, our fingers circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing and stroking in a way that made her toes curl and her thighs tremble.

This time, when she came, it was with a scream. I could barely keep moving inside her, my hips stuttering and pausing as she squeezed and fluttered around me.

But the sound of her scream, the way it filled the room with the raw sound of her pleasure, was enough to push me over the edge. With a low groan of her name, I spilled inside her, my hot seed spurting deep into her core as I found my own release.

I collapsed against her soft, warm body as we both caught our breath, my weight resting gently on top of her. She wrapped her arms around me, hugging me close to her chest as I listened to her heartbeat slowly return to a steady rhythm.

Inside her, I could feel my cock softening, the once hard shaft now a satiated part of me. I nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin as I basked in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

"You don't need to try to make me fall in love with you, I'm already head over heels for you, cutie." I wanted her to know, to understand the depth of my feelings for her.

"You stole the words right out of my mouth," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips. That was the moment I knew she felt the same way, that my heart's desire was reciprocated in full.

I drifted in and out of sleep, my arm lay draped lazily across the gentle curve of her waist, our bodies pressed close in the warm embrace of sleep. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the digital clock casting a soft green light across the ceiling.

Suddenly, the silence was pierced by a soft, breathy sound. Barely more than a whisper, it was enough to pull me back from sleep. I felt my brow furrow slightly as I strained to listen, unsure if I was still lost in some half formed dream.

Then, as if spoken directly into my ear, I heard her murmur my name. The sound was so clear and unmistakable that my eyes flew open.

I turned my head slowly towards her, her face was flushed, as if she were experiencing some intense sensation. Her full, soft lips were parted slightly, and I could hear the sound of her breath coming in uneven, desperate little gasps.

I saw her shift her body beneath the sheets. A shiver ran down my spine when she pressed her thighs together and then she whispered my name again, more urgently this time. It was a needy sound that sent all my blood rushing southwards, my body responding to her unspoken plea with a will of its own.

The way her fingers curled and clutched at the sheets, twisting the fabric into tight little knots made my stomach clench. Was she dreaming about me? Were images of us, of my hands on her skin and my lips on her body, dancing behind those fluttering eyelids?

A breathy, needy moan spilled from her parted lips, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night.

I dragged a trembling hand down my face in an attempt to steady myself. But it was no use. The subtle little rolls of her hips, the way her body moved beneath the thin sheets, was enough to undo me completely.

And then, as if to drive me mad, I heard the hitch in her breathing, the way her breath caught in her throat on a sharp, keening sound.

The way my name tumbled from her lips, a breathy, needy whisper in the darkness, sounded like the sweetest sin imaginable.

I couldn't tear my gaze away, My eyes lingered on the curve of her throat, watching as it bobbed with each rapid rise and fall of her chest. Lower still, I could see the unmistakable peak of her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her shirt. They were hard, achingly so, my cock throbbed in response to the unspoken invitation.

I wanted to touch her. God, I wanted to touch her so badly it hurt. I wanted to run my fingertips along the soft skin of her throat, feel the racing pulse beneath my touch. To cup her breasts in my hands, thumbing the stiff peaks of her nipples through the thin cloth until I heard that sweet sound spill from her lips again and again.

But I held myself back, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as I fought the overwhelming urge to pounce on her.

I ached to slip beneath the sheets, to slide my hands along the smooth expanse of her thighs, her hips, her waist. To feel for myself just how deep this dream had taken her, how wet and ready she was.

As if sensing my desperate desire, she moved again. Her body shifted beneath the sheets, a sinful little roll of her hips that spoke volumes of the building heat between her legs.

My self control hung by a fraying thread, my heart slamming against my ribs like a wild beast trying to break free of its cage.

"Fuck" I whispered, the word falling from my lips like a prayer or maybe a plea. It was in that moment that her eyelashes fluttered and slowly, torturously so, her eyes opened. They met mine, locking onto my gaze with a force that stole the breath from my lungs.

As she took me in, I saw the exact moment she registered my expression. Her breath stuttered, a sharp inhale that caught on a gasp as she drank in the heat that burned in my eyes. The tension in my body was palpable, every muscle coiled and pulled taut as I fought to maintain my precarious hold on control.

I couldn't resist the urge any longer. With a trembling hand, I reached out and dragged a single finger down the smooth skin of her arm. I watched as goosebumps blossomed in the wake of my touch. Her skin was so soft, so sensitive, that even the lightest caress from my finger left an imprint.

As I pulled my hand away, I leaned in closer, my breath ghosting over the shell of her ear as I asked the question that had been burning in my mind. "Were you dreaming about me?"

She swallowed hard, the action visible in the delicate column of her throat. Her lips parted, a tiny gasp escaping her as she tried to answer.

"I was..." she stuttered "I was dreaming about you."

A slow smile curved my lips at her words. "Was it a good dream, bunny?"

I wanted to reach out and touch her, to map the contours of her body with my hands, but I held myself back. I had no right to touch her like I wanted to, not without her consent.

For decades, I had longed for her. Countless nights spent dreaming of her touch, her smile, the sound of her laughter. The pleasure of her lips had already been mine to savor, but her body remained a territory yet to be explored. I yearned to sink into her, to lose myself in the heat of her embrace until we were both lost to everything but the feeling of our bodies joined as one.

"Please Xavier..."

My heart stopped at her pleading words, only to kickstart again with a force that left me breathless. I could see the desperation etched into every line of her face, hear it in the way her voice trembled with need. She was asking for me, begging for my touch, and I knew I could no longer deny her.

"I need you,I need your fingers. Your mouth...please, I need you inside of me."

With a guttural groan, I surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. My hands, no longer able to keep their distance, roamed over her soft skin, mapping the curves with a hunger that bordered on reverent.

When she took off her shirt, baring the hardened peaks of her breasts, I trailed open mouthed kisses along her throat before giving the same attention on the sensitive flesh of her breasts. I swirled my tongue around one stiff nipple, teasing and tormenting her until she was writhing beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair.

My hands slid down the smooth skin of her stomach, coming to rest on the waistband of her pajamas and underwear. With a quick tug, I peeled them down her legs, tossing them carelessly to the floor. My fingers delved between her thighs, finding the slick heat of her arousal.

"God," I groaned against her skin, feeling her wetness coat my fingers as I teased her sensitive flesh. "You're so ready for me..."

I circled her clit slowly with the pad of my thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her hips buck up off the bed.

"Do you feel that? That's what your body has been begging for. It's been craving my touch"

As I spoke, I could feel her thighs trembling, the muscles quivering with anticipation and need. Slowly, I settled myself between her legs, pushing the sheets away to bare the full glory of her body to my eyes.

The moonlight painted a silver glow over her skin, a mesmerizing picture of curves and hollows that I yearned to explore with every sense I possessed. I could see the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath, her nipples begging for my mouth.

But it was the sight of her glistening folds, flushed and swollen that made my cock throb with desperate need.

My hand trailed slowly up her inner thigh, teasing and caressing the sensitive skin until she was squirming beneath my touch. I could feel her hips starting to move upwards, seeking more friction, and I knew that I had her exactly where I wanted her, desperate, wanting, and completely at my mercy.

I inhaled deeply, allowing her scent to fill my lungs and cloud my mind. Then I leaned in and dragged the flat of my tongue along her outer lips. The first swipe was a revelation, a glorious epiphany that sent electric pleasure racing through my body. Her taste was ambrosia, an exquisite nectar that burst on my tongue and set my senses alight with a hunger I had never known before.

Drunk on her I delved deeper, and there, at the very heart of her being, I found the sweet arousal that had been waiting impatiently for my touch.

But as I lost myself in her, so too did she lose herself in me. A cry tore from her throat as my tongue made contact with her puffy clit. Each slow swipe of my tongue sent a fresh gush of arousal out of her, mixing with the saliva that already coated her sweet flesh. The result was a slick, slippery mess that allowed my tongue to glide effortlessly over her most sensitive spots, teasing and tormenting her until she was reduced to a wanton, mewling creature, begging for more.

And the sounds she made...fuck, the sounds she made were music to my ears. I was sure she was going to cum, and she was going to cum fast.

I wanted to give her that release, to grant her the ecstasy she so desperately craved. Her thighs, so incredibly soft clenched around my head as her grip on my hair tightened.

The way she tugged at my hair, urging me on, was driving me wild. I could feel my own release building, my cock throbbing and leaking precum, aching for its own finish.

My tongue continued to circle her clit until I found that perfect spot that made her moan. I focused my attention there, licking up and down, faster and harder, determined to push her over the edge.

When I felt her hurtling towards her climax, I sucked her tiny, throbbing clit into my mouth. I suckled gently, then harder, my tongue flicking rapidly over it.

"XAVIER!"

The sound was everything I had ever wanted to hear, everything I had dreamed of in the long, lonely nights spent yearning for her touch.

As her body shook, I drank in every last drop of her pleasure, savoring the way her essence flooded my mouth and dripped down my chin.

When she started to push me away, I knew she needed a moment. I kissed my way up her quivering body, trailing soft kisses along her smooth skin until I reached her lips.

Once there, I captured her mouth kiss. It was filthy and full of desire, my tongue delving past her lips to let her taste her own arousal that still coated my mouth.I kissed her like I was starving for it, like she was the air I needed to breathe.

Her fingers trailed over my chest, down my stomach, leaving a trail of tingling heat in their wake. When she reached the bulge straining against my pajamas, I couldn't help but thrust my hips forward, seeking more of her touch.

She was fast, almost frantic in her movements. With a low moan, she grabbed the waistband of both my pajamas and underwear, yanking them down. The cool air hit my cock for a brief moment before the heat of her palm enveloped me.

"Oh god, Xav," she gasped, her fingers wrapping around my shaft and giving me a firm squeeze. "I need to feel you, all of you." Her thumb swiped over the leaking tip, smearing the bead of precum that had gathered there. The sensation made me groan, my hips bucking into her hand eagerly.

"Are you sure?"

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that made my painfully hard cock throb.

"Please, I'm sure"

I saw the confirmation in the depths of her beautiful eyes, a reflection of her desire that mirrored my own. Those eyes, the one thing I would crave for the rest of my days. I was already addicted to the way she looked at me, to the power she held over me.

I took my time spreading her legs, revealing her glistening folds, she was ready for me, her body singing with a hunger that matched my own.

I grasped myself firmly, positioning the swollen head of my cock at her entrance. The first touch of her flesh against the sensitive tip made us both gasp, a hiss escaping her lips as I started to push forward.

She was impossibly tight, her walls gripping me like a vice as I slowly sank into her. The stretch was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and the slightest bite of pain as her body accommodated my girth. I couldn't help but groan, my eyes fluttering shut at the incredible sensation.

Inch by inch, I pushed deeper, feeling her arousal coating my shaft, easing the way in. She was so soft and so wet, a heaven that I never wanted to leave. When I finally bottomed out, when I was fully sheathed inside her, I paused, savoring the feeling of her pulse fluttering around my cock.

As I began to pull out, a thin line of red stained my cock, her innocence, her gift to me. I saw her brows furrow together, a slight discomfort flickering across her beautiful face. Concerned, I paused, my body poised above her. "Do you want me to pull out?". The last thing I wanted was to hurt her.

But before I could act on my words, she stopped me with a shake of her head. "No, don't pull out, I need to feel you inside me."

I couldn't deny her, so I stayed still, allowing her body to adjust to the stretch.

Then she started to move. Slowly at first, a gentle roll of her hips, but soon, she grew bolder, her hips began to roll with increasing confidence, her walls clenching and fluttering around me.

I had to drop my head to her forehead, our brows touching as I struggled to maintain my composure. I breathed in the scent of her skin, let it fill my lungs as I fought to hold back the impending rush of my release. I wanted to last longer, to make this moment stretch on for eternity, but the feeling of her moving beneath me was driving me wild.

My fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as I gritted my teeth, trying to rein in the urge to let go. But fuck, she felt incredible, I was at her mercy, lost in the bliss, drowning in the feeling of her tight, wet pussy enveloping me completely.

I had always been a jealous man, and right now the mere thought of another man touching her, of feeling what I now felt, made my stomach churn with a sickening knot of dread. I wanted to be the only one, the sole owner of her body's responses, the only one to ever bring her such exquisite pleasure. And it was the other way around as well, the thought of me touching someone else that wasn't her made my stomach turn. If they didn't look like her, smelled like her, moaned like her...I didn't fucking want them.

When she whimpered out a plea for me to move I complied without hesitation. I began to rock my hips, slowly, letting her feel every inch of my hard cock as I slid in and out of her. I felt the uncomfortable tightness begin to change into something else entirely. Her body responded to my touch, to the deep, strokes of my cock hitting a spot deep inside her.

The look on her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open in bliss, made me lose all semblance of control. Not able to resist the temptation, I brought my fingers to her lips, pressing them past her soft, plump flesh. I groaned as she immediately began to suckle on them, her tongue swirling and dancing around the digits..

The feeling was incredible, but it was the mental image I conjured that nearly sent me over the edge. I could picture her, lips wrapped around my cock, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked me deep. The thought alone was enough to make my hips stutter, I had to grit my teeth and dig my fingers into the sheets beneath us, anchoring myself as I fought to hold back.

I could feel her walls starting to clench around me, her body tensing as her climax rapidly approached. It was too much, too intense, and I knew I couldn't hold back any longer. I began to thrust into her harder, faster, chasing our mutual release with a single minded determination.

Her back arched off the bed as her orgasm crashed over her, a gush of liquid heat flooding around my shaft as she came undone. The feeling of her spasming around me, milking my cock, was my undoing.

With a hoarse cry of her name, I pulled out, my cock pulsing as I found my own release. Thick ropes of my hot, sticky cum painted her stomach as I pumped myself dry, my hips jerking with each spurt until I had nothing left to give.

Throughout it all, she watched me with hooded eyes, a satisfied smile playing on her kiss swollen lips. We were both left panting and shaking in the aftermath, our bodies glistening with sweat and other more intimate fluids.

I leaned in close, pressing my forehead gently against hers "Was this what you were dreaming about, my star?"

She let out a breathless little laugh, her own smile widening with satisfaction. "This was so much better, much better than anything I could have ever imagined." Her fingers traced idle patterns on my chest, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she snuggled closer.

