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seresinhangmanjake · 10 months ago

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Come Back Together

Benny Cross x reader

Summary in bullet points:

Now that Benny is back in your life, he is trying to be a better husband

Benny is insecure about his relationship and a barfight ensues

Reader is pregnant (three months)

Benny does a bit of pining and is emotionally vulnerable

Fluffiness

Part 2 of Come Back Knockin’

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, angst and fluff, relationship struggles, physical altercations (fist fight), mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy, mention of alcohol, cursing, kissing, happy stuff, typos. I think that’s it. This took me forever to write for some reason and I was weirdly stressed about it. tf is wrong with me, right? Anyway…

Words: alright no one freak out…it’s 4300. Idk why it’s a lot longer than the first part but I always do that. If you’re willing to venture onward, I appreciate it :)

Benny Cross Masterlist

Part 3: Together and More

He stares at you incessantly. Which isn’t out of the ordinary—he used to stare at you all the time—but there’s something else to it now. He stares as if he thinks you’ll disappear the second he takes his eyes off of you. Like you'll slip through his fingers. Ironic, really, since disappearing in the blink of an eye is more his thing.

“Can I make you something?” he asks, staring at you from his chair while you pull a carton of eggs from the fridge. “You should be sitting instead of me.”

“You don’t know how to cook, Benny,” you state matter-of-factly, turning your back to him as you switch on the stove and set a pan on the lit burner.

Cooking has always been your responsibility. It was one of the things you brought to this relationship. And you liked being the one to keep Benny fed, never chiming in when the other Vandals’ wives and girlfriends mentioned how exhausting it was to satisfy their man’s grumbling stomach. You liked that Benny appreciated you for it.

Now you wonder if subconsciously you believed that as long as you fed him, he’d stay by your side, regardless of his wild nature. Kind of like a puppy. But Benny Cross is no puppy.

“I should probably learn,” he says. “You know, for the kid.”

You hum, cracking an egg on the edge of the pan. “Maybe you should stick to learning how not to ditch your family,” you retort, and immediately your features twist in a wince.

You can’t believe you let those words out of your mouth. You’d been doing so well at holding in the little jabs and remarks, no matter how hard they’ve pushed at your sealed lips. Not to say a few of them haven’t slipped through in the last month, they have, but each time they did, you received instant punishment in the form of Benny’s heart crumbling right before your eyes.

He’s never tried to make you feel guilty about your slip-ups, but he can’t seem to hide his expressions around you anymore. Ever since Benny returned, he’s been different. Your husband who was once so stoic has untethered his emotions from the piece inside of him that, for years, refused to let them show. His affection is more outward now, but unfortunately, so is his pain. So you made a rule to stop doing that to him; stop catching him off guard with words of hurt during a time of pending forgiveness. What he did was damaging, yes, but it’s unfair to pick at him when he’s been doing everything he can to show you he has value to this family; things he never would have done before.

He wakes earlier than you to clean the most-used areas of the house—a poorly done job; you still find dust in spaces dust should have easily been wiped up, but he tries. He found work at a mechanic’s shop not too far from the house, and surprisingly, he has yet to complain about it—a decent job was always something he physically and mentally shunned. He got rid of everything in the spare room and has begun painting the walls from the deep brown left over from the prior owners to a soft, light green that matches the baby blanket he brought you. It’s cute, and significantly better than you would have done without him. You would’ve been too stressed to put together a nice nursery.

Benny awkwardly clears his throat, breaking up your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. The lingering discomfort from your snide tone is palpable, heavy, just short of physically formed, and you can’t escape it.

“I didn’t mean that,” you tell him as you flip the egg.

The sizzle in the pan is louder as uncooked egg hits the heat, but you can still hear his deep breath, easily picturing the weak smile on his face when he softly says, “It’s ok. I deserve it.”

You’re about to protest, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to a meeting tonight,” Benny says. “You wanna come with me?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh…” he says, dejected. “It's been a while since you've been to one. I know you stopped goin’ when I was…away, so I thought…”

You set the spatula down and turn to face him, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t going to go without you. And considering everything, everyone just would have pitied me. I'm sure they still do.”

His blue eyes fall to the tiled floor. You know he hates that such a thought would enter your mind, but it’s not as if you’re capable of stopping it. He put you in a pitiful situation, and were the circumstances placed upon another woman, you would have felt those same feelings for her.

“No one pities you, baby. I promise,” he says. “They miss you.” His head lifts so he can meet your stare. “But if you don’t want to go then I'll stay here with you. We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen. “No!” you yelp. Benny’s head jerks back at the sudden outburst and you swallow to buy yourself time to sort your thoughts into words, but the best you come up with is: “You’re right, actually. We should go.”

“But you just–” His brow raises in skepticism. “Are you sure?”

If your options are club meeting surrounded by a large group of people or movie-watching with you and Benny alone, then yes, you are absolutely sure. The movie channels have rallied against you lately. Out of the five times you and Benny have watched a film since he came back, all five have been romances. All of them!

You don’t know if he scours the TV Guide without you noticing or if the television channels have simply rallied against you, but sitting beside your husband who you are trying not to give in to is made all the more difficult when watching Audrey Hepburn fall in love with George Peppard or Cary Grant or Greggory Peck for God's sake. You see them and it makes you forget things. You forget that you’re as upset as you are, and with Benny so close, your heart starts to pound and you can’t focus on anything else. You want to crawl right into his arms, let him hold you and kiss you and take you on the couch after what has felt like an eternity apart. But you can’t do that. It’s too soon. So no movies.

“Positive,” you nod.

An easy smile slides onto his face. “Well that’s great, baby. It'll be fun.”

“Yea. Sure.”

“Alright,” he says, standing. “I gotta get to the shop.”

He pauses as he passes by you, and you hold his gaze as he squashes the instinct to press his lips to your forehead.

You weren’t married to Benny for long before he panicked and left—only a handful of months—but it was long enough for the two of you to develop your own set of rituals. And by the consistency and ease with which Benny performed those rituals, anyone would have assumed they’d been in place for decades.

A kiss on the forehead after breakfast was one ritual. As was the bedtime cuddling with your leg slotted between his. And the way he’d stare at you in the mirror, his arms crossed and body leaning against the doorframe as he watched you brush your teeth with a grin on his face.

But the one you miss the most is the hug from behind that you'd receive once he’d decided to come home for the night. He’d circle his arms around your waist and place a kiss on your neck, and then he’d chuckle because he was so determined to sneak up on you and give you a little scare but was never successful. You could feel him before he touched you, you could smell his cologne, but you didn’t want to ruin his fun, so you let him have hope that one day he would finally surprise you.

Benny blows out a long breath through his nose. “I’ll see you tonight,” he mutters with a brief hint of a smile.

As the front door closes behind him, a carbon smell grabs your attention and you look over your shoulder at your breakfast. It’s charred, inedible, and you don’t even care, you just knock the pan off to the side to keep the house from burning down.

—

“Well, thank the lord,” Betty’s voice travels across the bar as she and Kathy approach you and Benny. “We weren’t sure we’d ever see you again, honey.”

Kathy draws you into a tight hug that rips you from Benny’s side. “Things have not been the same with you gone,” she says as she leans back, rubbing her hands up and down your arms. She smiles so sweetly and you breathe a sigh of relief. These women were your friends and you feel guilty for abandoning them just because Benny abandoned you. “Come sit.”

“Benny Cross, we are stealin’ your wife,” Betty declares, “And you don't get to whine about it.” There’s a dash of vitriol in her tone that nibbles at your gut and you hope it’s simply an effect of the alcohol she must’ve had prior to your arrival.

“Oh,” Benny says. You glance at him, at the disappointed look on his face—subtle, but there. He wanted you by his side tonight, but he’s not going to force you to deny their offer. “Ok.”

Kathy and Betty each take one of your hands and lead you to a small rounded table. It’s the centerpiece of the room, and as one of three surrounding it, so are you, unfortunately. As Betty sticks a cigarette in her mouth and Kathy takes a sip of her beer, your eyes scan the low-lit space.

Stares from the men lining the walls burn your cheeks. You recognize only half of them—the Vets, as they’re known—and they give you their smiles and nods in a ‘welcome back’ gesture, Johnny, in particular, sporting a rare grin.

The others—the Newcomers; out-of-towners who came specifically to join the club—look at you with something else in their eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? They seem to know exactly who you are and enjoy a little too much putting a face to the name. You, however, don’t know a single one of them. They’d arrived shortly before Benny left, and while some faces, those with distinct features, you can recall from nuggets of your memory, you’ve never spoken to them. You never got their names.

“Why this table?” you ask your friends.

“Best view of the pool table, obviously,” Betty chuckles after snapping Johnny’s lighter shut. She nudges her head in that direction. “Nothin’ wrong with lookin’, I say.”

Flanking the table are Cal, Wahoo, and Benny; Wahoo watching and chattering from the sidelines as Cal and Benny alternate between shots.

Benny edges from one side of the table to the other, sizing up his options. Then, cue in hand, cigarette dangling from his lips, he bends at the waist and lines up the shot.

He’s so stupidly beautiful. The lamp hanging above the table illuminates him, defining his muscles by highlighting the hills and casting the valleys into shadow. A haze of smoke coats your view, but his pure essence and magnetism break through it like rays of sun through parted clouds.

Benny’s eyes flick up to yours and he winks as he shoots, driving two balls directly into their nets.

Your mouth goes dry. You swallow sandpaper, leaving your throat all raw and scratchy.

“So, how’ve you been, honey?” Betty asks, and you turn your head. “How've you been feelin’? How’s that nausea?”

“Yea,” Kathy adds, leaning in close as if seeking out a secret, “and how’s it been goin’ with him? Any trouble?”

“Um, I'm fine,” you say, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Nausea’s manageable.

As far as Benny goes, there's no trouble,” you tell them, “It’s just–” You pause.