I couldn't help but grin back at her, my heart swelling with pride and adoration for this incredible woman who had captured me so completely. In that moment, I knew that I would spend the rest of my life trying to make every one of her dreams a reality, to give her a lifetime of moments that were even better than the ones she had imagined.

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queenimmadolla · 3 days ago

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could you do any dad!steve? maybe with new baby

I am never escaping the dad trope lol, and I don't want to! This got angsty fast, though, as it's an idea I've been toying around with for the better part of years now and you've given me the chance to get it out there. I present to you:

𝐃𝐚𝐝ⵑ𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐦ⵑ𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, tw: postpartum depression. reader is not happy and experiencing mom guilt.

Summary: Steve Harrington, first time father of one, muses about you, the mother of his child.

“I know, I know…” Steve cooed, foot frantically tapping against the kitchen tile while he waited for hot water to heat the liquid contained in the bottle, floating in the pot.

He was the poster boy for exhaustion, one shoulder of his shirt covered in spit up, the other with a spit up rag slung over it. Also, covered in spit up. His sweats were no better, stained with projectile spit up, her pee because surprise, surprise, female babies can also have little pee streams, and whatever he was trying to eat before she’d start crying and he fumbled his meal to get to her.

The baby, tucked into a bassinet Steve was dragging around the house at that point, was just a few weeks old, and furious. Little limbs wiggling and shaking, face scrunched up as she cried. Agatha was pissed and obviously didn’t give a crap what he was saying and Steve let out a heavy sigh, practically feeling the frustration she was experiencing, as a result of picking up on his own emotions. Joyce Byers had told him babies had a way of doing that. Little bundles of empathy, yet to be marred by the world.

Three weeks out of the hospital, and already she was experiencing a multitude of emotions he could barely stand. Largely, the concern and loneliness.

Agatha’s screams continued to echo, the bottle continued to warm on the stove, and Steve turned his head towards the stairs. Melancholy weighed heavy on his chest as he thought of you. You probably hadn’t moved since he’d last checked on you a few minutes ago, curled up on the window nook and staring blankly out of it.

You didn’t talk to him a whole lot. Didn’t do much, either. Steve would like to say he noticed the first change when he’d brought the two of you back home, but he’d noticed it before then. Noticed in that delivery room.

You’d been unsure of being a mother when you found out you were pregnant, but a family had been something the two of you always talked about. To you, specifically, it seemed to be something that would always be in the future, never something that would be happening right now. The joy soon found you, and you were ecstatic to be welcoming your baby. Hand painted so many of the designs in her nursery, built up an impressive library and wardrobe for her, discussed your yearning for the days where you’d get to sit out in the yard with her in your arms, read to her, nurse her. You wanted it.

But Steve had seen the look in your eyes when the nurse had put your baby girl’s trembling body in your arms. Or rather, he’d seen what was missing from them.

It was like your body was in the room, but you weren’t. You didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to hold her.

You weren’t very chatty after the birth, quiet, reserved and pleasant. Too busy catching up on what you hadn’t been able to eat while pregnant, to pay attention to the baby girl everyone was cooing over and you seemed vaguely uncomfortable anytime one of your friends diverted their attention away to check on you.

It should have been the first sign for Steve to let the doctor know but he wrote it off as you being tired. Because you were. Tired.

When he brought you home, he’d thought you’d be much better. Surrounded by your things, and memories, and nothing but reminders of his love for you. You’d be better.

And then you weren’t. You went about your normal routine, chores, errands, all without so much as a smile on your face. No frown, either, just…nothing.

It was when Steve couldn’t deny how desperate you were to not pick up the baby, to not have to hold her, that he had to accept what was happening.

A diagnosis was given, one that was hard for you to deal with because you’d been difficult when it came to discussing your feelings, let alone doing so with a doctor.

“Honey, it’s not a big deal! Your hormones have changed and you-you read the same baby books as me─” Of course, he’d said the wrong thing.

“ ‘Not a big deal’?” Your eyes were shiny and blazing, “Not a big deal? You’re asking me to go to a doctor. Like something’s wrong with me and it’s not a big deal to you? Do you think I’m crazy? What—just because I’m not happy as fuck to change her diapers?”

Steve’s stomach hurt, twisting at both his pain and yours.

“It’s not the diapers, honey. It’s not…” He paused, throat swallowing around a heavy emotion, “You’re not crazy. You’re not.”

“I’m not.” You confirmed, ready to stomp back upstairs to the master bedroom and pretend this never happened when he spoke softly.

“You just won’t pick her up after.”

You hesitated on the first step, turning to face him while you stared at the ground, almost mortified that he’d said what you’d intentionally been doing out loud; changing her diapers because she smelled or wouldn’t. stop. crying. and then immediately announcing to Steve that she was ready so he could grab her. And if he noticed that, well…he’d also noticed how frequently you disappeared to pump. Always handing him a bottle when one was needed before fluttering off to some other part of the house or outside. Not around. The last time you’d even nursed Agatha was in the hospital. It’d be fine if you didn’t want to, you just had to tell him. You both knew breastfeeding wasn’t for everyone. That led him to believe it was something more. And whenever you had to put her to sleep because Steve for some reason couldn’t, you’d always get this far out look on your face, like you were disassociating. Would rather be anywhere else.

You weren’t you and what scared Steve most was how you were intentionally trying to deceive him into thinking you were fine. Because it meant you were trying to convince yourself, too. Holding it all in.

You had swallowed hard, cleared your throat and attempted a shrug, “So? I clean her poop and you take the next shift. Thought that was what we were doing.”

Steve knew he’d get nowhere with you if you continued to shy away from what he was saying. He knew it would hurt you, but he had to be direct if he wanted to get you help.

“Do you like holding her?” You were put on the spot, he knew he’d finally gotten through. You fidgeted, a hand reaching up to massage the back of your neck, something Steve always did to comfort and soothe you.

“Uhm—I,”

“Do you want to hold her?”

The tears came before you could stop them and you knew he knew. Your face crumpled. In a flash, Steve had you in his arms while you cried into his chest.

”I don’t know what’s wrong with me, she’s perfect but she doesn’t feel like she’s mine. And she hasn’t done anything wrong and I just don’t─”

Steve hushed you, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead as he held you tight, “It’ll be okay, honey. It will. I promise.”

The first few doctors were dismissive of you and your feelings and Steve had let them, their staff, and everyone in the waiting area know how little he cared for their conduct. Then came a saint. This doctor had said it was Postpartum Depression.

A scarily common thing for those who give birth, and widely undiagnosed because either women didn’t seek treatment for various reasons and aspects in their life, or they weren’t taken seriously when reaching out for help.

Steve had hoped knowing it wasn’t your fault, knowing it wasn’t anyone’s fault, would help you but you’d been even more quiet since. Had even chosen the window nook as your new roost.

He was lucky he had a more than an average amount of time saved up at work to stay home. Steve had imagined it would be used as family bonding time, time he’d get to spend with both his girls, and now he’s trying to make sure both of his girls may someday get the chance to bond.

Steve was snapped out of his head when some hot water splashed on his hand and he hissed, cursing under his breath as he quickly turned the burner off. The water was boiling, there was no way he’d be able to give that milk to Aggie. Shit, how could he get so fucking in his head and distracted—

The baby.

Steve immediately registered that the house was quiet, his head darted in the direction of the bassinet and his heart dropped when he saw it was empty.

HIS BABY!

“Aggie?” He called out like a dumbass as if his three week old baby would respond.

The stove, the pot, and the bottle were abandoned as he frantically searched the house for her, literally running down the hall. The front door was locked, so was the back door so no one had broken in.

And then a thought occurred to him. One that filled him with far too much hope. His frantic steps became quiet, afraid to make so much as a creak when he made his way upstairs and down the hall.

With bated breath, he pushed the bedroom door open.

You were still in on the nook, just as he suspected. The top windows were open, allowing a sweet breeze into your bedroom, curtains billowing gently on either side of you. Rays of sun framed you, a light blanket over your lap. A blanket that housed your daughter. Steve could see her little fist, clenching and unclenching even with her little mittens on—she liked to scratch her face and then get mad about it—as she nursed. You kept her close, thumb stroking over the soft, exposed delicate skin of Agatha’s arm while you read, occasionally mouthing a few words.

Steve stood almost paralyzed, in complete astonishment as he watched the two of you.

At some point, Aggie began making an intense grunting noise and you looked away from your book, down at her in concern as she unlatched herself from you.

“Oh, what’s going on─” Aggie let out a large and long toot and her grunting immediately stopped before she began to root around for your nipple again. You let out a loud laugh, body shaking with it as you assisted her with latching. “Such a silly girl. Stinky, too.”

Steve almost joined you, almost walked in that room, to take part in it. He didn’t. Legs twitched to move forward, but he just smiled, amused with Aggie and happy to see you smile. Steve would just linger in the doorway for now, satisfied with letting his girls bond.

𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 ℗ 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑒 ♡

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington drabble #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington x reader angst #Steve Harrington x black!reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #dad!steve harrington #dad!Steve Harrington x reader #dad!Steve Harrington x mom!reader #tw: postpartum depression

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zzbubblegumbitchzz · 1 day ago

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Mine // Luke Hughes

a follow up to The Manuscript, where Luke has some words to say.

part one - here

WC: 1.4k

CW: tears, a lil bit of self deprecation if you squint, post breakup sad, pet names, he lowkey fixes it

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, riding down the road that now left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Your house was coming up, 2 miles ahead on the right. The house with the big pine tree and endless kisses and now broken promises lived.

A promise he'd always come back to you, promises of forever, promises of "I'll come whisk you away. I’ll be on one knee and it'll be you and me.”

That ring felt like it was burning a hole in his luggage. Almost like he could feel the hurt. He could feel hurt. All he felt lately was hurt. He had no one to blame but himself.

“You could fix this Luke.” Quinn’s voice held a level of support for his brother but also an anger for her. For the girl who was his sister. Maybe not by blood, or even marriage now, but Quinn always supported her. “She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t just forget about you and everything you had in two weeks. Give her some time, get a plan, and bring her home.”

Luke just nodded.

It had been 2 weeks since Luke had been in Michigan. 3 weeks, 3 days and 12 hours since the doorbell footage he couldn't stop watching. “I loved you, Lukey” playing on an endless cycle in his brain. Loved. Past tense. Had he really fucked this up so badly that she had time to fall out of love with him?

He was staring at the basket that was on the counter. The basket with everything you loved, the basket of proof he never stopped thinking about you.

That stupid hoodie you always stole, a note front and center, some candy and other snacks, a blanket, the comfiest socks he could find and some books he knew you had been eyeing. Thankful for your goodreads being public enough he could see what books have been bought and what hasn't.

Quinn had talked him out of waiting at the door with the basket, “That’s basically cornering her, Luke. You can’t do that. Drop it off on the porch, knock on the door and go back to the car.” and maybe Quinn was right. As much as Luke needed to see your face, needed you to see he wasn’t okay either– he knew that wouldn't end well for either of you.

So here he stood, oversized basket in his hand and the iced matcha with white chocolate and strawberry foam from the little coffee shop 20 minutes away that was your favorite in his other. Now all he had to do was knock. Knock and leave. No matter how much he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to.

The sound of a hard knock brought your attention away from your rewatch of Love, Actually. Waiting a couple minutes to see if whoever was there would knock again. The thought of social interaction was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was this bottle of wine, stupid love stories with happy endings that you’ll never relate too and tears.

Everyone told you, cry over him for a couple days and forget him. But Luke, he wasn't someone you wanted to forget. Luke was all you wanted. He was your safe space, your shoulder to cry on, your support. And for the first time in almost 6 years, you broke down fully alone.

Finally willing yourself to get up, you wiped your tears and opened the door.

There sat a basket and a drink. Not just any, yours. Your drink, from the cafe Luke took you to on your first date.

Closing your front door, you sat on the porch pulling the paper with your name written in the messiest handwriting.

Handwriting you’d never forget. Handwriting you had grown to know like it was your own secret language. Handwriting that belonged to the one guy you ever wanted. Luke’s handwriting.

Unfolding the paper you scanned over the scribbles. Eyes closed, taking a breath before you were ready to read this properly.

Hi baby,

Am I allowed to say that? Probably not, I'm sorry. I’m not off to a good start here. I've rewritten this 3 times, I decided it's better to just word vomit. That way i dont forget anything.

God, baby, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid. Stupid is really just putting it lightly. I was dumb, selfish, cold, and gone. I left you alone. I broke promises. I missed dinner. I missed hearing about your day. I missed hearing about your books. I missed hearing what your new favorite song was. I missed all of that, and more, for months. Months you waited for me to come back to you. I was so stuck in hockey, I was stuck giving more to a team than I was to you.

I will never forgive myself for that. I will never forgive myself for allowing something so bad to happen. I will never forgive myself for setting you up for the perfect plan of falling out of love with me.

I never wanted to hurt you, seeing you cry on the camera broke me. It broke me in a way I don't even have words for. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my body. I never wanted to ever be the reason tears stained your pretty face.

I was on my way, I texted you and when you didn't answer I thought you were napping. We were on break, we had a couple weeks before playoffs. I was coming home to you. Just you and me. And when I walked in and your bag was gone my heart dropped. Then I saw the box, and the necklace on the very top. I've never held something in my hand that hurt so badly.

I know none of this is going to fix what I did. I know that, but I needed you to know im a fucking mess without you. Nothing’s been the same. There's no sunshine anymore, because you're not here. You brought the sunshine. You ARE the sunshine. You are everything that is pure and good in this world all wrapped up in one little person. One little person who I had the privilege of loving. No past tense, no loved. I will never stop loving you.

Jack told me I shouldn’t tell you, so did Quinn, but I can't lie to you again. I had a ring. In the closet, hidden in an old box on that shelf you never could reach. I had booked a little cottage up north in June. I was going to ask you to marry me on the 3rd day there. I had a whole script I wrote 7 months ago. I read it daily, I have it burning in my brain. I wasn't going to forget all the things I wanted to say that day.

Anyways I'm rambling real bad and a novel wont fix what I did to us. But please know, youre my past, present and my future. It will always be you. Even if I'm not your future. I'll cheer you on from afar.

I love you,

Lukey.

You couldn't stop the tears. The rest of the basket was forgotten. Reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked his name and held your breath.

Luke sat at the island in the kitchen. Quinn is cooking some sort of chicken. He wasn't sure, he stopped listening 15 minutes ago. Jack was digging around in the fridge and all Luke could focus on was if you got the basket.

Everyone went silent as the bridge of Mine by Taylor Swift started blaring. Staring at the phone on the counter, your smile taking up the screen.

“Fucking answer it Luke!” Jack yelled, pushing the phone to his little brother.

He forgot how to breathe, he didn't think you'd call. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to ever hear your voice again.

“Hello?” His voice was soft, scared really.

“Did you mean it? The letter, did you mean it?” she was crying. He could tell and god that broke him.

“Every word of it. All of it.” He left no room for questions. No room for doubt.

His brothers watched with worry, Jack whispered, “put it on speaker!”

Quinn smacked his head, like he asked for the stupidest thing. They were too busy quietly arguing with one another that all they heard again was Luke.

“Yeah, honey. 10 minutes okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” It's almost like he knew what you were about to say. “You’re never going to have to wait again. The world can wait, my world can’t.”

#luke hughes angst #luke hughes drabble #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #lh43 #nhl fluff #nhl blurb #nhl angst #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction

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hosekisama · 3 days ago

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IT IS FINISHED.

The Past Teaches You to Be Alone is complete at 150,243 words across 40 chapters! If you were holding off because you don't read WIPs, your time is now!

Some kind comments/testimonials we've received over the past (holy shit) year:

wow.

I started reading it thinking, hmm it's very long, do I really want to invest so much time in it? And now I'm so excited that there's so much more of this story I'm practically buzzing.

This is such a grounded take on the role-swap AU.

I love how you've struck a perfect balance of following the plot beats but drastically recontextualizing and showing new angles to them.

And for the fic in general, I am really really enjoying it a lot. Not only has very coherent and nuanced takes on both AU Kim and AU Harry, but the writing is superb. I repeat what I (and others) have said about Discernment but is written masterfully. And finally, for the plot, it followed the games events and my expectations for the most part, which you manage to give new meaning and perspective while referencing the source. However, I have been pleasantly surprised

GOOD FUCKING FOOD, the best Kim Kitsuragi I ever did read

kim kickassuragi yyyeaaah

Totally in love with this version on Kim as well as the original one, as they're really feel like the same person with different turns of events

I love how you've written Harry and Kim's swapped dynamic and this has been just such a tasty treat to read!

aughh… aoghghhh… aououugughhghghhhh… ow.

I'm so in love with this story. You have to understand them SO well to pull off an AU like this and they are both just perfect. A friend of mine is already used to me screaming in our messages at least once a day about this amazing fic I've found and what a fantastic job it's doing of both Kim and Harry. Heartbroken I'm now caught up and can no longer binge-read it.

This fic is impossible to put down.

yes yes yes yes yesz yes yes yes yes yes LETS GOOOOO

this is such an enchanting and well thought out read

The writings style is so beautiful and just the right amount of flowery and detail <3

stays true to the mysterious and melancholic tones the game script has whilst being your own independent creation

HARRY SEEMS LIKE THE PERSONIFICATION OF A WARM CUP OF COFFEE. BEAUTIFUL.

AUGH I am waiting anxiously on the edge of my seat

It's amazing, and SUPER impressive- you guys ought to be feeling proud as hell!

It's really inspiring to see how much thought you guys gave put into this, and the entire fic is beautifully polished.

I'm screaming im crying

Thsi is fuckin incredible I can't wait for more, thanks for giving me my morning newspaper

Love waking up to an email notification about this fic!

there have been moments where I had to kick my feet and go hee hee! hoo hoo! god I love well written fic and this is very well written.

i just wanted to specifically state how gorgeous and well written it was and how many times i've re-read it lmao. You guys nailed the weirdness and unexplainable but still all consuming raw hurt of emotional dreams

read all of this in a day and it's so so thrilling and creative and interesting and inspiring. incredible work and such a gift

Their dynamic is beautiful and I'm so excited to see more of these two! You can so clearly tell how much thought you put into which traits and behaviours would still be present in the swap version and how they'd change and it's so much fun to read!

Their interactions have such a certain cadence to them. They feel really natural to me. They don't have everything out there, but you can feel the growing trust and earnestness. Youve done the progression of things so well.

Masterful. Touching. So full of love.

to read

I'm very pleased to finally be sharing this -- @lgbterrorist and I have put a lot of work into this Swap AU fic, and it's just started serializing on AO3.

Something happened to Kim Kitsuragi that knocked his life wildly off course. Now it’s March of ’51, and he’s woken up in the Whirling-in-Rags with an apocalyptic concussion, a chip on his shoulder, and a partner intent on solving a murder.

The Past Teaches You to Be Alone. Kimharry, rated M, final word count ~148k.

The cover art is by Sykine, definitely check out their other work!

#the past teaches you to be alone

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tyunningism · 3 days ago

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Come on Don't Leave Me

── .✦ pairing: c.bg x reader

You've been attached to Beomgyu by the hip since forever- there's a special attachment between the two of you which can't be described through meagre words and that's why the two of you were so loveable together; blooming in to the naivety of a budding relationship. Yet he suddenly leaves everything behind anyways, radio-silence, leaving you wandering alone in your small hometown until he returns years later with another woman by his side.

...or in simple words...ᴇx!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ᴇx!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (+ h.k. mention)

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 16.1k words

mentions !! and warnings !! - Lots of angst, open ending + break ups, mentions of death, Beomgyu's a dick for a part of it el oh el, arguing + degrading comments, minor wound on finger, Beomgyu smokes, cheating accusations but not proved, small fractions of reader x huening kai, mentions of genetic medical condition (muscular dystrophy),slut-shaming, speeding (lmk if there's anymore I need to add because this is long and not proofread).

tyunningism's note: had the sudden change of heart to write a longer angsty fic, originally wanted to cap it at 8k but i got lost in making the plot a bit crazy and reached twice that. I doubted myself a lot in writing this because I think my writing was a bit inconsistent and sloppy at time but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

"You know I like you right?"

"Duh, you can't not love me if you've stuck by my side even after I've pissed your bed like every sleepover."

"No, I'm being serious, I like you."

You watch his adam's apple bob in his throat, the way the mischief in his eyes fade like he's matured from his boyish annoying act that he pesters you with every second of the day; he lifts his head just slightly to search for something in your gaze but his mouth is zipped shut, the silence deafening.

You've just confessed your diehard feelings to the biggest blessing and pain in your ass for the past 12 years and Choi Beomgyu can't even give you an answer back?!!

A grunt escapes from your lips at his dumbfound expression, suddenly wanting to bury yourself alive in the very bed room you basically co-lived in together.

"Ugh forget I even said anything."

Falling back on to the outgrown mattress on your bed you refuse to face the literal bane of your existence now as you dangled your feet off the too-small bed you both used to share as kids. He rested his head against where your feet laid, criss crossed on the ground and boring holes in to your bedroom's ceiling.

It wasn't the best time to confess you'd admit- especially when five minutes ago you both were pissing yourselves laughing watching cringy vlogs you both documented on an ancient ipad from god knows how long ago. You just slightly hoped that you'd have both overcome the embarrassment phase at this stage of your friendship after years of going to the same school and clubs and holidays, snotty crying sessions and heated arguments.. enough to be transparent with each other's feelings you thought at least. So you're unsure why his silence disturbs you so much, because it shouldn't. His rejection shouldn't make you feel so stupid for even risking to confess your minor feelings right now.

The awkwardness was starting to linger in the air around you suffocatingly, reaching out to pull the duvet over your head before a meek voice broke the initial tension.

"Can I give you my answer now?-" Your eyes blink hard.

"What?!!"

Chaos followed when you sprang up from your bed nearly knocking yourself out cold on his head, who is now directly facing you breathing in staggered intervals. "Shit Gyu don't scare me like-"

He smothers a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, instantly causing you to furrow your brows at his impulsive action, ready to start kicking at him for even attempting to shut you up, waiting for him to start laughing the shit out of you.

But you’re wrong, so wrong. Because within seconds he leans in to close the gap between you a little bit more, ever so slightly leaving enough space for you to feel his breath fanning on to your skin.

And to whichever relationship guru he must've searched on the corners of reddit to learn this from- it's working because your brain short circuits on the spot, hands clammy and clenching on to the strings of fabric on your shirt.

You felt it.

The softness of his lips on yours for a short second of bliss enough to drive you insane. The taste of cherry coke laced and latched on his lips that lingered on yours for mere seconds after.

"My answer," He smiles bashfully while tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears.

Suddenly feeling hot and unable to meet his gaze you jump at the sound of his signature boisterous laughter breaking the initial romance of the moment, "I'm shitting myself I can't believe I just did that, can't believe I finally get to have you."

And it’s like your nerves drop. He’s back to the same happy-go-lucky spirit and the same Beomgyu you’ve always known him as (except more affectionate) as he pounces on top of you, immediately getting to work with peppering small fleeting kisses all over your reddening face.

"I can't believe even a shithead like you can have feelings like that… I really thought you were going to reject me then and there Gyu.." you joke lightheartedly.

Assuming he would take it lightheartedly you glance up to see his expression; but he avoids eye contact again, instead choosing to pick at his finger nails.

"I promise you, if I didn't love you you can consider me dead.”

Beomgyu has always been loving despite his antics; even now, at the ring of the bell he rushes out of his homeroom first just so he can walk back with you to the shared club room the two of you have slumped around in during lunch break for years.

Entering without a knock you greet your mutual friends casually with Beomgyu following close behind, an arm snaked around your waist and his chin stunted on the centre of your head.

“You two are so gross, it’s like incest at this point.” The familiar sight of Yeonjun’s outgrown hair and body sprawled across the stained couch of the club room made you grimace all the while shooting him a quick middle finger.

Beomgyu chimes inexplicably fast- eager for any chance to argue with Yeonjun- the laughter bubbling from him made your heart skip a beat each time- not that you’d ever tell him that in case you’ll boost his ego further to the moon than it already has.

“Where’s the little one? Haven’t seen him at all today. Ugh I told him I wanted to go for band prac too.” His groans are music to Yeonjun’s ears, who lets out a chuckle before pointing towards the boy huddling to himself in the corner - zipped up in a hoodie with his back turned to everyone.

You tap lightly on his shoulder before speaking gently, “How’s the new hair for the band Kai? Hm?”

“I bet it’s horrible, like bright green or something”

“Shut up gyu,” Kai hisses before reluctantly revealing the flashy blue head of hair he dyed with cheap box dye and immediately looked sullen the moment he saw the shock in your faces. “I know it’s too bright..I’m just hoping it’s gonna fade out.”

The first person to react is your boyfriend who is scrambling behind boxes and shelves of magazines and small trinkets, random snack packaging and left over hoodies before finally emerging back out of the stack of junk with a small digital camera.

“This one’s for Kai’s new hair style !! You’ll take a photo of us right jjun ??” He giggles melodically, the kind that’s hard to miss and sounds in your head on repeat minutes after.

You really liked Choi Beomgyu.

And you’re sure he loved you and everyone around him too. Despite the forefront he likes to mimic himself as loud and silly- you knew Beomgyu better than anyone else could.

Especially his small habit of wanting to document everything with people he loved the most: Kai growing up, his vacations with his family to beach resorts, questionable photos of yeonjun, his music and lyrics, little snippets of Toto, and you.

He never stopped documenting you. Whether it was making sure that he’d take a photo whenever you had time with each other or when you weren’t there he would call just to hear and record your voice to listen to later.

Beomgyu has always been thoughtful and ambitious. Often complaining about how much he wants to leave the small town to pursue his own band with Kai, who although is more reluctant, can’t help but say yes to him.

Maybe it was the time that you sat down with him at a small brunch spot for a date that you realised his own liveliness stemmed from his passion for music, his head bopping a long to the silky sound of rnb resonating through out the cafe.

“You really do like your music stuff don’t you Gyu?” You ponder, lips wrapping ‘round your straw again for a sip of your mango cooler in mid spring.

Your boyfriend only responds with a hum before giving a sweet smile, he grips the handle of his mug with both hands like he’s reflecting on something, something deeper starting to brim in his eyes.

“I’ve been really in to these kinds of songs lately. I’ve been working on a few projects, wrote a couple of lyrics about..you know, us.

Kai said he’ll compose everything in time for Summer for our second anniversary, I wanted it to be special so I even got his sisters to help. And while I was writing the lyrics I thought about this a lot . If we were to never meet, if we didn’t connect so quickly, if we didn’t bicker and cry together, if we never fell in love with each other. And I know it’s out of character for me to be so open but we’re graduating high school soon and I’ve always wanted to start a band. Everyone knows that. But I hate change, I hate the thought of leaving such a big part of us behind and with Kai too, he’ll be alone in that club room-our club room- when we’re gone too. But if there’s anything that does change I don’t want it to be us. I like how everything is right now..I think I’d rather die if it wasn't like this, honestly."

Maybe it was when you realised how much time you really had spent together.

Beomgyu had always been the same boy you first met; toothy grin and loud shouting whenever something didn’t go his way. You notice it now too in the way he’d pout whenever he’d notice tomatoes in his mom’s cooking, desperate to moan and groan, or after a date when he’d cling on to you and pepper a couple of kisses on your face before pulling you in to the tightest hug of your life as if you would escape from his grasp if he let go, or when he’s excited and really at his happiest- the way he’d unleash his signature laugh in excitement.

There was a charm to him that you always looked forward to every morning when you stepped out of the door to be greeted by the same face you’ve grown accustomed to since the start of time, stood waiting so you could spend every ounce of time together even if it was stupid small-talk.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have skipped sports class.. Mr Kim's going to give me an earful.."

"If I skip my first class today then we can both get a detention, then it wouldn't be so bad because you have the glorious, amazing, handsome Gyu right with you, right?"

There's a mutual pining for these kinds of conversations between you, it made your relationship 1000x more authentic, more human, more filled with understanding and love.

And then you hurry out of the door on the first day of summer, muttering the usual ‘morning Gyu!!’ to an unusual silence that welcomed itself on your porch.