What can you say? That you haven’t fully forgiven him even though he’s working so hard to be a good husband? That some of the things he’s doing around the house are swoon-worthy compared to what most men you know would do but you’re too stubborn to express the depth of your appreciation? Any woman would look at you like you’re insane.

When you think about it like that, maybe you are insane.

“I don't know,” you say with a shrug and a shake of your head. “It's hard to explain.”

“Well, according to Johnny, Benny’s worried each day in the house will be his last,” Betty says, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side. “That boy’s so afraid he’s gonna mess up and let you down again that I'm surprised he hasn't lost his marbles. I read in Life that bein’ that anxious wreaks havoc on the body and mind.”

Betty’s always reading something in Life, and a good portion of the time you are hesitant to take her seriously. Not necessarily because you don’t trust what the magazine reports, but that Betty tends to exaggerate for kicks.

You have a feeling she’s not exaggerating this time.

Your face falls.

“Don’t you feel bad about it for one second,” Kathy scolds, placing her hand on top of yours. “You’re well within your rights to make him earn his place.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to be scared that I'm going to–”

You’re cut off by a male voice slipping through a brief lull in the cacophony of noise.

“If she don’t want Benny no more, she can bring her sweet ass right on over to me,” a Newcomer says in a slurring mess. “I’d sure take better care of her than he did.”

Every soul in the room falls deadly silent—the only remaining sound being the melody of Elvis's Baby Let's Play House from the jukebox—and the world around you freezes.

Cigarettes are held over ashtrays, their ashes yet to be knocked off. Beer bottles are raised to lips without the satisfaction of a sip. The bartender’s rag has only wiped up half of a drunken man’s spill. No one is breathing and everyone’s eyes are glued to either the Newcomer or your husband. Yours are on Newcomer, watching his features shift and tick as he soaks in the weight of what he just said, and what it’s about to cost him.

Kathy sighs. “Oh, god.”

The whole bar hears her—impossible not to; you could hear a mouse skitter across the floor—and her words seem to carry with them the wave of a green flag, because a moment later, Benny rushes the guy and tackles him to the ground.

Chaos erupts. All at once, shouts, curses, and hateful name-calling explode like the impact of a bomb. Nearly every man in the club is taking sides in the war between Newcomers and Vets. Fists fly into faces. Faces are shoved against walls. Walls are cracked from bodies slamming into them. There’s the distinct sound of bone meeting bone. Blood splatters across your table.

“Jesus, fellas!” Kathy snaps as she and Betty hop up, dragging you out of the danger zone.

In a panic, your head whips in all directions. You can’t find Benny, but you need to find him and you need to find him now.

You’ve seen him throw punches at races and members’ houses but this is too public a space, and if the cops are called, he can’t be caught fighting again. Nor can he risk having fingers pointed his way for instigating. He already has a record, and though you didn’t know him during his few stints behind bars, you know he has exhausted the sheriff's leniency. If you leave now, Johnny will come up with something to excise Benny’s participation should questions arise.

You take a step forward but Kathy’s grip is tight. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” she shouts.

“To get my husband.”

Betty gapes. “Are you crazy? You're pregnant!” But you ignore her, shaking Kathy off and heading into the storm. “Johnny! Johnny, grab her!”

You weave through fight after fight, stopping short when a body lands at your feet, but he’s up and out of your way in an instant, and you continue dodging and ducking until you spot a blond head. From what you can see, there’s hardly a scratch on him. The same cannot be said for the drunk guy beneath him.

Before you can move another inch, an arm circles your waist and jerks you back.

“Hey!” you snap. “Let go!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. You stay out of it,” Johnny says, lifting you off the ground and setting you down in a safer area. He puts his hands on your shoulders and dips his head to your eye level, locking on to your gaze. “I’ll get ‘im, ok? I’ll get ‘im. Stay right here.”

You nod in agreement, your brows knitted and teeth chewing on your bottom lip.

From this location, you have a better view of your husband and the friend who is trying and failing to break up the fight. Johnny yanking on Benny’s dominant arm is not enough to stop the attacks. Neither is the forearm locked around his neck.

When Cal notices Johnny’s struggle, he pushes his opponent into a table and races over to take hold of Benny’s other bicep. Together they pull him off the man whose face no longer resembles a human’s. It’s a bloody mess. His nose is dented in, eyes swollen shut, lips split and mouth hanging open to reveal an empty space where a tooth used to be.

Benny’s chest heaves. Murder is in his glare. He jerks against his restraints but struggles to break free with the force of two men weighing him to the ground.

Then Johnny mutters something in Benny’s ear that immediately halts his thrashing. His breathing slows. The fire fades from his irises, returning them to their soft cerulean, and his eyes tear away from the beaten man to dart around the room in search of you.

As Benny spots you, Johnny's lips move, seemingly forming the words ‘Get outta here,’ before he pats Benny on the chest and lets him rise to his feet.

Benny comes to you and without stopping grasps your hand and leads you out of the bar.

—

“You think you fractured anything?” You ask as you slide the key into the lock and turn.

Benny stretches and flexes his fingers. “No,” he answers, trailing into the house behind you and shutting the front door. “Are you upset with me?”

He’s been wanting to ask that question since you left the bar. As he'd placed the helmet on your head and clipped the strap under your chin, you'd observed his lips, how they were parting as if to speak but unable to get anything out. And when he'd helped you off the bike in front of the house, his expression was far away, his jaw shifting, teeth clenching—the look of your husband in intense thought.

At least he finally spit it out. Normally, he would have run his fingers through his hair and sighed, opting not to bother you with the question; a behavior that used to drive you crazy. It took weeks after you met for you to accept that while Benny was willing to share a lot with you—things he didn’t intend to share with anyone; a life, for instance—there were things best not to pester him into revealing.

So you’re a patient partner. If it needs to be said or asked, it’ll be said or asked. And you're glad he decided this was one question that needed to be asked.

You sigh, hanging your jacket on the rack, and Benny follows, selecting the hook closest to yours.

“I mean, you nearly killed him,” you say as you make your way to the back of the living room and open the closet that houses the first aid kit.

On tippy toes, you can barely brush your fingers along the metal tin, and you grumble each time you unintentionally push it a little further back on the shelf.

A muscled arm reaches above your head to grab the kit. Benny places it in your hands before stepping back into the seating area and dropping down onto the footstool, his standard perch when you’re fixing him up.

Blue eyes are glued to your body as you take a seat on the couch.

You pull the lid off of the tin and riffle through it for the small bottle of alcohol—you’ll have to buy more soon, it’s getting low—and a clean rag. With the alcohol-soaked fabric at the ready, you slip your fingers under his warm palm, bring his hand close, and get to work dabbing the wounds and wiping off some of the dried blood. He doesn’t so much as hiss at the shot of pain that makes any other human groan and pinch their eyes tight.

“He was out of line,” he tells you.

“I’m not saying he wasn’t out of line, but I really don't need you getting in trouble and being taken away from me, Benny.” You’re focused on his injury, but out of the corner of your eye, he winces in shame. “Besides, he was just mouthing off.”

“Mouthin’ off about my wife.”

With a huff, you drop your joined hands onto your lap and shoot him a look. “I know, but do you honestly believe what he said could ever happen? Do you think I would leave you for some other man?”

You ask with the full expectation of a whip-quick reply—‘of course not, baby’—but Benny adam’s apple bobs, and his teeth clench as his eyes flit to the undoubtedly less interesting carpet.

“Benny…?”

He runs his uninjured hand down his face and looks up at you. “C'mon, baby, it's not that wild of a thought. Not after what I did to you,” he says, his thumb slowly running over your knuckles. “You are so much better than anything I should be allowed to have. But me? You could throw a rock in any direction and you'd hit a man better than me. One that wouldn’t have panicked and left you pregnant and alone for six weeks.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“It is true.”

“It is not, and even if it was, I don't want another man,” you confess. A beat passes as you exhale heavily to stave off the stinging of oncoming tears. “It hurts that you left, but I am working through it, we are working through it, ok? You’re not going to lose me, Benny Cross. Not unless you leave me.”

“I'm never leavin’ you,” he says.

You place your free hand on his cheek. “Then you’re never losing me.”

Benny swallows hard and scans your face—each and every feature—lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes. As your thumb strokes his cheekbone, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, turns his head, and presses a kiss to your palm.

“Baby, I miss you so much,” he mutters, his brows pinched in anguish. “I miss touchin’ you. I miss holdin’ you. I miss sleepin’ next to you.” He lightly shakes his head. “I know I don’t deserve you, and I sure as hell don’t deserve our baby, but I fuckin’ miss you.”

The unit that is your heart and body and soul feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. This isn’t what the past month of your lives was meant to be about. It was supposed to be about building trust, not dishing out punishment. And yes, you’ve messed up before, said things that weren’t fair, but keeping him at arm's length is more than that. It’s a deeper pain. Stronger. More potent. Not just for him, but for you as well, and now you can’t quite see the point anymore. Staying away from his touch does not help anything if what you want at the end of the day is to be together. And that is what you want.

When you touch your lips to his for the first time in almost three months, you whimper. You whimper and you melt and the tears want to come back because it’s so much easier to resist desire when you haven’t entertained it in a while. But now you’ve given in. You’re tasting him like you used to, tasting the remnants of gin and cigarettes and the blueberry pie you made for dessert, and it’s all Benny. Benny, who is so shocked that you’ve kissed him that it takes a handful of seconds before he kisses you back and becomes the Benny you know. And then he’s curling his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap, and his hands are everywhere. Squeezing your thighs, sliding over your ass, tracing up your spine, holding the back of your neck to guide you closer so he can kiss you harder, and yea, you are never depriving yourself of your husband again.

Benny stands, taking you with him, supporting your weight as he keeps kissing you and you keep kissing him. He blindly turns and settles into the comfort of the couch with your legs on either side of his hips.

You lean back, breaking the connection of your lips. “Benny.”