Like you were talking a ghost, the bench sunken in to the grass of your front yard where he usually rested before you were ready to walk to school remained empty. None of the usual strum of music leaking through his head phones nor the feeling of the warmth that radiated from him.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be late or sick and skip out on a day of school but the unnerving feeling in your gut wouldn’t let you rest, as if something had gone terribly wrong, as if something had formed a climax in your life that you weren't even aware of yet.

So you trod to school alone in the scorching heat; the sliding of doors to your home room signalling the cluster of gossip and muttering to drown itself out as you slump over your desk, waiting for Beomgyu to message you about how he was feeling or if he overslept.

But the message never came.

In fact, he halted from showing up to school at all. His spot on the couch in your club room felt emptier than ever and the dread in your heart would only gape harder when he’d refuse to pick up your calls, the small time together you both used to treasure so dearly, let alone Yeonjun or Kai’s calls.

And no one reported him missing or filed in a report for a dead body in your small town; everyone got the hint when they’d walk by his house and the lights would remain turned off, when his parents didn’t come by with a basket of peaches from their backyard, when the small remnants of life started to fade without the Chois in the home they've lived in for decades.

It was like he never existed. Like he vanished mid-air.

There was no way to understand it; how one moment he would be cuddling with you in bed to the tranquil of the matching music boxes your parents had gifted you , and the next it would be complete radio silence, not a single voice mail or message from him.

The first time you cried after his disappearance occurred when you visited his home hoping he was merely unwell from a stupid summer cold that he always caught year after year. Kai had tagged behind like he knew you’d bawl your eyes out the moment you saw the polaroid photos you had taken together on your first date sticking out of the trash like a sore thumb upon heaps of waste and old toys and pans.

A smack to your face. That’s what it truly felt like seeing the way he grouped you with useless junk, like the lifetime you spent together meant nothing to him apart from a way to pass time and entertain himself. The flimsy film of paper waving back at you mockingly in the wind for even thinking for a split second that he would've thought about you before going MIA.

In the next few moments everything that came out of your mouth ranged from sobbing to incoherent cursing and tears rushing down your cheeks and on to Kai’s shoulder. You cursed at Choi Beomgyu like he had murdered your entire bloodline, you cried until you physically couldn’t strain your throat to wail anymore and you clutched on to Kai to fill the gap in your heart- substituting the void Choi Beomgyu had abandoned.

Still, you’d wake up every morning a bit earlier and linger by your door step a little longer just in case he’d show up again like he used to do.

Every. Single. Day.

But it was a one-man show every time you'd spend lunch in the noticeably duller club room on Yeonjun's phone attempting to ring him or his parents.

"Look, stop being a fool you've been ringing up his phone for a week and there's no answer. Fuck knows where he's at?"

You know Yeonjun's right, but you can't let go go of the slim chance that possibly he would pick up.

With no updates from Choi Beomgyu nor his parents, slowly he’d fade away from the scene of your upside down life that he'd left without warning.

The second time you cried so exhaustingly was the first winter without him when it was starting to show signs of frost- the flimsy thin blanket needing to be exchanged for a warmer duvet. Which of course had to be situated under the frameworks of your bed that strikes a hassle to reach as you hovered your hand over boxes of clutter and old treasures you’ve kept since you were young.

What you thought you were taking out to be a box stuffed with your winter duvet turned out to be a box bedazzled with striking bold letters, ‘Y/N and Beomgyu’s time capsule’, and poorly cut out cheesy photos of holding hands and playful cheek kisses plastered all over the lid.

Usually after a couple months of Beomgyu disappearing from your life and slowly adapting to a life without him you would cease to acknowledge anything that reminded you of him; knowing it will only pain you more. Though, you’re still healing from his unexplained absence, to this day you still didn’t know if he was even alive let alone avoiding you, so you can’t bring yourself to throw away the only bits you have left of him, the only evidence that he wasn’t purely fiction- that he really did exist in your life.

Uncovering the lid of the time capsule revealed your photographs from the rollercoaster you both screamed your hearts out on, the picnic in the hills by your homes in a spot no one else knew about except you and him, and the photo-booth strips of the both of you pulling stupid faces at the camera with props adorned all over your heads.

You’re unsure of what it was about the contents inside that really struck you with uncontrollable tears and wallow; possibly the naivety plastered on your face while you giggled, the moment of bliss frozen in time. More likely the anniversary gift you never had the chance to give him, a custom guitar pick you had bought for him engraved with your initials. Cheesy, but the thought of being so excited to pour your heart out on a gift you never got the chance to give lands your head buried in to your knees which were slowly becoming damp with tears.

The last time you ever let yourself cry so hard over Choi Beomgyu was at Kai’s house the following summer. Simply a call from him to visit before he leaves for Uni after he graduated. A soft knock on his door and it swung open, displaying to your eyes his cheerful expression that started to diminish in to a more solemn pitying glance once he saw you. It was evident he could tell you were still hurt and it was evident that whatever he was planning on handing over to you now probably wasn’t the best idea.

“What are you hiding from me, Kai?” A hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in self-conflict, unsure of whether or not to show whatever ‘forbidden’ item he had to you.

“I think you’re better off not having it actually, you don’t look so great right now Y/N.” He shies away from your stare knowing he’s hit a nerve. And something snaps in you because it only hurts you further that wherever you go the remains of his impact on you still show on your face, that no matter what you do to get over him people will always tie you back to him, like you can’t move on without being constantly reminded of what Choi Beomgyu once was to you.

“Show it to me Kai, please.” You hated to admit that you sound weak but you hated to admit more the way your face drops at the box he hands over to you. The box you, yeonjun, kai and choi beomgyu had kept in the club room filled with the sd cards of his digital camera and dvd cassettes of band practices.

“I figured you might’ve wanted them for safekeeping now that the club room’s been wiped of everything, I-I’ve got the dvd player going if you want to watch it, it would be nice to revisit those times.”

You nod gently before kicking your shoes off at the entrance and wandering in to his bed room where he kept his small figurines and boyish posters in trash bags ready to be disposed of.

"Kai, you really liked that show, why are you throwing all of your collectibles away?" There's a frown that only seems to become more extreme as you dig through the bag of old plushies and figurines he's kept since you first met him.

"I didn't want to throw them away at first, but I'm grown now..it's embarrassing to bring these with me to Uni.. you know that. And plus it's been ages since the club room fell apart, I matured a lot in that time too." Kai was always viewed as a little brother that you and Choi Beomgyu quote-on-quote 'raised', yet to see him now a fair few inches taller and more mature you can't help but feel shameful that everyone beside you has moved on already, leaving you stuck in the past in the club room with a playful Kai and Yeonjun, leaving you stuck with the craving of Choi Beomgyu's return behind.

Before your thoughts got to the worst of you the cassette was loaded by shaky hands and your glossy eyes fixed on to the static of the tv revealing a young Yeonjun, Kai, You and Choi Beomgyu in front of the camera- all laid out on the couch toppled and fanned over each other in a mess.

‘What’s this for gyu?’ You asked with a tongue stuck out at the camera.

‘He said it’s a secret. Who knows what he’s going to do with videos of me..” The older boy shudders at the thought jokingly which launches you both in to laughing and slapping Choi Beomgyu lightly on the back.

‘Well whatever it is, I’m sure Beomgyu hyung has his own reasons.’

‘Tbc’ flashes on the tv screen at the end which cues you to coo at how cute Kai was in these old outdated videos. Part of you wants to thank Choi Beomgyu for wanting to document all of this, especially when Kai slotted in the next cassette labelled ‘for her’

The video started with the light strumming of guitar (which you assumed was his own original piece) and Kai struggling to zoom in on his face, awkwardly fiddling with the camera before letting it rest at an angle.

‘Hi love,’

Two words. All that you wanted to hear in the past year and a bit without Beomgyu.

Two words from the voice that you’re slowly starting to forget.

‘I wanted to wish us a happy anniversary, to our second year of being together as a couple, and not just stuck to each other’s side. By the time you’re seeing this I would have gotten my hair cut already- it’s getting long now and I know you like it better when it’s neater so that it doesn’t get tangled in your rings I gifted you.

There’s a lot that I want to say: first how proud I am of you. I don’t think I got the chance to tell or show you how shocked I felt when you confessed to me out of the blue, I think you’re admirable really, even if you’re a bit lightheaded at times. Second, how much I love you. I’ve said this before loads of times but there’s never a time when i’m not thinking about you and never a time where I can imagine a future without you being part of it. You're so important to me to the point I feel guilty for not being able to be as great of a lover as you are to me. Back to the main point of this tape... I hope you remember my promise I made on that day; it’s special- okay? I’ve put a lot of effort in to preparing a song that I want to dedicate to us only... Kai and I haven’t decided a name on it yet but we wanted to name it after you, so happy anniversary beautiful, I love you.

Beomgyu out.‘

By the time the dvd ends with Choi Beomgyu singing the lyrics of a slow ballad he wrote for you, the locks that held your own emotional stability let the tears escape and fall from your eyes again- staining your shirt in the process,

you can’t grasp why he left when he dedicated so much time in to showing his love in his own discreet ways, what you did that was so terrible he couldn’t stand being with you anymore and where you went wrong.

There’s no logic in learning to move on from someone you loved so fulfillingly when you’ve spent over half of your life dependent on them. Could you even resent him? You wish you could..but for all you know he could be hurt, or he could be living his best life he's always dreamt of without you and you don’t know what’s arguably worse,

Because you can feel it, the distaste that remains on your tongue that gets stronger the more you start to resent him, a constant reminder of his own selfishness and a reflection of what he had turned you in to by leaving. Yet you can't bring yourself to hate him, not until you can get the closure on what made him want to leave what you had so desperately and never come back, not until you can see with your own eyes that he's alive and well.

Telling your self one thing.

That no matter what, you wouldn't be able to love Choi Beomgyu the same way again.

"Can you copy up some of the files I've sent you? Management needs it for a product showcase later." Sae whirls the mixture of warm milk and instant coffee in her mug mundanely before leaning on the counter of the rest station to complain to you about the intern she's supervising.

"I also need you to ask Kazuha if she can cover my shift on Monday, I've got plans with my boyfriend to go see the movies."

Your responses don't vary much outside of agreeing hums and polite nods but you enjoy being in Sae's presence, her long talks bringing some form of entertainment in your boring office job.

"Speaking of which, are you seeing anyone right now? Come onnn I know there has to be someone who has the hots for you in the department. Oh and plus you have the high school reunion that Kai's been begging you to go for the past month !! What do you think of Kai?? Doesn't he give you that puppy-dog kind of vibe?? I think you should try-"

The stern tone in your voice cuts her off immediately,

"It's fine Sae really..I'm not that in to functions anyways and Kai's like a bro-"

A head of brunnete hair peeps in to the door of the rest station, grinning ear-to-ear to which makes you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did I hear you talking about me?? Does this mean you're considering coming to the reunion with me? Pretty please Y/N-"

"For the last time no, Kai, you know I don't like going to these sorts of things." You shrug and look back at Sae who's busy making melodrama scenarios in her head, visibly geeking at the thought of you and Kai.

"But Yeonjun hyung will be there, he's coming back from Seoul, you wanna see him too right?" Kai pleads.

"Yeah, listen to Kai ! Go to the function ! Go to the function !"

Truth be told, you don't want to be back there. You don't want to revisit the people who saw you at your lowest 5 years ago when he first left you, it irks you to think back on it. But it's so rare to see Yeonjun who only revisits your small hometown once or twice a year, especially when he's now thriving running a successful dance school and creating choreographies for record labels, he doesn't even have time to message you or Kai with how busy he is- so you know how important it is to show up when he has time.

Sighing, you give in to their pleas and agree on a time for Kai to pick you up from your apartment. You couldn't imagine him or Sae happier as she shoos you back to your desk to finish your piles of work on time for her to plan an outfit and prepare you for your 'biggest event in months', forcing you to type away spreadsheets of work until your fingers ached and swelled.

Surprisingly Sae's advice (forcing you) to finish work quickly kept handy as you submitted in your last document. The week flashed by in an instant and now at 2.pm on a Saturday you were ready to clock off.

The tapping of your heels echoed behind as you walked outside of the building's entrance to wait for Kai's jeep to roll up, giving you time to think.

Something really minor that you noticed was Kai's shift in attitude towards going to the reunion as if a week ago he wasn't begging at your feet to accompany him, to avoiding any talk about the reunion; instead circling around the idea of just going to a bar with Yeonjun as the three of you. You brush it off as Kai overly worrying for your own wellbeing which only makes you want to prove yourself to him more by going, hoping to save some face.

And still when you enter the quiet space of his car and lean against the back rest he asks you again,

"are you sure you still wanna go? I feel like I've forced something on to you that you're uncomfortable with.." the only thing you can focus on is the subtle frown his lips have automatically formed and the quieter voice he uses when he's upset or overly guilty over nothing.

"I'm sure Kai," you chuckle lightheartedly, " I think we should get going to my place or else Sae's going to give us an earful for locking her out."

The attempt to lighten the mood works because the ride home is smoother with small-talk between you and the younger male blabbing on about company gossip and badmouthing some of the classmates that had scandalous school lives who might be showing up to the reunion.

Conversations come to an end when he parks outside of your apartment to give a quick thumbs up that he'll be there to collect you in about 3 hours. Sae's quick eye runs down the flight of stairs to hug and spin you around in excitement-

"You didn't back out this time girl!! Come on come onnn, open the door I want to show you the outfit I prepared." You cringe at all sorts of outfit combinations coming in to mind; analysing her own personal style the key accessory to the outfits you think she's planned for you is a bralette and optionally a skirt and underwear and bangles- nothing that you'd really like to show up in to a high school reunion.

Jangling your keys to unlock the doors to your apartment Sae dashes to your bed before pulling out strips and bits of fabric and patterns and dresses out of her pocket-sized designer bag. Assuming she's been gifted a lot by her boyfriend and spending her promotion pay on a new wardrobe you can only admire at the rows of meticulously planned outfits suited for the reunion, and finally you can understand why she's so highly praised in the office as a fashion goddess.

Once your three hours are up and your eyes are starting to dry from the mascara you've applied in a rush you scurry downstairs with Sae following behind snapping a couple pictures for 'memories'.

You were dressed head to toe in a sleek white cardigan and a miniskirt, wielding a purse you had been gifted by Yeonjun on your birthday which adorned your bracelets. Kai's already leaned against his car in a beige flannel and tank paired with loose jeans held up by a leather belt: his hair is lazily styled with volume mousse to accentuate a couple of his brunette curls.

"W-Woah..Sae did a great job, you did too of course.. I like the uhh-lashes, they make you really stand out."

"I know right ?? She's practically glowing today !!" Sae giggles and rushes you into the passenger seat before pulling out a dangling necklace from her pocket.

Your heart drops.

"I saw it in the jewellery box earlier, I think the gold will really compliment your top!!!"

Of course, you don't dare to ruin her high spirits that the necklace she had just handed to you was your ex's first anniversary gift; a small pendant containing a diamond which rested between your collar bones as she clasped it on. You didn't want to project your own insecurities and sound immature by crying over a necklace your ex had given you when realistically it should mean nothing but a simple accessory to you now considering he's been a ghost for 5 years to you. So you let it dangle around your neck meaninglessly on the car ride to the restaurant the reunion was being hosted at.

Immediately upon entry the two of you are greeted with loud hollering and cheers from fuzzy faces you can barely piece together, Steve from your sciences, Yuna who was in the home room next to you and Sohyun who joined your maths class halfway through the year:

"Hey guys look who's here !! Kai and Y/N!! They really lucked it out with the club room..they used to sell candy and pirated games there remember?!!"

The memory makes you mentally facepalm as you greet the large group gathered already, 1-2 shots in to the night and laughing and conversing as you make your way to sit down at two empty seats with Kai facing Yeonjun and next to you.

"It's been a while you idiot, how's work goin'? The older male's voice booms louder than usual, already appearing to be slightly tipsier than usual before coddling at you and leaning over to squish your cheeks which you argue over 'ruining your base'.

"Rare seeing you at a place like this hm, did you come just to see me? God I raised you two so... well.." His speech started to slur as he took another sip out of his glass, the connotation of being the same level of maturity as Kai shakes you a bit, but if you were Kai you'd probably feel this way too when you talk about how cute and angel-like he was when he first knocked on your club room door- still a child in your eyes.

Yeonjun pours you a shot amidst the loud chatting and cheers from drinking games which leaves your head to zone out and tune in with the beat of the background cacophany of shrieks and chants, interrupted by the jingling of bells as the doors of the restaurant opens to reveal another face you doubt you'll recognise.

However your head doesn't cease to turn when the sudden loudness becomes nearly mute almost comedically before someone exclaims,

"What the fuck man!? Beomgyu's here too?"

You don't know how to explain what you feel next. A million thoughts and emotions flooding your head as you turn your head around almost shakingly to face the entrance of the restaurant where he stood: leaned back in a graphic tee and baggy jeans hung low around the drip of his waist, his jawline was sharper after gradually losing the baby fat in his face and now opted for black styled bangs instead of the mute shoulder length middle part he made his signature hairstyle through out your youth, noticeably taller and more masculine too specifically in his shoulders which are broader. It only makes you realise how much time has passed since you last saw him, it only makes you want to run up to him and wrap your arms around him and never let go in case he vanishes again before you know it. But the only thing you can focus on, and what everyone else can focus on, is the daintier hand eloped around his arm, a petite girl with pink dyed hair and ribbon pigtails, she was cute, awfully cute which only stirred unease deep inside you.

It's like instinct that the first thing you both do is search and analyse each other, eyes locking for a split second before he calmly dismisses the mass amounts of questions asking about where he's been all along and swerving over to sit snug next to a drunken Yeonjun, directly facing you.

"My mann, Gyu !! You showed up geez look at you now- nearly taller than me. I wanted to go out for drinkss together last time but.. you knoww I got called up by my director n' couldn't make it."

There's a wave of surprise that rushes through your blood in the way that Yeonjun converses with Choi Beomgyu- like they've been in contact daily for ages, and you- you didn't know about it.

"Listen up everyone, Gyu's been one of my closest friends since forever in high school, I recently got in touch with him in Seoul half a year ago so let's give a toast to him and his girlfriend Lilith, yeah?"

No one bothers to hide the gossiping and muttering evidently about you and Beomgyu's new girlfriend- pitying you for being left behind and unable to date someone new in this small town or comparing you to the younger girl by his side now. Your blood runs cold as you reach out for your cup for the toast before Kai sets your hand down, offering to toast for you instead.

If you didn't look in time you would've missed it. The twitch in his eye as he watched you and Kai exchange gestures together, not bothering to waste any time in asking Kai a question,

"Both of you are dead silent you know, don't ya miss me? Beomgyu?? Fuck man we've spent years together and none of you wanna speak up or ask me something? You two look real close."

The pride in his face makes your blood boil at the lack of consideration for the fact that he's been missing and ghosting you for 5 years only to return with an even more insensitive comment??!! All that wants to leave your mouth is a string of curses but Kai interrupts, clearing his throat,

"We're doing fine, better actually. You?"

Anyone who can see or hear can sense the rigid tension on your table as Yeonjun downs his shots away becoming drunker and more absent in the conversation.

"Oh really?" Beomgyu snaps back, "That's funny to hear..I've been doing good too, especially with Lilith by my side, we met at a company dinner and she's been a blessing ever since."

The contrast between the 'awwws and cooing at his relationship reveal and the nauseating feeling rising in the pit of your stomach makes you all the more sickly; watching him intertwine his fingers with hers to flash an engagement ring, a rock size a woman can only dream of, on Lilith's finger, not yours. You obnoxiously stare at the ring, a bit too long.

'When I start a successful band I'll make sure the first thing I do is buy you a ring, make sure everyone knows I'm yours.'

'Well I want a radiant shaped ring, think you can do that Mr. all bark no talk?" You giggle

You stare at the exact model dazzling on her finger, radiant and glistening under the ambient lighting of the restaurant. There's no appetite in you anymore, there's enough to stomach already as you watch Lilith giggle when Beomgyu whispers in her ear- it's jealousy that bubbles in you- ugly and disdainful. You feel sour for thinking this way- for wanting to believe that you should be in her place.

The anger and resentment that you've buried deep within you over the last 5 years tilts on edge, veins probably popping on your neck and hand with how tight you're clutching on to your purse.

Beomgyu is only amused by your reaction, a smug grin shamelessly written all over his face as he watches you tremble almost mockingly, degrading you with only his gaze which focuses on the inexpensive necklace his teen self had gifted you still resting around your neck in ridicule compared to the luxury ring around his new lover's finger.

"I'm Lilith in case you forgot, I really love your necklace- where'd you get it from lovely?"

Beomgyu cuts you off before you can get out your first words as if he knew you'd say something insensitive to his so-precious girlfriend,

"That's Y/N, you've heard about her." Your brow furrows at him as you watch the distinct difference in Lilith's body language; now instead of choosing to engage in conversation, is ignoring you and flaunting her affection for Beomgyu: running her fingers across his back and ruffling his hair lghtly, even going as far as to kissing him on the lips on full display in your direction to irritate you- to show that she's now the centre of his attention, that she's his muse.

And it works, greatly so because you can't bear with the humiliation being thrown on to you so explicitly. Within seconds you're unclasping your necklace and launching the edged metal directly towards Lilith's face aggravatingly followed by your untouched shot of alcohol causing her to shriek and flail which left the table in uproar. The chair screeches against the cold floor as you strut towards the door in anger,

"If you love my necklace so bad you can keep it because your cheater of a boyfriend gifted it to me anyways."

Regret settles in as you storm outside, you can just about hear Beomgyu and Kai arguing as you walk further and further away, drowning out the sound of your surroundings with your own thoughts, leaving you with black-dyed tears that started to run down your cheeks without you even realising it.

You're about to reach a red light when an arm yanks you hard with brute force,

"What the fuck has gotten in to you? We haven't seen each other in 5 years and now you wanna be a whining bitch?" Choi Beomgyu looks outraged and the grip on your arm only gets stronger at your silence.

"What do you think Beomgyu? Seriously I can't tell if you're playing stupid or if you really are fucked in the head. You leave me out of no where to move to God knows where to return 5 years later with a new fiancee? If I were any smarter I should've realised sooner how eager you were to move on to another woman behind my back. You didn't even try to answer or call me, you didn't even try to give me a reason for why you left and now you want to reenter the life I've gotten used to without you just to mock me right in my face that you've found someone new to toy with?"

There's no stopping the tears that fail to keep put in your tear ducts, constantly rolling out one-by-one as you avoid making eye contact with him knowing that you might just collapse in to sobbing again like you did when you first visited his house after he left.

"Look I didn't mean to mov-"

"Yeah because suddenly moving out of nowhere is a great excuse for you to ghost me for 5 years, I left everything the exact same as it is begging for you to contact me one day. Because suddenly moving out of nowhere somehow excuses our photos that you dumped in to the pile of trash outside of your house the week you left? How am I supposed to believe you even ever loved me when you couldn't even hide your disgust for me in the first place? Why did you even say yes to my confession if all you were going to do is leave me in the end anyways? What was the point Choi Beomgyu, fucking tell me?!!"

"How can I tell you if you're going to cut me off to bitch on about something irrelevant? I did love you for all I and everyone else knows I don't get why you're trying to make shit up when I put so much effort in to the relationship and this is what I get back? What? Because we're exes that gives you the excuse to humiliate my fiancee in front of strangers now, do you know how crazy and attached you look? It's been five years Y/N why can't you leave it as a mistake we made when we were young?"

Your sniffles only become obscenely louder as your eyes widen at his audacity to brush off his disappearance so lightly, as if you didn't waste months searching for him in every corner of the town, as if you didn't stay up all night trying to find out what could've happened to him, like you didn't matter to him as much as he mattered to you.

"You've changed too Y/N. Always refusing to come to these kinds of dinners and now you're clinging on to another man and trying to seduce others aren't you?

The silence triggers him to speak insensitively again,

"You're jealous, aren't you? You're so stuck in the past you can't let me go, you can't let us go, going so far to accuse me of cheating- it's been 5 years.. I'm sure you've been slutting yourself out to Kai while I was gone anyways so don't be all sensitive and crying now because I decided to move on," He kisses his teeth before speaking again, " We were never going to work out Y/N, we both know that. We were just experimenting as kids so don't get hung up on it and don't bother trying to interfere with my life now either. There's nothing between us."

Tears still continue to fall from your reddened eyes, the mix between a disappointed and angry expression on his face while he judges your crying only makes you cry harder, a hand reaching up to wipe your eyes and cover your face to avoid any more embarrassment.

Choi Beomgyu huffs and spins on his heel to head back towards the restaurant- probably to go comfort Lilith after the whole fiasco- before making one last remark with his back turned to you as he walks away,

"And I wasn't trying to ghost you by moving all of a sudden, I just didn't want to burden you with long distance, I didn't want to be such a fucking nuisance in your life like I am in everyone else's."

To that you muster up all the strength you have between hiccups and sobs to shout back at him,

"I never asked for you to love me back. I would've preferred if you had just told me straight up that you couldn't bear it Beomgyu. I waited every single day, for you to come back t. I watched the cassette tape you left for our second anniversary every night just to hear your voice because you were gone for so long I was starting to forget it. If anything you're all that I want to forget right now. Did you even bother to think about how I felt when you left?

For fuck's sake Beomgyu, " You sniffle,

"I thought you were dead..."

He stops in his tracks and for a minute you think the old Beomgyu would return, the Beomgyu that would write little love letters and slide them to you during lessons, the Beomgyu that would offer you a piggy-back ride home whenever your legs felt weak, the Beomgyu who would've given up the whole world just to be with you.

But he walks on, in silence, refusing to turn back around as he keeps direct on the path back to the restaurant.

Your fists clench as you scream at the top of your lungs loud enough to hear from the distance,

"Fine then. I'll consider you dead. The Choi Beomgyu I know would rather die than be shit like you."

Rain started to downpour heavily almost cinematically as you crouched in the middle of the side walk unable to move from the spot that changed everything. With your tear stained face buried in to your neck you crouch, hoping that at some point you'll wake up from a bad dream. But there's anything but peace in your head right now to even fall asleep, his words constantly ringing in your head; "We were never going to work out." a constant reminder of how naive you were for bothering to confess your feelings in the first place.

Although suddenly the rain stopped even as it continued to pitter-patter all around you. Moving your neck to see an umbrella with Kai crouched under it too to meet you at eye-level.

"Fuck don't look Kai it's embarrassing-"

"Cry. I feel like you pent up all your feelings nowadays and it's hard to see you vent out these emotions even to me. It's okay to cry, I promise there's no judgement in me, Y/N. We can stay here for a bit, you can cry all you want, I'll listen."

The brunette removes his flannel to drape around you to prevent you from catching a cold, a warm hand holding on to yours as he waits patiently.

"Kai, do you think I'm selfish?"

His eyes widen before returning back to normal at your question, immediately reaching to comfort you as you sobbed all over Sae's shirt.

"I think you're more selfless than anyone I've ever met, in fact I think that jerk is the selfish one, could he give up 5 years of his life to wait for anyone that he loves?"

And it's like your wails never stop until you reach your apartment at half 1 in the morning, Kai carrying you up the stairs to your flat after spending nearly two hours talking and consoling you in the rain, you were bound to both be ill tomorrow, but all that he can focus on is his own guilt.

He should've told you that he would've been there.

He should've never dragged you to the reunion in the first place.

So he does what's logical to him, send Yeonjun a quick message.

You: What made you think it was a good idea to invite him? You knew she would've been upset by it.

Yeonjunnie: It's about time that she moves on, she needs that exposure or else she'll be dreading it the rest of her life.

Yeonjunnie: The hangover's starting 2 kick in, i'll msg you later

You: You know it was wrong of you to do this, to set her up like that.

You: We'll talk another time.

Groggily you wake up in your bed in the same clothes reeking of alcohol as you did yesterday, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision only to spot a sleeping Kai resting at the edge of your bed.

You've never been more grateful for the younger boy beside you, he truly felt like your last resort at this point, he really lived up to his nickname; angel.