He’s staring at you like you’re hypnotic, mesmerizing. Like he’s drunk on kisses. His fingers trace the curvature of your face. A thumb ghosts over the swollen pillows of your mouth.

“Yea, baby,” he says, voice gravelly, just above a whisper.

“Do you want to be back in our bed?”

Benny stiffens and he blinks away that glazed-over expression. “You mean it?” He asks. You nod.

“Are you gonna be in the bed too?” he says, sifting his fingers through your hair. “We're not just swappin’, are we?”

You smile. “No, we aren't swapping,” you promise him, your forehead falling against his. “I'm making room.”

---

A/N: I kind of want to do a time jump Part 3 with lots of Dad!Benny stuff. Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that. Thanks :)

Taglist (if you wanna join)

#benny cross x reader #benny cross #bikeriders #austin butler #the bikeriders #benny cross fic #austin butler x reader

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thisonehere · 4 months ago

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Under the Mistletoe

Mk kharacters x GN reader

Summary: Johnny's hosting a holiday party and you find yourself under the mistletoe with a kombatant.

A/n: Happy New Years!!! It's been a good little minute since I've done any headkanons. I know I haven't been posting much lately, I'm sorry about that a lot's been going on these last few months. This year I plan on being way more productive with my writing.

C/w: Heat, Slight smut, sloppy kissing, tongue, mentions of blood, violence and bruises

Bi-Han

He wasn't originally supposed to be here.

Johnny didn't want to invite him, considering all the recent drama (and because he still owed Johnny for the vase), but you insisted. You felt bad because the alternative was him spending the holidays alone.

You all thought Bi-Han wouldn't show up, Bi-Han wasn't a fan of the holidays, neither was he really the funnest at parties.

You were all surprised when Bi-Han did come. It was all so awkward. There was a lot of tension in the air, many fearing that at any given second, Bi-Han would explode and ruin everything.

But it didn't happen, the entire night Bi-Han stayed in a corner of the room. No one dared to go near him, not even his own brother, so he stayed there alone. He stayed there with his arms crossed leaning against the wall with a scowl in his face.

You felt your heart ache for him.

After building up courage, you walk up to him. He gives you a cold glare, but there was something oddly welcoming in his eyes.

"What do you want?" He grumbles as he gets off the walls and stands upright.

You quickly attempt to make small talk, he eyes you up and down as you try to talk to him. He still has a frown on his face but he doesn't shoo you away or giving you the feeling that he wants to be alone.

The remainder of the evening you try to create. Conversation, and Bi-Han gives you a decent response.

In truth, Bi-Han is grateful for you trying to talk to him. One of the worst parts of parties and events is that he often times end up alone, though he refuses to let anyone know that.

The holidays have always been a lonely time for him. He hated the holidays but his brothers always manage to make him enjoy just a little. But now s rift has grown between him and his brothers making it even harder to find anything to happen during this season.

You're the reason he came here in the first place. He refused to come at first, but then he learned that you personally asked Johnny to invite him, that you wanted him here.

You continue to talk, the conversation gets better. But you notice something hanging above both of you. Mistletoe. Johnny had hanged it all over the place in hopes of catching Kitana under it.

Hot red blush burns your face as you suddenly become shy. You fail to look Bi-Han in the eyes and struggle to speak. "What is it?" He sharply asks. Then he sees the mistletoe. Everything goes still and quiet as he just glares at it.

"I- it's just a dumb tradition." Your face felt like it was on fire with how hard you were blushing. "We don't have to do it." You can't anymore world's to say, your eyes are now glued to the floor.

Bi-Han glared at you, an unimpressed look in his eyes. "Pathetic." You hear him mumble as he places a hand onto your chin and forces you to look at him. "Cowardice disgust me."

He then grabs the back of your head and forcefully kisses you. His lips crash against you as his other arm wraps itself around your body

He holds you close as he kisses you, he isn't usually a romantic man, but tonight, for you, he'll make an exception.

His lips weren't as rough as you anticipated they'd be, they were surprisingly soft and warm, everything about him is soft and warm. You find your arms slowly return to his embrace as he kisses you with an unexpected passion. You mind goes numb for a second as you can't fathom that this is happening.

Finally, Bi-Han releases you. You gasp as you catch your breath and regain your composer. You pant, you stable to keep you balanced. And all the while Bi-Han resumes his harsh stare and he fixes with his cold eyes.

He continues the conversation you were having like nothing happened, you try to continue it too. But the kiss is permanently at the for front of your mind.

It's getting later in the night and the party is now whining down. All you can think about is Bi-Han's warmth, his rough lips that were soft at the same time. The way his strong arms held you gave you chills to just think about it.

Later on, you both were seen leaving the party together.

Tomas

At the prospect of being invited to a party, especially a party at Cage mansion with the Johnny Cage, Tomas was over the moon.

He was especially eager to go when he heard you'd be there. He has always had a crush on you, but he was too nervous to do anything. Maybe tonight will be different...

So you made the decision to take him home with you.

Tomas isn't one for social interactions, unless it's leading and instructing warriors or playing a part, he is quite awkward. But tonight, he was willing to try.

During the party, he does his best to be as social as possible. Sometimes he does well, other times her devolves into going on a long rant about one of his many hyperfixations.

But throughout the entire night, he has kept his eye on one thing: you. He has desperately been looking for you everywhere. Sometimes he finds you, but you're too busy or too far away for him to get to. Other times he can't find you anywhere, he asks around and he is often led onto a wild goose chase.

When the night goes on, things get darker and darker outside. Guests were already beginning to leave, and he hasn't had a chance to speak to you.

Much to his disappointment, he and Kuai were beginning to leave. He feels heartbroken, he was so excited to speak to you, he didn't know what about, but just being able to speak to you would be enough for him.

He and Kuai were walking out of the door. But then Tomas sees something at the corner of his eye.

Tomas sees an opportunity, and he bolts towards. Much to Kuai's confusion.

"Y/N!" He shouts as he quickly approaches you. You eagerly stop what you're doing totuen to face him as he steadily approaches.

As he gets to you, he accidentally slams into you and knocks you over.

Tomas grabs you by the waist, quickly catching you before you hit the ground, apologizing purfusely.

But you don't seem to mind, you actually laugh and joke about it. That doesn't stop Tomas for feeling terrible, he places a hand on the back of your head, cradling it and ensuring that it's secure, and places another hand on your lower back. He tenderly looks at you, causing you to feel a sudden load of butterflies awaken in your stomach.

Your eyes fall onto the ceiling and you what's above your head: Mistletoe.

You stare at it, wheels in your head turn as you realize what it is. Tomas, noticing you staring at something, looks up and see it too.

You both are frozen for a second as you share sheepish glances at each other, both of you too shy to say anything. Yet you give him an encouraging look.

He goes in and kisses. He over thought it every second. Should he skip some tongue in? Would you like that? Is he going kissing you too hard? Will he soft enough for you?

Both your minds went numb as you lips touch, it all feels strangely magical as the world goes silent. You become more aware of the way he holds you, so much care, so much love.

He helps you back to your feet, but your head felt awfully light from that kiss.

"Um, maybe we should go somewhere private." He says, his own face flushed. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

Kuai

As the Grandmaster of a very new and very fragile clan meant to protect Earthrealm, Kuai aoiang as little interest in parties. So he refuses to go at first, but Tomas and Harumi insist on him going.

He is firm at first on his position on not going, but they all eventually wear him down. He begrudgingly relents and agrees to go.

He is a natural when it comes to social settings. He has a cool and charismatic way about him that makes him a very chill person to be around.

He wasn't a very outgoing person though, not really a social butterfly. He kept to just Tomas and Harumi for most of the night.

One of Kuai's problems is that he is often too mild, but to him he was just right. Tomas and Harumi encouraged Kuai to let loose a little tonight.

So that's what he tried, he began being more outgoing talking to more people, even dancing a little. It felt pretty fun, but he preferred to be in a calmer setting, making having some form of a deep conversation.

He found that in you. He came across you while he was coming off the dancefloor, many cheering him as he left.

"Y/n!?!?" He was taken aback when he saw you, you were so beautiful tonight. "You look... exquisite." He sighs. You were always so radiant to him in just the simple things you do. So many times he found himself going mad at how magnificent you were, tonight you were just the same if not more.

You always loved Kuai, he was amazing in your eyes. He was gentle and sweet, so you didn't hesitate when he came to you hoping to talk.

You found a much more calmer part of the mansion to talk. A nice room with a leather couch, possibly the library, but the place was do overly decorated that you couldn't tell.

Kuai talked about the Shirai Ryu and how well it was coming along. He is especially about the one Shirai Ryu in particular, Hanzo Hasashi. He beamed with pride when talking about him, as he and Hanzo were at one point good friends.

He looked so cute as he talked about how proud he was of everyone in the clan, how humbling it was being a grandmaster and having to deal with such a big responsibility.

Eventually, the conversation got a little more casual when you talked about what you were going to do for the rest of the holidays. Kuai seemed especially interested on whether are not you'd be spending them with someone.

Before you could answer, you lay back in your chair, you notice for the first time something hovering over your head, mistletoe.

Butterflies begin swarm around in your stomach as you fix your eyes into the decoration, making sure your weren't mistaken.

Kuai looks up too, he seems less surprised by the mistletoe. He stilled seemed calm, you caught his brow arch and lips curl a little.

"Well," he sets gets closer to you "It is tradition to kiss." You rub your face hoping that the blush might come off. "And who am I to go against tradition?"

He pulls you close, sits you onto his lap. "Y/n," He says softly, almost a whisper. "Will you do me the honor of letting me kissing you?"

Did he even need to ask? He pulled you in and kissed you, his kiss was like fire. His hand rub your thigh, slowly making it's way to the inside of your thigh.

He even was so brave to the point of slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan as he continues to kiss you with passion.