The buzzing of the phone and the flood of messages trying to instigate something out of the act you put on last night makes you groan in frustration, desperate to rip your hair out in shame. Why on earth would you pull a stunt like that? Now everyone thinks you're obsessed with this lousy Choi Beomgyu and his girlfriend!!

Little did you know the whole of last night Beomgyu couldn't rest either. Constantly arguing non-stop with Lilith at the hotel they booked. He's been arguing with her almost daily ever since they got together out of convenience. From the moment his dad had fallen in to huge debt and was forced to move in to Seoul to work under Lilith's family to repay it, he's been ushered in to trying to make connections between their families ever since. Especially with his mom's sudden illness from stress, hooked up to the machines and needing vital treatment, he knows better than anyone else that he'd be unable to leave you with such overwhelming news, instead choosing to settle his debts with Lilith- who's giving him an earful all the time.

"Ugh she- she's not even your fiancee Gyu !! I am !! Did you really have to humiliate me by making even more of a scene chasing after your ex-girlfriend like a lost dog? I had strangers comfort me because my own boyfriend couldn't!!"

Beomgyu cusses under his breath before leaning over the balcony with a cigarette between his lips- a bad habit he had picked up in order to escape from the petty arguments his 'fiancee' always wanted to pick, the whole engagement ‘act’ made him want to puke in revolt.

A part of him shattered when he saw you crying for the first time in 5 years because of him. So deeply wretched and hurt by his words that he said out of anger, spouted out of spite.

Beomgyu can never find balance in himself; he's always felt like a burden to the people around him, he knows that if you saw the habits he picked up while working to pay back the debt his family owed you'd be hurt even more.

He's become insensitive trash. Visible in the differences between the two of you as you both matured so distinctively. You didn’t change at all, you still kept on to fragments of him, the tape recordings, the necklace, everything, and he felt like shit. Forced to take family photos and attend business dinners with a woman he despises, his dad slaving away for her family who trapped them in to debt in the first place and a mom who he couldn’t even talk to for the first 2 years of moving because she was so ill from shock. There’s no escape from the fact that he’s practically useless to everyone around him.

So he thought, he thought that you would be better off with someone unlike him- someone like Kai who could deal with his own issues much better than he can and still prioritise and love you without hurting you like he does because of his own incompetence.

And he regrets it so so much, how vile he was insulting you when he would never dream of even muttering those words to you in any universe, becoming too extreme to even slut shame you when he knows you're the purest person at heart, he knows you better than anyone.

He at least knew you better than anyone. But he knows he's fucked it all up to apologise to you now, cut too deep to ever rekindle the love he still has for you…he's gone too far with his hateful words.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

"Let's break it off."

"What??"

"The engagement, let's break it off. The debt's been paid off hasn't it?"

"Are you seriously pulling this because you saw your old teenage girlfriend at a reunion? Are you fucking kidding me Gyu- she threw her drink on me!!"

"It’s not like we’re engaged out of love anyways. I'd never spare a look in the direction of someone in the likes of you. My mom's last treatment session is this Friday, so there's no need for us to stay is there?" He scoffs blatantly, taking a drag out of his cigarette- a bad habit he'd picked up on that he knows you'd hate.

The smoke ascends in to the current of cold air, ashes from the burnt edge dusting off on to the marble of the hotel balcony."Tell me what she said to you today Beomgyu ?? What did she say that makes you not want to marry me anymore- thi-this is outrageous are you insane??" Lilith crosses her arms and leans against the door of the balcony, irritated by Beomgyu's silence with his back towards her.

"Hah? What makes you so confident she even wants you back Beom? Any woman who wants to go back to a man who ditched her in this shithole is stupid, you have me here already so why do you keep looking in her direction? You only have me Beom, what don't you get?" She unties her ribbon pig-tails and runs a slender hand through her hair before walking up to Beomgyu, a hand snaking around his waist as she presses her tiny face to the small of his back with fake sniffles.

"I'll forgive you Beom..it's okay. Just apologise and I'll-"

"I can’t stand being under the same roof as you. I despise it more than anything. You know well that if you didn't interfere I wouldn't have left, I would've sat by her side at the dinner with her instead of the whiny bitchy act you keep putting up at the table.

Don't even try calling me, I'm sure there's other men you can find with your grandaddy." The force exerted on Lilith's hand as Beomgyu breaks from her grip is great enough to make her yelp and clutch at her wrist, starting to bruise as she shouts with a more authentic drag of her voice,

"Fuck you Choi Beomgyu you jerk!!"

Storming out of the hotel room late at night his feet drag him to the only place he knows best, landing him at your parent's house with a weak greeting hoping that your mom would show him some mercy considering he’s slept in your room for half of his life.

She welcomes him in without thought seeing the redness that’s starting to tinge his eyes.

“It’s been a long time Beommie, how have you been?” Her wrinkled hands pours a warm cup of Jasmine tea which is pushed towards him,

“Have you seen Y/N yet? She’s been looking for you ever since you left you know- you were best friends.”

His heart pangs with even more guilt, refusing to look your mother in the eye knowing he’ll only beat himself up more for something he can’t fix.

“I haven’t seen her yet..it’s probably better that way, I don’t look the greatest.” He jokes with a salty taste in his mouth unable to tell her how horribly he spoke to her daughter, his love.

“Beommie, tell me what’s happened, why did you leave? Why did you come back? I’m sure you had other plans in this small town.” And all he can do is bawl and crash down the moment he starts speaking, telling her about the debt, about his mother’s condition, about his job, about Lilith and about you, oh what he’s done to you.

In the corner of his eye he can just about peep the time capsule the two of you had made together jutting out jarringly under the couch.

All he can think about is the regret and guilt he feels for letting himself become such a hot mess at the cost of losing you when you're the last thing he wanted to lose, the lovestruck photos of the two of you messily stuck on to flimsy cardboard only twisted the knife further.

Beomgyu doesn't ever cry- you could say he doesn't show his vulnerable side to anyone but you because even when he had to move out of the very town he grew up in because of debt he never cried, even when his mom was hospitalised he never cried, yet every single time he catches himself missing your embrace he can’t restrain the urge to cry.

Cry like he's never let out any of his emotions before.

Cry until he's numb from the hurt of letting you go.

In fact, you probably didn’t notice today that he cried as he walked away; tears burning and streaming down his cheeks the moment he saw your emotions so raw, so vulnerable, so pained by him. The immense guilt he had observing the way your throat scratched abrasively as you shouted and scolded him deservingly.

He never planned to be so horrible to you,

He only wanted to deter you from being hurt even more by him,

yet it backfired, spitting insults far worse than he could control, regretting every decision, every word, every action that had hurt you.

There's nothing that hits worse than self realisation after the argument,

that Choi Beomgyu is a fool,

the lowest of the low for ever treating you like this.

“Kai you have to wake up now, I need to collect a couple side dishes from my mom.”

Usually he’d take a couple more nudges before fully waking but this time he’s on full alert- worryingly asking if you felt okay.

Then again, Kai’s always been the alert type. Always making sure that he’d be the first to knock on your door the moment you messaged that you were sick, hand carrying all sorts of medicine and porridge. You’d think that you were diseased with a terminal illness with how much he panics over these things.

“Auntie wants you to collect some side dishes again?”

“Yeah, I bet she’s made too much food for the neighbours and now she’s handing it all down to me.”

Your attempt to joke doesn’t land because Kai stills looks at you with worry- having a six sense built in to him so that he knows when something’s wrong.

“I’ll come with you too, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

The drive gives you a peace of mind as you step outside of Kai’s jeep to push open the paint-chipped gates which creaked with even the slightest touch, “Do you reckon you could get this repainted for us one day?”

“Don’t push it now,” he laughs, “your mom would kill me if she saw me doing all the work while you watch your dramas.”

“Stop trying to get on my mom’s good side seriously !! You make me look like a shit daughter” you replied, knocking on the door expecting to see your mom with a basket full of fruits and side dishes she’s cooked.

Right as you knock the second time the door creaks open, except your mom is not 5’11 with short unkempt hair with the first sign of stubble emerging from her chin, she’s far from it.

You bite on your lip hard enough to draw blood, watching Choi Beomgyu emerge out of the door disheveled and in a trance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!!” You grunt shoving past him which signals him to raise his hands in the air, “Mom?? Are you here?”

“Look- I didn’t do anything to your mom I just happene-“

”Yeah right.” Kai shoves in to his shoulder as he walks past through the doors causing Beomgyu to scowl. Out of all the people you could see today, why him after you argued so feistily yesterday?

“Be nice to Beomgyu will you?” your mom asks concerningly around the corner, “you never stop making a ruckus do you? It’s been years since you’ve seen each other cut him some slack.”

“I would if he didn’t disappear for 5 years and decide to return and think he can storm all over what’s mine on a random Sunday.”

Beomgyu shifts uncomfortably by the door, choosing not to speak in case he opens his mouth recklessly again.

“Well he’s going to be staying here for the next couple of days before he goes back so why don’t you help clean out the house, hm? You’ve got Kai to help you too.”

You feign defeat as you drag yourself up the stairs to look for the hoover, Kai following behind before Beomgyu could even intercept; expressionless in every manner as he greets him out of politeness.

It’s like a breath of fresh air again away from Beomgyu, who although was bothered snd full of shit yesterday is quiet and meek today. You search inside the dust-filled storage room for the hoover,

“Fuck!” pricking yourself slightly in the process over a nail embedded in a plan of wood inflicting you to yelp was not how you wanted your day to go at all, looking down at the small wound with furrowed eyebrows and half annoyance half pain.

“Show me that.”

“What’s gotten in to you?! It’s fine.” You brush off Beomgyu’s arm which gripped on to your hand with a scowl, staring intently at the small wound starting to clot.

“Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about yo-“

“Save it, Beomgyu. I heard all that you wanted to say yesterday.”

“Y/N can you come here for a sec?” From the distance Kai shouts out cinematically in time, waving a hand in the air to call you over giving you the opportunity to shake your hand from Beomgyu’s grasp to shift to whatever dilemma he's got now.

“Can you help me open the paint lid? Think it’s a bit jammed.”

“Hah!! You’re so weak Kai seriously it’s nothing..” You retract your laughter the moment you attempt to remove the lid, shut tight around the ridges impossible to remove like the sword in the stone.

”Quit being so embarrassing!”

“I’m not !! You definitely gave me this to open to embarrass me on purpose !!”

Laughing, you ruffle Kai’s hair affectionately, trying to hush his wild laughter fit so your mom doesn’t think you’ve bloody murdered him upstairs.

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together as he watches the subtle glint in Kai’s eye as he tucks your hair behind your ears and laughs, one that makes him sick to his stomach as he watches the soap opera you both are putting on display in what he can only describe as jealousy.

His eye twitches at Kai who notices the audience watching, choosing to court you more obnoxiously as he tucks a strand behind your ear and whispers small jokes, unnecessarily touching your hands whenever he could and finding any opportunity to distract you from Beomgyu.

Beomgyu wanted you to have someone better, someone like Kai. But the anger that resides within him refuses to leave as he grabs the hoover and walks past the both of you in a berating silence, an expressionless face and heavy trodding down the stairs.

"Always in a mood, gosh." Kai handles the now-opened cans of paint and signals you to carry the other hues of green that were definitely straining on the muscles in your hand.

To put it short, Kai's emasculate build has its pros because he carries the tins of paint down the stairs like light work while you lag behind, still finishing the last couple of sets of stairs.

"We need to talk."

"Oh my god fuck!!" Exclaiming in surprise you don't even register the blotches of forest green splattered across your face and baby doll top from launching your occupied hands in to the air. Once again at the crime scene rests Choi Beomgyu who becomes startled the minute he realises his mistake.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I got it Choi. Just go to my room and fetch me a shirt I need to change out of my top..."

There's a slight sulk on your face as you wipe your hand across the paint (which only smudges and widens the stain much to your annoyance) as Beomgyu hurries up the flights of stairs, Kai's worried voice sounding in the distance as he exclaims an "are you okay?"

Reaching your room which was overfilled with moving boxes and your dad's gardening gadgets made it feel more like a storage room despite the signature smell of your home in the very room you both had stayed in still lingering. Doors which creak at the handles when opened reveal the mix of grays, blues and whites in your wardrobe with a bold addition of black in to the mute tones.

It was his shirt. A loose, black graphic tee with a print that was starting to fade which he religiously wore to every band practice, ironed and well kept on a hanger.

He knows how you'll react to the shirt.

He knows he shouldn't do it.

But he rushes down the stairs anyway with the fabric clutched tight in his hands as he knocks on the bath room door.

"Come in.. you owe me big time because the stain isn't coming off-"

click-

Your head whiplashes around to the dooming sound of the door locking behind you- a towering Choi Beomgyu blocking it directly, arms crossed with a shirt tucked between them.

"I don't like that. Open it now Beomgyu this is weird.."

A glint of anticipation appears in his eyes, face contorting in to a grin which made your stomach churn, unsure of what to do in the situation as your mouth goes dry.

"Dropping the last name now huh?" You open your mouth to retaliate but all he does is flick the shirt open to reveal his graphic tee you've kept in your wardrobe for years. It's embarrassing how fast instincts kick in to grab at the shirt to hide it as if he hasn't seen that you've kept a lot of his stuff already, huffing out a "don't get any big ideas I can see it on your face, it's gross."

The attempts to shift past him to reach the door becomes futile which only makes you more agitated to see the shit eating grin still radiant on his face.

"Move it Beomgyu."

"You still want me..right?" In a state of complete shock you cross your eyebrows and look up at him and the audacious question he asked, not even sure if he's being completely honest asking you this when just yesterday he was so set on being a dick to you.

"I want the Choi Beomgyu I knew 5 years ago so move it."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that already it's just a top who gives a shit, stop acting like you care Beomgyu.

"No that's not it, listen to me." The huffs that come out of your mouth are direct evidence that you wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a room with Beomgyu now, the awkwardness between you starker than ever,

"I'm sorry, for what I said yesterday- I didn't mean it, you know that Y/N. You know I still care for you, I thought about you every single day after I left, and after seeing you yesterday while you were crying I went back to Lilith and I- I called off the engagement." He slowly clicks the door open again, preparing for you to leave, but you stay stuck in motion and in paralysis.