He lays your down onto your back on the couch. He climbs on top of you and continues to kiss you. He pulls back to undo his shirt, you help him unbutton it as things began to feel a tough hotter in the room.

"Well, it's a good thing we chose someplace private." He said as he threw his shirt off. "I suppose we'll be here for a good while."

Geras

He met you while he was moving through the dance floor trying to get back to Tomas and Harumi, who were busy talking to Liu Kang.

You are instantly attracted to him, you admire him from afar. You find your way to him later on in the night. Though he was kind of stiff

As the overseer of the timeline, Geras spends his days monitoring the hourglass and ensuring all went according to Liu Kang's plans.

He never celebrates the holidays, he never saw a reason too. He had no one else around to celebrate it with.

But he can't deny that he has a curiosity on what it would be like to have someone to enjoy these traditions with.

So when Johnny invited Geras to this holiday party, Geras accepts.

He hopes to go know what it's like to partake in such festivities with humans.

Though, he isn't the best at socializing. For the first part of the night he decides it would be festive to give people cryptic warnings and clues about their futures. One guy he just straight up told him that he had an incurable disease and that'd cause him to die an agonizingly slow and excruciatingly painful death.

Geras stayed in the corner for most of the night, unsure on what to do. He just stood there and stared at everyone, it began to creep some people out. It didn't help that he chose the darkest corner which caused his eyes to glow in a very ominous way.

The only person who wasn't scared of him was you. After building up some courage, you invite him over to have some punch with.

Geras has always had a strange fondness for you. You caught his eye as he monitored the timeline. There was a strange

It's very awkward at first, neither of you seem to know how to interact. Both of you come from extremely different walks of life so there isn't a lot to talk about.

He talks about his process of monitoring this and other timelines for potential threats.

Geras is the first to notice it above your heads. The Mistletoe. It's a strange tradition to him. He is familiar with it, a superstitious tradition thought to ensure fertility. It's useless to him, he never planned on having children. Frankly, he isn't sure he even could barely children.

Family, love, passion, things Kronika forbade him. She had created him strictly to enforce her will.

But Liu Kang did recreate him, perhaps things have changed. He can think of someone he'd like to try these things with.

He stares at it while you talk. Confused, you stop talking and look up. You feel yourself blush as you realize what's above you.

You nervously laugh, "It's-uh-it's a Mistletoe. Basically it's-"

"I am aware of what it is, Y/n, I was not created yesterday." He interrupts sternly. You must look like a tomato with how red you are. "It's alright, I didn't mean to be rude."

Then silence between you two, your eyes dart from Geras and to the Mistletoe. Geras just stares blankly at you.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, you get on your tippy toes and gently kiss Geras. taking Geras by surprise.

Gently touches his lips as he processes what just happened. And then you see something you never saw before, Geras blushing.

"...Thank you...Y/n..." He says softly, giving an appreciative smile.

He stays with you for the remainder of the night, he looks at you with a look in his eyes. Like cogs in his brain were working hard to process and understanding new found feelings.

Kitana

When Kitana was invited by Johnny, she was hesitant at first. She once thought his little attempts to woo her were cute at first, but now they were getting annoying.

Also, she didn't care much for the Earthrealm holidays.

But she decided that she'd come by for a little bit, and then return to Outworld to spend the rest of winter with her sister to help with strategizing against Shoa.

And she must admit, she did find the party quite fun. The Christmas tree being so beautifully lit, the holiday cheer in the air as the carolers sang songs outside.

She admired the decoration of the mansion. She bumped into you as she was looking around. She kindly greeted you, asking you to excuse the splotches of blood on her hands.

The Princess has always been very fond of you, you were one of the few Earthrealmers she fairly liked.

But that enjoyment quickly ended.

She seemed fairly excited, she seemed to be enamored by the holidays.

You begin to talk about holiday tradition, you share Earthrealm customs while she shares Outworld holiday traditions.

The conversation quickly transitions to you telling holiday memories from your childhood. Kitana listens intently, enraptured by your every word. But then her attention is taken by something on the ceiling, but you don't notice.

If you paid attention to Kitana's face, it looked like wheels were turning. Then something clicked.

"Y/n?" She gently asks, immediately taking your attention. "I need you to step back a few feet." You stare at her confused, but you comply. A mischievous look on her face.

When you finish backing up, she points for you to look up at the ceiling. You look up and your heart stops as you see it: Mistletoe.

You choke on air. You look back at her, you try to say. She just stares you down with a smirk on her face. She gestures with her hand for you to come closer.

You shuffle forward a little, too nervous to get too close. Kitana grabs you by the collar and pulls you into a kiss. Taking out her fan and folding to stop people from seeing you kiss.

After holding her face against you and kissing you for a few moments, Kitana is nice enough to let you go. She laughs as you stumble about trying to regain you composure.

"It seems these Earthrealm traditions are not as bad as I thought."

Reiko

No nobody knows why he's here, he wasn't invited.

Reiko knew he wasn't invited. General Kitana, Geras, and Liu Kang was walking around here somewhere. If they caught him it would be all over.

So, why is here? Perhaps he just wanted to crash the party and cause problems. That is certainly what he did. He caused quite a ruckus by being loud as possible, he pigged out almost all Christmas convections Johnny spent a fortune, he antagonised many of the guests by insulting them and trying to start fights.

He isn't usually like this, usually he is the loyal underling of General Shao, but he couldn't deny that he was still a little miffed at the Earthrealmers for winning the tournament and humiliating Outworld and the General as well as interfering with the generals plans to liberate Outworld. So his primary mission tonight was to ruin everyone's night.

And he was successful, so successful to the point that Kitana, Liu Kang, and Geras were on his tail. He had successfully avoided them for most of the night, he thought it was funny how they ran this way and that trying to find him, and he eluded them every turn of the way.

He bumped into you as he was dipping out of Kitana's sight.

"Well, hello there." The moment he saw you, he knew you'd be his next victim of the night.

As he thought of the best, most obscene thing he could say to you, you smile at him as you try to be nice. He unloaded a mass of perverted advances towards you in hopes getting a rise out of you.

He definitely would ask 'if it was bubblegum pink' if he knew of the saying. , enough for you to gasp and hide your face in shame as the blush came through.

You were familiar with Shao's wild second in command, but you didn't expect him to be so...charming. You found yourself blushing at his every word. Which isn't what Reiko was expecting usually the things he says would cause women to gasp and slap him in disgust.

But he couldn't deny, he liked seeing you like this, so he continued. Perhaps he could make more of a use of you tonight if he was lucky.

As he continues to spout his perverted advances towards, you look every which way but at him. At one point you look up to the ceiling to avoid his haunting eyes, and that's how you see it. Mistletoe hanging above your heads. You gasp as you see it.

Reiko stops talking and looks up to see what you were gasping at. He sees the strange bundle of flora hanging from the ceiling. He stares at it confused. He looks at you, his eyes demanding answers.

You quickly explain what it is, you stammer as you explain why it was hung up on the ceiling. As you tell him the tradition of kissing someone under the plant for superstition.

You watch as his eyes light up as you tell him. "Is that so?" He slowly walks up and gets closer to you. "Um...yeah, it's just a silly tradition." You say as you continue to avoid his gaze.

Reiko licks his lips as he stares at you. Before you know it, you don't even know how it began, if he initiated it or you, but now Reiko's face was against yours, his lips pressed up against your lips, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth.

His hands weren't shy as they traveled around your body, feeling and gripping certain parts as he took you in.

You surprised at how hungrily he kissed and gripped at you. It was almost to the point that it felt like he was beginning to take your clothes off.

Whatever he was about to do, you'd never find out, because in an instant Reiko is ripped off you by Kitana. She hadn't given up on finding Reiko all night, him stopping to talk to you, to make out with you, slowed him down long enough for her to catch him.

You are left in a dazed and state as you are left stumbling back. Both from the commotion that Kitana and her guards caused as well as the passionate kiss that left your brain buffering.

Despite being found, Reiko had a smile on his face as he gave a proud laugh. "Well, looks like our date has been cut short...until next time..."

As they drag him away, Kitana sends you an apologetic look as she walks away. No doubt assuming you were a victim her was accosting you.

You are left alone, you can still taste Reiko in your mouth. You are struggling to process all the madness that just occurred in front of you. You fix your clothes and hair and try to enjoy the rest of the night.

Baraka

The holidays aren't easy for Baraka. Tarkat often makes it so hard to live, especially with the fact that it took everything away from him, he struggles to feel any holiday joy.

When Johnny invited him to the party, Baraka had thought the man had gone crazy. Inviting someone infected with Tarkat to an event that could risk hundreds getting infected.

But Johnny insisted everything would be fine, Earthrealmers seem to have much more of an immunity to Tarkat compared to Outworlders.

Baraka would've refused, he should've refused. But so much of his life has been hardships, surely he could spend one night to be happy.

So there he is, he stands at the corner of the room, looking around aimlessly at the thousands of people. Music filled the air as the guess mingled and ate and were merry.

Everyone avoided Baraka, it doesn't matter if they as Earthrealmers had an immunity, they still ostracized him, avoided him, glared at him, whispered and muttered things about him.

Baraka regretted coming here. All he could do was stay in the corner, and watch as they all shot him dirty and concerned looks. He sighed, defeated. He never should have come here.

It felt like Johnny only brought him here to be spectacle to gawk and point.

He was just about to leave, until you walked up to him. You had been finding the courage to talk to him, you saw him standing all alone in and you felt you heart ache form.

Baraka stares you down cautiously as you walk up to him. You smile sweetly as you try to make small talk. Baraka doesn't shoo you away, he seemingly embraces your company.

There isn't much for you to talk about, but you still try, and Baraka appreciates it. He isn't really a talkative person, but for you he tries.

You actually get along quite well, after a few minutes of painful attempts at small talk, you finally find something to talk about.

As you talk, you eyes find their way to the ceiling, and that is how you became aware of the mistletoe hanging above your heads.