If your eyes weren't bulging out of your head earlier they definitely were now, words stuck in your throat and unable to escape as the familiar feeling of hot tears threaten to burn at your eyes again.

"I'm an idiot for saying such hurtful words something over came me..I was pent up about everything, about Lilith, about not seeing you earlier about Kai too- and I know I can't take back what I said and that you won't forget it so easily, I just wanted to make sure you know that I don't hate you. Actually we're not so different, Y/N, I still listen to those recorded calls we had together too, I still look back on the digital camera of us in our last year of high school, when I was away from this small town every single thing reminded me of you. Everything about me still revolves around you, so please don't resent me..." His voice croaks at the end with his head looking down at the bathroom tile, a singular tear hitting the floor in the silence, he waits for a reply which doesn't come out of your mouth at all, instead your lips quiver in sync with how you slightly shake.

You're unsure of what to say- there's not right answer to his apology, no right answer to his confession which can't blur the messy boundaries he's already crossed yesterday. It was like day and night and it boiled your blood how fast he can decide to change his mind as if he wasn't fuming at you yesterday like he wasn't missing for 5 years with no contact.

Slap!-

There wasn't even time for your answer before your palm instinctively reached to singe a red burn on his face which became redder with the minute, triggering a couple more droplets out of his reddening eyes to fall simultaneously on the cold tile.

"I can't even tell what you really think anymore Beomgyu," You choke, holding back on salty tears, "One moment you want to call me obsessed and a slut and the next, you're.. you want to tell me that I'm all you think about? Be honest Beomgyu. Do you really love me? Because I don't think anyone who says their world revolves around me would fucking leave me here for 5 years for no reason!! I'm begging you please, just be honest with me Gyu...don't..don't waste my time anymore." Glossy eyes damp with tears look up to his with raw sadness, the guilt in his face written all over the way his eyebrows raise and his jaw opens and closes like he wanted to say something, but he doesn't take the initiative to.

Without answering he walks closer towards you; a hand reaches up to wipe your tears away however you flinch and push him away which makes his heart sink, only now realising how badly he's hurt you to the full extent.

"I can't resent you Gyu you know that, I just don't understand what was so disgusting about me that made you want to leave, what made you want to get rid of me, why you left in the first place?" Spit from how fast you're talking runs down your chin as you begin to bawl uncontrollably again; you hate how bad you are at controlling your emotions given that every time you try to make a point your body just resorts to tears when it comes to Beomgyu.

Shock in all 5 tiers of regret floods over the male whose fists clench subtly, wanting to let you know that the reason for him leaving so suddenly was anything but being disgusted by you, it tortures him to see you beat yourself up over his own actions, his own foolish decisions.

"Please.. don't say that..I would never leave because of you. I left be-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" A concerned Kai bursts through the door leaving it weakly creaking, succumbing to his outraged behaviour- out of the ordinary for the usual 'angel' Kai.

Seeing the way Beomgyu has his hands clutching on to your shoulders for stability, his fingernails starting to penetrate the first layer of skin from how hard he was gripping on to you, and your reddened and sore tear-stained face Kai can only jump to conclusions.

In seconds he pulls Beomgyu off you and on to a nearby towel rack which causes him to slump on the floor and groan in agony, the force brute enough to leave bruises on his back the next day. Kai's hands wrap around your wrists and drag your weak-minded self out of the bath room and out towards his jeep.

"Kai! Kai! Let me go! Listen to me!" Attempting to shake off the grip on your wrist you knock in to him in the process, causing him to turn around and grab you by the shoulders gently afraid of causing you any discomfort.

"I didn't get to hear what he had to say-"

"Why do you let yourself do this? Why do you willingly listen to him try to shortcut out of his own responsibility for leaving you on your own when you end the conversation every time in tears? Why do you do this to yourself?"

His eyes, rimmed with quiet sorrow, watched as you reluctantly buckled in to the passenger seat, wiping your tears away with your arm, with a tenderness that spoke louder than words. His brows were drawn together, not in anger, but in a deep, aching concern, as if Kai could feel the weight of the your pain in his own chest.

"I'm taking you back to your place, okay? I'll let Auntie know. I just don't want you to be hurt by that jerk again, always searching for excuses."

Your head feels light as you roll down the window conflicted between Kai's advice and the truth behind Beomgyu's disappearance. You're not even sure if what he was going to tell you would change anything, so you ignore it, letting the thought drown out as background noise as you watch the view of the small town slowly transition into high-rise buildings and apartments through the window.

But just because you drowned it out as background noise doesn't mean you'd forget the what ifs with Beomgyu.

There were still feelings for him in you; buried under layers of protection and closing off your heart over the years, it's been pierced through and through every time you're reminded of him, how he left, how he returned, how he apologised- but you don't have the will power to resent him like you say you will, not when the bond you've had for over 15 years is still strong between the two of you, like it's fate that you were supposed to encounter Beomgyu through and through.

It's a dangerous game the two of you are playing, it's dangerous to think about crossing the wall you've built up between you and Beomgyu, dangerous to fall in love him again.

"Shit." Beomgyu curses under his breath and digs into the pockets of his ripped jeans to search for his pack of cigarettes, instead brushing over his phone which starts to ring as he gets back on his feet.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickers over the blue light of the screen as it buzzed in his hand, lit up with a simple, bold 'Dad'. His heart drops again, an unsettling feeling sweeping over him- like a weight pressing against his chest. He had always known that his dad’s calls weren’t casual check-ins or everyday conversations-there was always an undercurrent of something worrying; perhaps asking for more money, to visit Lilith's parents again to keep the deal going, something about his mom in between the lines of getting better or getting worse with her health. His thumb hovered over the screen, the decision to answer hanging in the air like a question he didn’t want to face. The familiar dread settled in his stomach, and for a brief moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail, but he knows he has to answer, he knows what it's like for everything to change over a phone call.

"What is it now?" He complains, a string of cursing, insults and scolding sounding out of the speaker, another meaningless complaint about Lilith wailing and running to her parents about his actions, how he's ruined it all for his family, for himself.

"Hurry over to the in-laws and apologise, I can't believe you decided to call off the engagement I worked so hard for you to have, you'd think I'd have a more grateful son for all that I've done for you."

The line cuts off eerily as Beomgyu dusts off his pants, unlocking the doors of his car as he walks out of the bathroom and in to the silent living room, limping slightly down the stairs. His head started to ache and fuzz his vision as he stepped out in to the yard of your home, unable to think properly before his eyelids closed down on him, the whole of his body weight dropping to the floor in an instant at great impact.

The first to discover his unconscious self was your mom who returned from the town market with a bag of groceries, immediately calling a flight of ambulances with sirens sounding through the usually quiet town, alarming and sparking worry among the locals who nosily peeked out of their windows to see the chaos surrounding Beomgyu who's strapped in to a stretcher and completely blacked out, slight wounds to his face as the paramedics loaded him in to the back of the emergency vehicle.

His pulse hammered in his ears, each beat louder than the last, and his body felt like it was drifting to the rhythmic beeping of the machines that surrounded him. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but he couldn’t summon the energy to push it away, struggling to find balance between keeping in and out of consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he was hooked to a network of drips and monitors, feeling weak in the hospital bed that confined him as the initial mumbling became clearer as he blinked away.

Despite the pain in his upper arm, he pushes himself up to sit straight, analysing his surroundings: a small empty vase, a heart rate monitor, a plain cream room that smelled of disinfectant and you and Kai, although he bore a more concerned look more than anything. He spotted your mother who comforted you through a series of pats on your back as you weeped with your head in your arms on the white bedsheets where his feet laid.

Him suddenly stirring awake startled you further as you rush to ask him a plethora of questions.

"Why didn't you tell me Beomgyu?" You hiccuped between sobs, the confusion still settling on his face as he tried to recall what had occured in the hours that he was unconscious,

"What am I doing here- I'm confused what's wrong with me?"

"You fainted at the doorstep of Auntie's house, you were unresponsive it gave her the shock of her life," Kai answers for you, his stern look from earlier filled with concern as he faces Beomgyu again,

"You have muscular dystrophy, Beomgyu."

Muscular dystrophy. Beomgyu’s body felt like it was sinking into the bed, as if the weight of the Kai's words were pulling him down deeper into a pit he couldn’t escape. Muscular dystrophy. The phrase echoed in his mind, each repetition more jarring than the last.

Beomgyu couldn’t process it, attempting to lift his arm, but it trembled, showing the first signs of progressing pain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, a cruel reminder that everything was changing, that his life was slipping out of his control, exactly like how you did.

A fleet of nurses and doctors rush in to the room only to bombard him with another series of questions and information, shooing you, Kai and your mom out of the ward away from Beomgyu.

"We believe it's caused by genetics, your mother has the same condition as I'm sure you're aware. We've had a couple blood tests done and it's a miracle that the symptoms didn't show up earlier, probably in recession. You've been over-working yourself recently I'm guessing which must have led to a flare up in muscle fatigue and pain. It's important that you rest properly and aim not to damage your muscles too much because it'll only get worse. There's no cure for it, you'd know, but I can refer you to the hospital your mother is residing in right know for physiotherapy and a treatment plan- it's unfortunate that we don't have the right facilities for it."

The rest of the doctor's words enter one ear and out the other as Beomgyu is dazed, unable to process the information all at once, like the whole world was crashing down on him. He can't find the energy to answer apart from weak nods as he looks down at the state of his body; weak, sickly, deteriorating.

He can't accept reality,

He doesn't know what to do next at this point.

As you continue to sob in the waiting room, clutching on to Kai all you can focus on is how impatient you were with him, picking a fight and slapping him, only getting angry at him without even realising how detrimental it could've been to both his mental and physical state; you can't scrub your mind of the fact that you could've caused the flare up, that you could be so horrible to him when all he wanted to do was speak.

All you can think about is whether his apology was an attempt at soft launching you in to telling you about his condition, about how if you stayed to listen maybe you could've helped him out faster instead of storming out with Kai. The guilt is overbearing as you weep harder in to Kai's shoulder, who still can't comprehend why you care so much over Beomgyu when he's hurt you over and over again, why you still want to be the first to be there for him when he's never there for you.

But all of your dismantled thoughts come to a halt as Lilith's family strut through the door, completely unbothered and unashamed of their presentation as they walk in to his ward. Lilith sends a dirty look towards your direction in the process before following behind her parents.

The next few moments consist of shouting and arguing which wreaks havoc in the hospital when Lilith's family are escorted out shortly after, shouting "That fucking bastard tried to marry my daughter to a fucking paraplegic!! Let me go I need a talk with that damn boy for lying to us !!"

You can feel the guilt bubbling inside you as you take in the scene before you, a family of grown, rich adults who have nothing better to do than pick on a boy who just discovered he's had a genetic condition that will leave him struggling to stand soon all along, picking on your boy who aspired of starting his own band one day- now strapped to the hospital bed as he gets all sorts of testing done to him.

You hate being so sympathetic, you hate that all you can do is cry over Choi Beomgyu, cry for Choi Beomgyu, hurt over Choi Beomgyu and hurt for Choi Beomgyu.

You don't remember when he became off limits to visitors, the last memory being the day he fainted and you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, worried and stressed as visible eye bags formed under your eyes.

There was no answer as to why you were so impacted by it, you simply couldn't say anything other than you still loved him, that you still cared for him even after everything. That you can't let yourself hate him when he's already had his life flipped over, and even if you still couldn't understand why he had left you in the first place you were at least willing to care for him in a life where not even his parents wanted to see him, where his ex-fiancee's family couldn't bear to see him in his condition out of disgust.

So you can only imagine the way the blood drains out of your face one morning when your mom sits you down at breakfast, asking an innocent question,

"What time are you leaving today? I want to come too."

"I'm not working today? What, did we plan something together?”

She quirks a brow at your cluelessness before swallowing and asking,

"You didn't know? Beommie's going back to Seoul today, he's going to see a specialist who'll help him with his condition like his mother."

You couldn't see it coming. One minute you're arguing with him for the first time in 5 years of seeing each other, and the next, he's leaving just as quickly as he was starting to reenter your life.

For a moment, everything stops. You stare, waiting for your mother to laugh, to tell you what she said was some sort of joke, but her face remains constant.

"That poor boy..it's such a shame that he had to stop school so early because his father fell in to debt after trialing an unsuccessful drug for his mother's muscular dystrophy, he told me he even had to sell his phone and get a job so early just to pay it off!

If only they didn't fall in to debt he would still be helping out at their apple and peach farm here in this town now, he really has gone through so much. On top of being married off by his incompetent father to a family like that ! Gosh it's scandalous!

If I could I would take in that boy immediately, he was only 11 when he had to start bearing all the responsibilities, had to sleep over in your bed room because his mother was constantly causing a ruckus screaming in agony. I can't even begin to imagine how he feels now."

And suddenly, your world feels off-balance, like the ground beneath you is cracking. You didn’t know. You didn't know he had to leave because of his father's debt, you didn't know that it wasn't his fault and yet you blamed him.

Over and over again you would blame him and curse at him like you knew everything about him after he went missing for 5 years. You made sure he couldn't receive your approval to his interrupted apology. And still you want to be a little selfish, you want to complain because if he had told you before he was swept away in to the harsh reality of adult hood; you would have stayed- you would have helped him, made sure that he never cried on the nights that he was left alone in a foreign city where he had to work among adults just to survive, you would have made sure that he knew you were still there supporting him from a distance- that he did have someone rooting for him.

Your heart starts racing, the panic settling in, but your mind can’t catch up. A million questions swirl in your head, but none of them make it past your lips.

"When..When does he leave?"

You grip the steering wheel tight, knuckles white against the black leather, the engine growling beneath you. The road screeches as you push the accelerator harder, for sure a couple miles above the speed limit as you head towards the train station. You glance at the clock-12:11. Beomgyu's train departs in a couple more minutes, creeping closer, each second slipping away, and you know if you don’t make it you might never see him again. Might never be able to apologise to him, instead leaving your last impression on him as arrogant and refusing to listen.

The town around you feels like it’s closing in, the sounds of honking mute in the distance as you weave in and out of lanes, your heart pounding harder with every twist and turn, but you can’t slow down. You don’t have time. Not even a second to waste if you wanted to see him.

If you wanted to see Choi Beomgyu for what might be the last time.