You try to stop yourself, but you audibly gasp as you look at it, causing Baraka to look at it as well.

You quickly explain what it is and what people do when they're caught under it. Baraka merely makes dry laughs at this. Not just because of his lack of lips, but the idea of you ever kissing him. Surely, you must've thought him too repulsive to kiss.

But you surprised him. After hesitating a few seconds, you slowly rock forward on the tip of your toes and you plant a soft kiss on Baraka's nose.

Baraka is taken aback by this as you softly pech his mutated nose. He was as you step back and smile at him, and all he can do is look dumbfounded.

Did you do that out of pity? Did you just feel bad for him so you decided to kiss him? Obligation? Was it out of duty to tradition?

Or...did you do it because you...liked?

Be can't help fantasize about the possibility of someone loving in such a way. For now, perhaps he'll give into the fantasy. But he's no fool, this is just for tonight. Because who could possibly actually love a monster like him.

Liu Kang

Bah! How could you ever love a monster like him?

Liu Kang hasn't always been one for parties. He has always preferred to stay at the Wu Shi and meditate in his temple.

But the Fire God decided to humor Johnny and attend the party.

Being the protector of Earthrealm as well as the Titan of time, Liu Kang was the center of attention for much of the night. So many people came to him and started conversations, maybe they ask him questions hoping to pry out some answers for major moments in their lives.

Sometimes an entire entourage would form around him. You were almost knocked down by the crowd of people as they walked past you, you wondered if Liu Kang ever felt overwhelmed by all this attention.

Finally, the crowd about him finally lightened up, giving Liu Kang a chance to slip away. That is how he came across you.

You had avoided him all night. You were always intimidated by that fact that he was the protector of Earthrealm, finding out that he was the Titan of Time as well made you officially too nervous to approach him.

You had always had Liu's eyes though. You had always been special to him. He took great care in crafting everyone's destiny in this new timeline, he especially took great care when crafting your new life.

Something about you was just so captivating about you that Liu Kang couldn't keep you out of his head indefinitely. So when he found out you were here, he decided upon himself that he'd speak to you at least once tonight.

He wasn't going to do anything too personal, just a kind smile and a kind greeting. Perhaps a little small talk and then he'd move on.

You felt your palms get sweaty as he walked up to you. You force a smile into your face as he begins talking. You remind yourself at every second not to freak out, this is just you literal maker and creator of the universe, who's also hot, nothing to worry about.

You make your greetings, you wish him a happy holiday. Liu Kang nods at this, he moves the conversation to how much progress you've made throughout this year. "You have improved so much, considering who you were originally..."

He trails off for a second. "I'm sorry?" You asked perplexed. "I improved from wha-"

"Forgive me, I misspoke." He waves his hand as if he was shooing away a thought. He is quick to move the conversation along, you don't protest, better to keep the conversation light rather than ask questions about your past lives and the place he designer for you in this timeline.

You try to move the conversation along, you talk about what you did for the holidays, who you celebrated with, how you brought in the new year. He seemed very interested in your words like they were so fascinating.

As you speak, you are none the wiser of the mistletoe that hangs above you. Liu Kang knows about it, he saw it as he walked over to you. He would really like to kiss you, but he didn't know how to bring it up.

Finally, much to Liu Kang's joy, you look up and notice it. He warmly smiles as he watches you shrink under the mistletoe, obviously stunned by this. You eyes dart from him to the mistletoe, he gives you an encouraging smile as you calm down.

"I believe you do something when found under this." He gives you a charming smile. "Um, may I?" You feel the warm sensation of his hand as he caresses the side of your face, he lovingly looks into your eyes as he admired your for a second.

His lips are soft, electrifying, you feel your body basically collapse as he continues to caress your lips with his.

Tonight is the night you learned what it was like to be kissed by a god. That was apparent as you failed to collect yourself when he finished. You were so flustered that you couldn't even think straight.

"Have lovely rest of the evening." Liu Kang smiles at you generously, he then walks away. Leaving you to contemplate the fact that you just kissed a creator god.

Johnny Cage

Tonight didn't go as planned for Johnny.

He had hoped to catch Kitana under the mistletoe and have a totally hot make out sess'.

He followed her around for a good part of the night, all the while hoping he'd catch her under one of the many mistakes he hung up across the mansion. It was getting to the point of harassment.

And he did catch her under the Mistletoe, though, he didn't get a kiss. But she was nice enough to give him some sweet chin music as she uppercut him.

She knocks him onto his ass right then and there, also knocking him out. Maybe she hit him a few more times while he was down.

Despite this, many of the partygoers still continue on with the party.

Johnny lies there for some time. You eventually feel bad for him and wakes him up.

You get Johnny to the bathroom and are nice enough to help him clean up the many bruises on his face.

Cage is a drama queen, so he overreacts to the bruises on his face. All he had was a busted lip, a broken nose, a black eye, and a few cuts and gashes all over him, nothing bad at all.

"Well, did we learn anything, Mr. Cage?" You ask as he sits in the tub clutching an ice pack over his eye. You were in his bathroom, you were alcohol onto a cotton ball.

"Okay, maybe a went a little too fa-AH" he flinched as you use the cotton ball. "A little?" You press cool cotton against the red cut on his face. "Okay, Okay, I fucked up and went too far. I should've taken no as an answer and left Kitana alone. Happy?"

"Very." You teasingly coo as you wipe all the blood of his face, you feel a little bit bad for Johnny. He deserves every last but if these injuries, to be sure. But seeing him in pain made you feel bad deep down.

"Ow! Hey, go easy on me!" He hissed in pain as you dabbed the cotton onto another wound. You look at the bloody cotton ball, with a sigh you throw it away.

As you attend to him, you thank Johnny for inviting you and tell him how much you enjoyed the party. You talking about how much you enjoyed the party seemingly puts him in a better mood.

He tries to smile, looking past the busted lip, he still had one of the best smiles you ever seen. His teeth glowed like freshly cut diamonds.

He was such a charming man when he didn't try so hard. You felt yourself melt under his gaze. Cage arched his brow, "Starstruck looks cute in you, Y/n. Say, you want to kiss under the mistletoe?" He tries his best to be smooth

"We're in a bathroom, Cage." You shake yourself out of the daze you were in. Johnny just points to the ceiling. You look up "Really?!?!" You gasp as you see quite a few pieces of mistletoe hanging from the bathroom ceiling. "What can I say, I always come prepared."

You groan as you shake you head. Then you grab him by the collar and kiss him.

Despite the bruises on his lips, Cage still has the best pair of lips you've ever had the privilege to kiss. You felt his hands tangle itself in your hair as Cage returned your hold

It's strange, a random kiss in the bathroom with a beaten up movie star is surprisingly one of the best kisses you ever had.

You pull away and so does Johnny. He has a knowing look in his eyes as he stares you down with grin on his face, as if he expects for you praise him for how good the kiss was.

It was, but you didn't feel like feeding Johnny's ego. "It was alright." You say as you rise out to your feet. "Oh come on!" Johnny insists as you walk away.

It was truly an amazing kiss, but you refused to let him see how flustered he had you as you lean against the wall outside the bathroom to catch your breath and regain his composure, his ego was big enough.

608 notes · View notes

mercurial-chuckles · 6 months ago

Text

HIS FIORE - PART 1

Summary: Steve smexy Rogers moves into the neighborhood, and one evening, he catches you sneaking into the building opposite his through the fire escape. He watches curiously, slightly amused and, quite frankly, amazed by you. Guess what he does next? He writes a note, signs it with his middle name, Grant, and slips it under your door. How will you discover that Grant is none other than Captain America? Series Warnings: Language | Eventual smut | Mature content (minors DNI) | Steve’s naughty thoughts | Steve in-love Rogers | Steve possessive jealous Rogers | Drunk Steve (adorable, hot mess) | Neighbors | Secret identity | Steve watching the reader from a distance (slightly stalker-ish…ish) | A smidge of angst | Overloaded fluff | Happy happy ending

Chapter Warning: Language | Steve watching the reader from a distance (slightly stalker-ish…ish) | Good ol' fluff

A/N: Finally finished writing this! Originally, I wrote two parts as connected prompts for Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3, but I've decided to revamp the entire piece. Also, I'm going to try sticking to a schedule--wish me luck! 😉 Banner credits: Me | Photo credits: The internet | Divider credits: @buck-star (Sydney, thanks a trillion ❤️)

Note: Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work! Check out my other works: Masterlist

His Fiore Series Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Steve was happier, much happier now that the excruciatingly long recruiting was done. It was a nightmare to have Tony during the recruiting, and now that it was all over, Steve would get a good night's rest.

"Maybe you should try asking that nurse from the med-bay...Nina, I think her name is," Natasha had suggested casually as they walked toward the compound's parking garage after the painstakingly long day.

Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. He shot her a sharp look, trying to convey just how disinterested he was in this line of conversation. If Steve could, he would have sprinted away, but with Natasha, there was no escaping a conversation, especially this. She'd been too interested in his personal life or lack thereof.

He was happy with his hobbies: sketching and visiting museums. In fact, he could take up a side gig as a virtual museum guide.

"Look, can we drop it? I'm really not interested," he emphasized firmly as he approached his bike quickly.

Natasha smirked, undeterred. "Might be time to find someone to keep you in check, old man," she teased, climbing into her car.

Steve rolled his eyes as he swung his leg over his bike. Natasha had been relentless about his lack of dating life, going so far as to learn the names of agents and acquaintances she thought might catch his eye.

But she never understood that Steve didn't believe in casual flings or whatever the modern dating concept was. He was a man from another time, one where courting had a clear purpose, and the idea of dating left him uneasy. Maybe he just couldn't shake the insecurity of the scrawny kid from Brooklyn who barely mustered the courage to speak to a girl, let alone charm one.

"You need help setting up your place?" Natasha asked, snapping him out of his thoughts as his bike roared to life.