The train station is just a few miles ahead, but it feels like an eternity. Your hands are slick with sweat, but you don't dare let go of the wheel, quickly swerving in to the parking lot and lazily leaving your car at an angle which was sure to serve you a fine or some sort of fight later.

Rushing up the stairs that seemed to last for an eternity you can hear the dull roar of the train's engine come to a halt, leaving a soft pshhht of steam blowing out of it. You scurry on to the platform, sweating, red faced, hoping he may be able to leave some time for you to say sorry, in hopes that he'd forgive your pent up anger like he asked for you to forgive his.

And there you spot him, boarding on to the train with a small burgundy suitcase decorated in dandelion stickers, his hair much longer and uncut than when you last saw it, his skin starting to look paler than you remember.

"Choi Beomgy-!"

"This train is departing to, Seoul."

Your heart starts to slow as you scavenge through windows upon windows to find him in which ever carriage he seated himself in, tears staring to unfold again when you struggled to see him, mistaking him for the hundreds of people in the same attire until you reach the end of the carriage, where he looks you directly in your sore eyes.

He doesn't say anything- not that you can hear anyways- but you watch him smile, tears starting to form in his eyes as well, a mere glass screen separating your hands as you sob uncontrollably with snot dripping out of your nose embarrassingly.

He doesn't look frustrated with you at all for taking so long to finally see him again, and even if he looks weaker physically and mentally than he did at the start you can see the boyish smile of the 16 year old Beomgyu you first fell in love with in his grin, slowly pulling out his hand to sign to you in sign language amidst the loud roar of the engine preparing to take off again,

'Don't Cry. We'll meet again.'

You stand there, frozen on the platform, watching as Beomgyu’s train starts to pull away in to the distance without warning. You couldn't tell what he was thinking in the moment, but you could understand the mutual agreement between you two that you'll find each other at different times again, when you're both ready for each other, when you're both more mature to handle the oppression of the adult world that you're only just really entering in to.

Though, you can feel the weight of it in your bones- the quiet goodbye neither of you could say out loud. Your heart is heavy, aching with the kind of sadness that feels endless, like you’re watching your entire world fade into the distance, too helpless to stop it.

It's a crushing realisation, but you're satisfied because you're certain he'll come back. He always keeps his promises.

You lag behind Kai again in a park, the two of you now in Seoul 4 years later, you've always found it difficult to catch up with Kai, but he'd always find a way to make sure he was there to support you. That's just the kind of person Kai is.

But there's something heavy hearted that both of you have realised today. That after a year of dating- you were never meant to be.

Kai deserved someone who was capable of loving him back as much as he loved them, someone who wouldn't take his acts of kindness and his heart at a minimum and treat it as simply being 'nice'.

And you, you deserved peace, since moving to Seoul you've never stopped searching for Beomgyu, the sinking feeling once again that in such a big city it's difficult to even know if Beomgyu was roaming the same streets as you, if he even could walk around the streets of the city again. There's no lying in the fact that you appreciated Kai, seriously, he's one of the best people you could be blessed with on such a twisted world, but every time you look at him you imagine the latter instead. The weak boyish grin he tried to put on for you before he vanished again, and you can tell it hurts Kai when you start crying again just by staring at his face- because he's constantly overlooked in Beomgyu's shadow.

Like no matter what he does, he can't compete with fate, he can't try to sever what was destined to be, which leads you to today, 26 and 27, walking down the park during cherry blossom season when he turns around to face you with downturned eyes,

"Why can't you pick me over Beomgyu?" He asks with genuine sadness, which only deepens the wound in your heart because after 9 years you still don't know how to answer him.

"You still love him don't you?"

His question cuts right through to your soul, he's read you like a book, he's always been attentive like this and you can't look him in the eyes in case you'd start crying again like you always do.

"It's okay, I don't blame you. It's okay if you don't know why you feel this way. I just think, it would be best for the both of us to go our separate ways." Kai sends a slightly forced smile which quivers in to a frown at times as he reaches out to hug you first, because he can see it in the way that you act now that you need help, that you need someone who understands you on a deeper level,

you need Beomgyu.

And as the cherry blossoms start to fall and Kai's tall figure starts to wander off in the distance ready to start a new chapter of adulthood you feel eyes staring at the back of your head from above, the feeling of being observed. The familiarity of ruffled, black hair.

"Long time no see."

A/N: Please lmk if I need to make any grammar edits !! But this is my first ever big fic on tumblr!! Wooo, hopefully the angst actually hit at some points because that was lit my whole intent for this fic, reblogging or criticism is appreciated !!

tyunningism 's work !! 2025

tags: @whoisgami

#txt #txt fic #fanfic #kpop #angst #beomgyu x reader #tyunningism writes!!#beomgyu #hueningkai #taehyun #yeonjun #soobin #txt fanfic

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ellsbigshoes · 2 days ago

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My Most Faithful Lover - 2. Hands that never forgot

pairing: Knight!ellie & Princess!reader

synopse: A harpist begins to dream of a life not her own — a white dress stained in red, a knight who watches her like someone who’s already lost her once. In waking life, a fencer’s touch feels too familiar. In dreams, silence speaks louder than memory. Between two timelines, something ancient stirs… and it remembers her.

content: MDNI 18+, eventual smut, fluff, angst, violence, war, use of “y/n”, reader is referred to as princess (sometimes), Ellie referred to as Elouise (sometimes), use of swords, daggers etc. gore(ish), blood, homophobia.

8.775 characters.

"loving me is going to haunt you for a lifetime." - ?

The pain came like a spear between the ribs, cold, sharp, and then warm like blood dripping in silence. You felt broken, like porcelain dropped from an ancient altar - piece by piece, without haste, without mercy. Your long white dress wrapped in pearls, glitter and lace was now stained with blood, as much as your hands, perhaps that was your blood, perhaps that explained your great pain. Faster than a clap of thunder, you wake up shaking as your alarm clock calls you to yet another rehearsal in preparation for the end-of-year performance. It was strange, after meeting Ellie, the fencer who admired you in silence, your dreams were more real, more lived. So real that you could feel their caressing touch as if they were satin threads.

It was the start of a new week, and everything seemed to be running out of sync - hurried footsteps, overlapping voices, duties running over each other. Inside the room, time flowed differently: there, every note was a wait, every silence a judgment. At first, it was hard to keep up. Their colleagues played like someone repeating a forgotten prayer - their fingers were precise, yes, even impeccable, but their souls were blind. They lacked love, or perhaps remembrance.

You, on the other hand, were born with the sound of the harp inside you. It wasn't an instrument, it was an extension - strings that vibrate like part of your own breath. From an early age, you felt that your fingers knew the way before you even thought. But now, surrounded by cold eyes and rigid postures, their connection seemed... out of place. While they strummed away like automatons, you felt each note as if your soul were being called by name. And that, paradoxically, made you seem strange.

Sometimes looking at yourself was like seeing the twenty-second major arcana - The Madman. - The madman, the fool, the joker. A card that calls you to take risks and follow your own path. This card teaches us to embrace uncertainty and have faith in our abilities. And you? oh dear... despite being so disturbed by those who play like robots, you play like The Fool; with confidence in your abilities, you become someone else, it's as if something inside you calls to you in the shuddering of the strings, with each resounding chord it's like sinking quietly, letting the water consume your lungs.

One of your greatest prides is that you can play the Moonlight Sonata 3rd movement. No one imagines that you keep such cunning at your fingertips, and that's not even the best part about you. okay, I admit, it's not that easy to be that confident every day, but you know how hard you work, and you know that you're a natural.

As you rehearsed again, this time with the room full, you found yourself remembering the girl you met that afternoon with the heartwarming rays of sunshine. Could she really be the girl you've been dreaming of since childhood? nothing seems to make sense anymore... does she know? why did she ask if you already knew each other? so little time to talk and so many questions at the same time.

Even so, you answered at that moment: oh... I don't think so. – You said it and smiled a little, awkwardly.

Ellie then giggled a little. – I'm sorry, it must have sounded strange, right? you just have something familiar about you, but I don't think I've met you anywhere. I'd remember you.

You didn't know how to describe this feeling, nothing but confusion, and at this moment it would be best to just forget, even if it hurts, because something in your heart is calling out, wanting to push you towards her.

The sun was barely touching the stones of the inner courtyard when the iron gates opened. The morning was cold and still, as if time were breathing more slowly within the walls. A faint scent of dried lavender came from the gardens still wet with dew - and in the center of the silent dawn, she arrived.

She was riding a horse as black as burnt wine, the reins tight, the posture too straight for someone so unaccustomed to resting from overexertion. You wore the mantle of the queen's guards, but something about your presence seemed out of place - like a page sewn out of order in an old book. You were sitting among the blooming castle roses. Large buds of a striking blood-red color, although you had always loved white, the tragic and intense red had always attracted you. The queen's voice broke the silence, clear, firm as ever:

– This is Elouise. Your new guardian.

You, the princess, slowly raised your gaze, meeting that of the knight. Ellie dismounted with almost ritual precision, bowing her head in greeting.

– Your Highness.

Her voice was low, husky like a forgotten ember - and it hid something. Something the princess couldn't immediately decipher, but which remained there, in the air between them, like golden dust suspended in light.

The queen continued, already walking away:

– She was trained in the Cern Hills, under the order of the White Shields. She's discreet, efficient. And she will be shadow and blade by your side, until you need one.

Elouise didn't raise her eyes until the queen had disappeared behind the columns. Only then did she look at the princess fully. It wasn't the look of a servant. Nor that of an equal. It was the look of someone who knows the end of a story even before the first chapter.

You, still sitting among the roses, noticed that the dew had embroidered your dress with tiny sparkles. You tried to ignore the weight of Elouise's gaze on you - it wasn't the kind of gaze you offered. It was the kind you kept. And that, somehow, was even more dangerous.

– “The Cern Hills,” you repeated, without emotion. I imagine that silence is part of the training.

Elouise didn't respond immediately. Instead, she watched a red petal fall to the ground, as if the flower itself had surrendered to the weight of what hung in the air.

– Silence is sometimes more useful than a sword.

The answer came calmly, but there was a thread of... something. Old resentment? Tiredness? Guilt? You couldn't tell.

– What do you prefer? – you asked, looking straight at her. – The sword, or silence?

Ellie hesitated. And in that brief instant, you noticed a crack. Almost nothing. But real.

– I prefer what doesn't require me to choose.

You arched an eyebrow.

– A convenient answer.

– An honest answer.

The wind blew again, and the red roses fluttered. One fell near Elouise's foot. Without thinking, she crouched down and picked it up. She held it out to you with a short gesture, as if returning a piece of scenery was her obligation.

– It looks more like your kingdom than mine.

You took the flower slowly, your fingers brushing against hers for a second - just a second, but enough to feel something strange. Like a shiver coming from inside.

– Red has always been an ungrateful color," you said, staring at the rose. – Blood or passion. You never know for sure.

Ellie didn't answer. But she didn't look away from you.

You thought about asking her what she saw there - in your skin, your face, your eyes - that made her look so... cautious. But you didn't. Not yet.

The sun was already falling behind the mountains when you took refuge in the old hall, the one no one had used since your aunt's bereavement. Inside, the walls still smelled of wax and aged wood. The harp stood quietly in the corner. Like a secret waiting to be awakened.

You sat in front of it as you had done since you were a child, your fingers already knowing the ways, even if your mind was elsewhere. You played without thinking. And perhaps that's why you played better. The notes floated through the air like a veil, light, sad, almost transparent.

Then, without you noticing, someone stopped at the door.

Elouise.

She stood there, leaning against the dark wood, arms crossed, no armor. Just shadows wearing shadows.

You didn't stop ringing. But you spoke, without looking:

– Are you going to escort me even when there's no danger?

The answer took a while, but it came.

– That sounds more dangerous than most battles.

You laughed, softly. Still without turning.

– Harps don't kill.

– No. But they remind you.

Now you've turned. Her eyes were fixed on your fingers, as if each note that came out of the harp opened a door that she herself had locked from the inside. A distant glow inhabited her gaze. Of someone who recognizes something - but doesn't know why.

– Do you know this song? – you asked suddenly.

Elouise hesitated. For a moment, she seemed to swallow her memory.

– Yes, Your Highness. I used to listen to it when I was little, I remember my mother dancing and celebrating happily... – She said looking down with a small smile and sighed. - Anyway, it doesn't matter.

She said and resumed her serious face. – I think it's about time to go to sleep, isn't it?

ㅤ𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔫𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔭𝔞𝔤𝔢..

man i'm really sad that today i couldn't add color to the fonts, for some reason the site started crashing and i don't know how to solve it sorry guys

tags;; @sewithinsouls @valeisaslut @zzelysian @liztreez @oneinameliann @idioticconfusedteen @smaugayra @500daysofpoppy @elliescoquettegirl

(comment if you want to be in the taglist <3)

#wlw #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #lesbian #knight #fantasy #princess #my most faithful lover #lesbian pride

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dpr-moni · 2 hours ago

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dont even know what to say tbh. i've had this sitting in my likes for weeks and i honestly kind of hate that (even though it happens all the time and there are loads of other fics there waiting for me) because it builds up this kind of pressure or expectation of disappointment like oh i've been waiting to read this for so long now it just wont be good, i shouldn't have bothered saving it but

ugh my god this was. yeah. god. yoongi walking around just thinking about it like, waiting for something to be there that'll stop him and

anyway i think maybe i need to go and cry in the shower about this maybe i actually just need to save this post to drafts until i can find the worst to string together an actual sentence or two idk man

and below the cut an exchange i wouldn't dream of spoiling for anyone but which i will probably be thinking about for the next ten thousand years.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.” Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

honestly had to take a pause after this because wtf omg. cool. i was aiming for your soul. super chill nbd i'm just DYING here

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that.

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is.

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know.

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit.

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic.

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette.

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine.

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck.

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch.

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy.

“Fuck—”

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely.

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space.

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair.

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long.

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down.

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going.

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe.

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up.

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter.

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week.

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot.

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option.

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you’re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls.

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch.

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst.

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go.

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too.

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands.

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie.

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up.

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath.

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is.

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back.

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time.

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine.

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life.

Especially if he’s in it.

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