Steve grinned, slightly grateful she decided to drop the discussion. "I've got a duffel bag of stuff, Nat. I think I can handle it." If he was being honest, he was simply glad he found friends and family, which was more than he could ask for.

She huffed, shaking her head. "At least buy some furniture, Rogers."

"Don't need to. Sam helped me find a furnished place," he countered, his grin widening.

With a quick goodbye, Steve sped off toward his new apartment in Brooklyn.

'This place is a steal,' Sam had told him, a one-bedroom unit with just enough space and a cozy little balcony. Located in a six-story building with five units per floor, Steve's apartment was on the corner, offering a decent view of the street below and, if he leaned far far enough over the railing, a glimpse of Hamilton Park.

Sam, ever resourceful, had pulled some strings with the building's owner, a friend from the VA, to ensure Steve's identity stayed under wraps. Not that most people cared to look twice at the guy in glasses, a baseball cap, and loose clothing. Steve made a point of blending in, and it worked mostly.

By the time he arrived, the neighborhood was bathed in the warm glow of a quiet evening. Steve parked his bike in the designated cellar spot and headed upstairs.

His stomach growled as he stepped into his apartment. The serum gave him an insatiable appetite. Despite the hearty meal he'd had at the compound earlier, he was hungry again.

Making a bowl of soup and a few store-bought dinner rolls that tasted appetizing enough, he stepped out onto the small balcony that connected to the living room while balancing his plate in one hand and a water bottle in another.

Steve's unit was on the 5th floor, and his towering frame made the modest space look smaller, but he was still grateful to have it. On his left, there were two more units.

The view from the balcony stretched over the nearby intersection. A small window beside the balcony door allowed light to stream in. Framing the balcony were sleek black railings, their design simple, providing a clear boundary without obstructing the scenery. Thankfully, the balconies for each apartment were independent, offering a sense of privacy rather than being connected.

Modestly furnished with two petite metal chairs, a small table arranged neatly near the center, and a compact two-seater bench sat at the edge, positioned to take advantage of the view, Steve's balcony was more functional in comparison to his neighbor's, which looked cozy and inviting in the faint glow of series lights and vibrant looking furniture.

Settling into a chair, Steve let out a content sigh. The sounds of the city filtered out, and he felt a rare moment of peace. This was good, Steve thought. Perhaps he could get a larger chair.

The evening air was warm, and as the sky darkened, he finished his meal, settling back in his chair to enjoy the peacefulness of the moment.

He was about to head inside to play some music and sleep off the day's stress when he noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Curiosity piqued, Steve leaned forward, glancing toward the source. You were pulling down the fire escape stairs in the opposite building.

The stairs were only five feet from the ground, but you struggled to grip the first one and had to fight to get your footing on the next. With surprising speed, you managed to steady yourself, though nearly slipping. You quickly hugged the metal stairs, and Steve's heart raced, expecting you to fall at any moment.

You mumbled something, then began climbing.

Steve initially thought you might be up to something…a thief maybe, albeit a beautiful one.

Despite the precariousness of your situation, there was something undeniably intriguing about you. Steve was grateful for his enhanced vision because he almost had a clear view of you. Your silhouette in the dim light revealed a lithe figure, and the determined expression on your face only made him more curious.

Steve instinctively moved closer to the railings, ready to intervene if necessary. Either you were up to trouble or were going to hurt yourself, and it didn't seem like a good idea to let you keep going.

Just as he was about to call out, you jumped onto the balcony and, with a proud little flourish, did a victory lap.

Steve couldn't help but smile, silently chuckling at the sight. You wore shorts and a simple T-shirt with an angry dog saying, 'Bite me,' and a huge band-aid on your left knee. He knew this was going to be etched in his memory.

He decided to wait a moment, intrigued by what you would do next. If you gave him any reason to act, he was ready--but he watched in silence for now.

To his utter shock, you pulled a water jug from somewhere behind you on the balcony filled with plants, and you began watering them, which was when Steve's focus shifted to the balcony opposite him. It was beautiful. The garden was full of various plants and creepers, flourishing vibrant flowers.

Steve leaned forward, utterly captivated. You moved with such care while watering, gently wiping away the remnants of old leaves and tenderly touching the plants. At one point, you even blew a flying kiss to a few of them. And then, were you… talking to them? His surprise deepened, and he instinctively ducked behind the railing, hoping to remain unnoticed as he observed the scene.

After a while, you carefully descended from the fire escape, moving toward the edge. You hesitated, looking down at the ground with a mix of apprehension and determination.

From his vantage point, the height was nothing when he was so used to jumping from the buildings, and you looked adorable, silently praying before jumping.

But you miscalculated and landed hard on your butt with a loud thud.

"Every fucking time," you muttered to yourself, loud enough for Steve to hear.

He couldn't hold back a laugh at the sight of your disgruntled expression, utterly charmed by everything you did.

Steve bit his lip, trying to suppress a laugh. He didn't want to be too loud, though he couldn't help it. Watching you rub your ass and mumble about the pavement, he couldn't help but notice. You had a sexy ass.

What the hell? He was horrified at where his thoughts were going, shaking his head to clear it. No. Focus.

He watched as you crossed the street, disappearing into his building as you entered the main door and out of his view. He stood there, staring straight ahead, his mind caught in a swirl of thoughts about you. A small, uncontrollable smile crept onto his face.

You lived in his building.

He glanced across at the beautiful, tiny garden where you had just been and felt an unexpected warmth bubble up inside him.

Minutes later, he heard shuffling from the balcony next door. His heart raced. He quickly retreated into his apartment, hoping--praying--that it was you. And yes, there you were.

With the light still turned off in his unit, he opened the small window to the balcony beside the door, leaning out slightly, not wanting to be seen.

You had a tube of what looked like ointment in your hand, your smile bright as you gazed at the opposite balcony.

You sat down and removed the band-aid on your knee. Steve winced as you hissed in pain, muttering a string of profanities. He rolled his eyes, tempted to step outside and tell you off for your language, but his thoughts quickly turned to something else. I could totally spank some manners.

His mind immediately snapped back to focus. His thoughts had never jumped in that direction before. Never. He shook it off, blaming it on the fact that he'd not been so attracted to someone so quickly.

He focused on the injury you were tending. What appeared to be a small scrape was a large bruise, and Steve could feel a sharp pang of concern for you as you winced, applying the ointment carefully.

You disappeared inside, leaving him with a sense of disappointment. He peeked out, checking to see if you had gone to bed. To his surprise, you came out again, this time with a book.

Steve watched you for what felt like hours, a smile never leaving his face. He felt content, oddly happy to have moved here, and it was not just because it was a decently prized single-bedroom apartment with a balcony. It was more to do with you being his neighbor.

This continued for the next few days, and Steve wasn't proud of it. He had become that guy--watching his neighbor like some sort of creep. But he couldn't help himself. It was therapeutic, in a way, watching you.

You moved with such care. Steve could see you filling a watering can, tending to the plants with such gentleness. There was something almost reverent in the way you whispered to them.

He found himself wanting your attention and the need to know you, hear you talk, feel your touch, and hold him the way you did with the plants so tenderly grew in him every second of the day.

And he needed to hold you as tended as a flower. His flower. His Fiore. Delicate and beautiful.

Two weeks had passed, and Steve couldn't stop thinking about you.

With his hectic schedule and sudden missions, he hardly had a fixed schedule. He had to leave early and return late at night, and though he tried to adjust his schedule, it was no use. He had no idea where you worked, either.

'Maybe I could ask Nat for help,' Steve thought, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Getting Nat involved would be a disaster.

It was a catastrophe in his head anyway because the thought of you consumed him, and as the days went by, he decided to act. He'd leave you a note just to see what would happen. A way to break the ice, if nothing else.

He slipped a note under your door.

Was it creepy? Maybe.

Could he help himself? No.

Maybe, just maybe, you'd see it as romantic.

Dear Fiore,

I must say, the garden looks beautiful. Your nightly rescue missions seem to pay off. Keep up the good work. This is your next-door neighbor.

–Grant

He'd changed the note a dozen times before settling on that, trying to keep it casual and sound cool, not revealing who he really was yet being somewhat truthful.

Steve hadn't felt that anxious outside of missions in his modest existence except when he got the serum, his palms were sweaty, and his nerves were dangling tenuously by a damn thread as he waited for your response.

The whole night, Steve was hyper-focused on every tiny sound around him. He slept in the wee hours of the morning, cursing his enhanced senses, worried sick if you'd knock on his door to tell him off, to mind his business.

The next morning, he found a note from you and finally could breathe again, a smile tugging at his lips when he read it. No one could dampen his mood all day, not the stubborn ass SHIELD secretary, not the stick-up-their-butts agents, and not even Tony calling him Cap, Capsicle or whatever the hell he seemed to come up with.

Hey Grant,

Welcome to the apartment, neighbor! Terry, from the third floor, told me someone had moved next door to me. You know about my secret plant ops! I'm not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed that you were watching me. But thank you? The plants need all the love they can get. I've seen those people bring tons of plants, let them die and replace them with new ones. Can you believe it? I couldn't just leave the plants to die now, can I? :(

PS: Love the name Fiore! Name's Y/N, BTW.

–Fiore

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

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r3starttt · 5 months ago

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NOTHING MATTERS

PAIRING: Act. 3 Caitlyn x reader

SUMMARY: You take care of caitlyn after her betrayal to Ambessa.

CW: SFW. Mentions of injuries, angsty and just one sad kiss at the end.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona @halle5s @abvisionss

AN: this is too short and weird cs I'm trying to write again like, actually write and don't jump into heavy smut. Hope this doesn't floppppp cs... would make me so sad to see people are just here for the strap sucking fics (no judgment just, gimme time until I get back to THAT type or writing pls and thanks)

this is also for @champagne-problems-ate ily <3

At the Kiramman’s own request—an expectation you had grown all too accustomed to by now—it was you who attended to the injuries she sustained in the aftermath of recent, turbulent events. The details of what had occurred remained shrouded in vagueness. Some kind of major upheaval had unfolded, the kind that left even seasoned soldiers and seasoned minds faltering in its wake.

What little information you gleaned came through the fragmented gossip of others, particularly from Maddie’s not-so-hushed commentary, for she couldn’t keep her tongue still in the Kiramman estate—there was something about the return of major authorities.

Where they had gone, and why, was a mystery to all.

And then there was Ambessa- the looming figure who had always straddled the line between ally and enemy.

She had never been trustworthy in your eyes, though Caitlyn, however, had once trusted her—or had pretended to, for the sake of her little army of loyal soldiers, the ones who worshipped at her feet. Like Maddie, ever eager to linger in the Kiramman household under the thin guise of concern for her superior.

She could hardly mask her longing—the way her eyes lingered, the way her voice softened when speaking of Caitlyn, the woman she so desperately wished would return her gaze with something more than polite dismissal.

It was a convoluted mess, a knot of politics and personal betrayals you couldn’t hope to unravel. Not because you didn’t care for the intrigue, but because your heart was too heavy with worry— for Piltover, and for yourself. For your family. Though the threads of your connection to Caitlyn had frayed over time, you still trusted her, still hoped, prayed even, that she would find a way to right the course of things. She had always carried that spark of possibility, a rare ember in a city obsessed with cold, mechanical precision.

Your own beginnings were humble, born to a family that clawed its way out of the undercity when they learned of your impending arrival.

A pregnancy was a miracle, a joy—but only if one could afford the privileges that made life bearable: clean air, decent food, warm clothes, a bath that didn’t leave the water darker than the dirt it was meant to wash away. They had fought for you, fought tooth and nail to give you a life worth living.

Perhaps that was your greatest flaw: you came from a family that believed others were always worth fighting for, even when you barely had the strength to fight for yourselves.

Caitlyn was no exception. For all the differences in your upbringings, she had a way of making you believe that Piltover could be something better.

She changed you, softened the shame you felt about your origins, even as she remained blind to the privileges she had been born into. She ensured that your family had what they needed—food, clothing, medicine—under the guise of friendship, of course.

Her mother had disapproved of you from the start, but the young Kiramman had a stubborn streak, a determination that, unlike most Piltovians, she wielded it not for greed or power, but for something she believed was nobler.

Caitlyn had a resolve that could have been dangerous in another life but, in her hands, became something noble, if imperfect. She sought to prove that power could be wielded for good, though her idealism often stumbled in execution.

Which lead to betrayal. So sutble yet so painful that made you question whether you had ever truly known her at all.

You understood the reasons, even respected them, though it didn’t make it hurt any less. After all, who were you to argue?

Sometimes, it felt like you were little more than a puppet on invisible strings, there to serve her needs and ease her conscience.

And so here you were, once again immersed in the gilded opulence of the Kiramman estate, a world you had only ever pretended to belong to. Her room, specifically.

The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers, a stark contrast to the grime of the Undercity that still lingered in your memories. You couldn’t tell if you felt out of place or too comfortably numb to care anymore. All you knew was that Caitlyn needed you, and for better or worse, you couldn’t seem to let her go.

The walls of the Kiramman estate had always carried a natural chill, but since her mother’s passing, they seemed colder still, imbued with a grief that seeped into every stone and every breath. The family was shattered, even yours, though you had only been granted fleeting glimpses of the late Kiramman matriarch’s rare tenderness.

She had never welcomed you into her family, never truly accepted your presence near Caitlyn. Yet, in her own quiet, calculating manner, she had permitted the offerings Caitlyn made on their family’s name. And when you proved, time and again, that you were worth the fight, she had acknowledged you in her own way. Subtle. Reserved. A nod from a distance, but one that showed approval.

Caitlyn, however, hadn’t spoken a word to you about her mother or about the weight she carried. She hadn’t needed to. You could see it in the silence that lingered between you.

There was more than just grief in that silence.

There was guilt, a festering wound she carried, knowing the harm she had wrought in her quest for justice—or something like it. She had wronged more than just you. She had hurt countless innocents, people you had reminded her time and again were just that: innocent.

Her assumption, likely, was that you resented her. That the wounds she had inflicted on your trust, on your view of her, had severed whatever fragile thread of loyalty remained. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong. But here you were, seated beside her, flashlight in hand, performing the same familiar routine you had done countless times before.

“Please... follow my finger,” you said softly, your voice measured and calm, just loud enough to fill the space between you without unsettling it. She straightened her posture, obediently following the movements of your finger as you moved the light in measured arcs. Her pupils contracted under the beam’s sharp glow, tracking the path you set. You checked each eye, one after the other, before letting out a quiet exhale.

“Up—now, left,” you instructed, the light shifting accordingly. You watched her carefully, her reactions automatic, devoid of resistance. There were no major injuries to note, at least nothing to suggest lasting harm. You had already completed the rest of the examination, methodical as always: her neck, her mobility, her blood pressure, her vitals—all the fundamentals you’d committed to memory after countless similar checks.

Chaos had become a routine under Ambessa’s looming presence. The injuries she left in her wake had kept you busier than ever, patching up the aftermath of her schemes while Caitlyn’s own injuries seemed to evade your care—until now.

Switching off the flashlight, you placed it neatly back among your tools, each item returning to its designated place with a precision born of necessity.

She said nothing. Instead, she sat motionless, her gaze cast downward, fixed on her lap. Her hands rested limply at her sides, short, uneven nails catching at the edges of the bed sheets, fidgeting without thought. A small bruise marked her right cheek, its once-violent hue fading into the softer tones of her skin. Her eyes, red and swollen, bore the traces of tears shed out of frustration, anger, and despair—tears she had likely shed on her way back.

The faint marks on her neck told a clearer story, faint impressions of fingers that had choked her. You could only hope her opponent had been from the Undercity and not one of Ambessa’s puppets- most likely the hope was just that.

Caitlyn’s uniform was disheveled, evidence of her half-hearted attempts to remove it as you adjusted your tools during the examination.

The thin red choker she had worn was discarded the moment she sat, and the open collar of her blouse revealed the strain beneath her careful composure.

She was dirty—dust clung stubbornly to her skin, mingling with smudges of sweat and exhaustion. Dried flecks of blood dotted her uniform, though you were relieved to confirm it wasn’t hers.

Her muscles were tight with tension and soreness, but nothing suggested she had sustained lasting damage.

She sat there, a figure fraying at the edges, fragile yet stubbornly upright, her silence speaking volumes.

You couldn’t tell whether she avoided your gaze out of shame or because the weight of everything she carried was too heavy to lift her eyes.

Either way, the Caitlyn before you was a far cry from the determined, idealistic woman you had once known.

"Ambessa..." she said, her voice tentative, a thread of sound that barely broke the heavy silence between you. Her eyes, hesitant and shadowed, darted toward your face as if searching for permission to continue.

"She's—" But of course, she wouldn’t elaborate. Detailed explanations had never been her strength, not with you. She knew you had distanced yourself from the tangled web of her life, and she had never bothered to bridge that gap, to offer you clarity.

"You were right," she finally said, the words tumbling out like a confession. "I should’ve stayed away."

Her voice carried an unfamiliar weight, a subtle tremor that felt almost apologetic, though it was wrapped in her usual restraint. It struck you as strange—Caitlyn, apologizing.

Even if it was too late, here she was, sitting before you, speaking to you instead of burying herself in the false sanctuary she had so often sought. Nights spent with women in her bed, avoiding her father and the heartbreaking sight of it, leaving you to tend to the wounds of her mistakes.

You slid closer, settling yourself back into the chair in front of her, nudging the first aid kit aside as you nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of her words. "I heard what happened… Maddie," you said, her frown tightening in response to the name, though it explained enough.

"You need to be more careful, Caitlyn," you added, your voice firm, concern coloring your tone as your brows furrowed. "This could’ve been way worse."

She looked away, her pride tangling with something deeper, something raw. You could see the apology brewing behind her eyes, the unspoken words she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

Her pride, or perhaps her fear of your rejection, kept her tethered to silence each time she tried to approach you.

"You’re still worrying about me," she said at last, her voice soft, her lips curving into a sheepish smile. It was faint, but it was there—a flicker of the Caitlyn you had once trusted without hesitation. The same Caitlyn who would roll her eyes whenever you thanked her too profusely for a kindness she had offered without expectation.

And perhaps that flicker of familiarity, that glimpse of who she once was, kept your anger at bay. Instead of confronting her, you found yourself falling, once again, into the rhythm of her unspoken intentions.

"I never stopped worrying about you," you replied evenly, your tone as steady as you could manage. "It’s my job."

"I would’ve assumed you quit by now." Her words were quiet, a deliberate gentleness in her tone, as though she understood the fragile line you walked. She didn’t push, didn’t expect you to pretend as though nothing had happened. Not you. Not after everything.

"I can’t," you answered, your voice barely louder than hers. And it was true. She paid you better than anyone else could.

Your parents depended on that money now, their lives in Piltover still fraught with the challenges of surviving on the fringes. They had escaped the Undercity, but their station hadn’t risen far enough to escape the grind of near-poverty. Their survival was tethered to your work, and your work was tethered to Caitlyn.

"I’m sorry," she began, but her voice faltered, the apology catching in her throat.

She didn’t need to explain. You had been there, had seen firsthand the blood that stained her hands— The choices she had made, or failed to make, in the shadow of Ambessa and for the revenge that had lead her to absolute nothing but loss after loss.

"Are you?" you cut in before she could finish, your tone carrying a playful edge, a teasing rebuttal to her seriousness. For the first time in what felt like months, her lips curled into a genuine smile, and her eyes rolled upward with a faint exasperation that felt achingly familiar.

"I’ve been helping," you added lightly, your voice carrying a mock seriousness. "You know, for free." You let the last word hang in the air, a quiet jab that coaxed a laugh from her.

"I don’t hate you enough to quit," you admitted, your tone softening, more earnest now.

"Thanks, I suppose," she murmured, her voice laced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

Before you realized it, your fingers had moved, brushing against her wrist. The warmth of her skin against yours.

Your fingers traced gently over the back of her hand, and she shifted her own to tangle them with yours.

"You’re welcome," you whispered, the words barely audible. You ignored the storm of words threatening to spill from your lips, and so did she.

Her hand slid up your arm, her fingers brushing over your elbow as she pulled you closer. Your heart stuttered, your mind warring with hesitation, but your body betrayed you. You let her guide you, let her bridge the gap.

Her eyes met yours, searching for something—permission, forgiveness, maybe even redemption. Her gaze flickered to your lips, lingering there with a silent question. You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you let your lips part, leaning into her, allowing her to pull you into the moment.

You found your place on her lap, your weight supported by her shoulders as her arms wrapped around you. Your breaths mingled, warm and shallow, until your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft, a hesitant yet undeniable surrender to the years of tension and longing that had tangled themselves into the growth of your relationship.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a quiet resolution to the unspoken devotion that had always lingered between you.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the mistakes, not the betrayals, not the wounds that still ached beneath the surface.

There was only this, only her, only you.

#A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ( arcane )#𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ arcane ❫#caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you #caitlyn kiramman fluff #caitlyn kiramman angst #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #caitlyn fluff #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane fluff #caitlyn league of legends #caitlyn arcane

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tiredandsapphic · 26 days ago

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CANDIDS

pairing ꩜ precrash!lottie matthews x fem!reader headcanons summary ꩜ every soccer player needs her support photographer an ꩜ i didn't waste my money on art school to not write this (this is for all my photo nerds)

꩜ before you start dating you were just trying to take decent action shots for yearbook, but for some reason your lens keeps finding her. she's mid-kick, sweaty and flushed, and its perhaps the most perfect thing you've ever seen. lottie notices, you're not as subtle as you think, she meets your gaze through the lens one day and smiles, at you.

꩜ you don't notice you're stupidly head over heels for her until you find yourself sketching her. not on purpose— just small doodles in your notes as you let your film develop. or the time she talks to you when you're not out taking pictures, saying "I like the way you look when you're not hiding behind the camera." fuck, you like the yellowjacket's midfielder who happens to be dominating all your film.

꩜ you both find random reasons to talk to each other, opposite interests or not. lottie will find you in the dark room to return a lens shield you accidentally left behind on the bleachers. she'll end up talking to you for 45 minutes instead, your drying prints long forgotten. or you pull her aside claiming you need more portraits for the athlete section. you drag her to the art hallway to take photos, but end up sharing mixtapes and laughing for an hour. the next time you see her she casually mentions liking one of the songs you shared, you die.

꩜ you tried to keep it a secret, but its so painfully obvious. both your friends and hers know something is up. you wear her letterman jacket way too often, she has your film canister keychain on her backpack.

꩜ when you guys actually date after long mutual pining, the rest of her friends tease her for having a 'personal paparazzi', and lottie just grins as if its the best thing she has ever heard.

꩜ you love to teach her about photography, and she loves to learn. one day you're teaching her how to load film, guiding her hands. she smells like cinnamon and grass, and you're just trying to explain the mechanism but you always fumble or just crack.

꩜ you call it 'hanging out' when you go to the darkroom together, but you're definitely making out in there. you've gotten so good at making it sound like you're talking about ISO or shutter speed when the sound of someone walks by.

꩜ you love to snap a photo of her before every game, for luck.

꩜ when they win, lottie immediately runs to you, picking you up and spinning you. the team calls it 'photographer privilege'.

꩜ leaving little film photos in her game bag, jacket or locker with notes on the back before games— stuff like '#5 looks so cute today' or 'win or lose, im still kissing you after'. she won't admit it, but it helps her improve dramatically.

꩜ lottie lovessss to steal your camera and says "your turn", taking photos of you. you groan, pretend to hate it— but melt when she gives you prints later or showers you in compliments. she won't let herself be the muse every time, even the artist deserves admiring.

꩜ she panics when you cry about your critique on your portfolio. but she'll hold you so gently, whispering that no one sees people the way you do. you panic whenever she gets injured in a game, you sprint from the sidelines— camera long forgotten— before the coach can even react.

꩜ she knows your favourite film stock. your favourite camera brand. she loves to buy you the newest camera, no matter the price. she assure you with kisses when you complain about the price, feeling guilty but "your talent is priceless" she always says.

꩜ in return you make her photo books/collage books for her. photos of her, of you one dates, and small souvenirs from such. long hand written letter on the back of photos— decorated with pressed flowers.

nsfw꩜ .ᐟ you'll take photos of her in her most vulnerable state— and she lets you. they drive you wild, your little secret, pieces of heaven for only you to see. they're like holy relics to you.

#lesbian #wlw #lottie mathews x reader #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews x fem!reader #lottie matthews x you #yellowjackets x you #lottie matthews #i need her

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lexalith · 18 days ago

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HIDDEN pt.2 || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

summary: this is part 2 of my original fic HIDDEN. you should read that one first or you’re gonna be very confused!

warnings/this story contains: female reader, age gap (reader is 24 now, seunghyun’s 37) unresolved tension, mutual pining and emotional damage, reader’s life being absolute trash (?), seunghyun and the reader being very anxious people. angst (jealousy, heartbreak, guilt, shame, regret, self loathing, not being able to let go but also not being able to stay. timing never being right and love not being enough like alwayssss, i’m sorry) personal growth, forgiveness, closure, and a tiny little bitty bit of fluff if you squint your eyes very, very hard (lmao).

a/n: i never planned on writing a part two, but here we are! thank you so much for the endless support and for looking forward to this <3 as always, english isn’t my first language! seunghyun’s texts are in blue, reader’s texts are in orange. reader’s dialogue is in bold.

songs: champagne coast — blood orange (yes, again, because this is their song. i’m making it canon) ll all i wanted — paramore || lovers — anna of the north || all too well (10 minute version) — taylor swift

it’s been nine months since the breakup, and your life couldn’t be more different than it was—if someone took a polaroid of you now and held it next to the girl who packed her bags for seoul with stars in her eyes, you’re not sure you’d even recognize her. you’re back in brownsville, no longer coordinating payload systems at starbase—because, well, turns out when your year-long secret relationship becomes very suddenly not so secret, someone decided having you around was more trouble than it was worth. after they cut you off—citing professionalism and image and propriety—you didn’t really have a plan.

you spent a month unemployed, half-heartedly scrolling through job listings you didn’t want while lying facedown on the couch, alternating between waves of quiet panic and nausea that came every time you accidentally thought about seunghyun for more than five seconds. it was still raw then—the kind of heartbreak that didn’t just ache but physically made you feel sick, like your body was rejecting the entire experience. everything reminded you of him, and you hated it—how you could go from brushing your teeth to fully sobbing in the span of a minute because some memory had snuck in through the cracks, as if your own mind was determined to torture you for ever letting someone get that close.

and eventually, when your savings account started looking like a damn joke, you took the first job you could find—bartending at a small spot downtown. it’s not what you studied for. it’s not even remotely what you imagined doing when you walked across that graduation stage in your too-tight heels and got your aerospace degree handed to you… but it’s steady. you’ve memorized the orders of the regulars, learned how to hold your tongue when men call you sweetheart like it’s your god-given name or snap their fingers and whistle like you’re a fucking dog, and you’ve gotten really good at pretending you’re okay—smiling through it. your shoes are always sticky by the end of the night, your clothes reek of grease and cheap vodka no matter how many times you wash them, and there’s a tiny scar on your wrist from a shattered pint glass that slipped mid-shift during a friday rush. but hey… at least the tips are decent.

you’ve also been… seeing someone. the guy your friends had been annoyingly pushing for months (back when you were still secretly dating seunghyun and pretending to consider it just to shut them up). he’s your age, works in construction and is very nice, which sounds like a shitty compliment, but it’s not. you’ve been seeing him for about two months now—hanging out and hooking up. you like him. really, you do… a little bit. but every now and then you catch yourself comparing the way he holds your face to the way someone else used to, and you have to blink it away before it sinks too deep. he doesn’t know about seunghyun, of course. not the real version of it, anyway. just that there was someone before, someone who hurt you. and you appreciate his patience—he gives you space when you need it and doesn’t ask too many questions. and, well, he eats your pussy good, so. there’s that too. sometimes that’s enough to shut your brain up for a bit, enough to make you forget the ache that still sits in your chest like a bruise that never really healed. even though you know it’s not fair. and you wonder, sometimes, if this guy’s waiting for you to fall in love with him and has no idea that you’re still scraping someone else’s fingerprints off your skin.

but the most significant thing—the one that still sits in your stomach like a rock you can’t digest—is that you found out. you finally know. it was her. your mother. you didn’t even get it from her directly. you found it by accident—buried in an old email. you weren’t snooping—just printing a return label for something, waiting for the slow-ass printer to wake up—when your eyes caught the subject line: re: media contact – confidential inquiry. and you clicked it. you scrolled through every line with a growing sense of horror. you confronted her that same night. you didn’t plan it, didn’t rehearse what you were going to say—you just walked into the kitchen, heart pounding, and said, “how long were you planning on hiding the fact that you’re the one who leaked it?” she didn’t even deny it. just looked at you, quiet for a second, then said, “i did what i had to do.” “you had to?!” your voice broke, equal parts disbelief and fury. “you had to sabotage my entire fucking relationship?!” “he was taking advantage of you,” she said flatly. “what the fuck? what the—what the fuck is wrong with you?! you had no right to interfere like that! none!” “you think i didn’t see what he was doing? he was grooming you—” “don’t you dare use that word,” you spat, stepping forward. “don’t you fucking dare put it like that just because you needed a reason to feel better about what you did! i was twenty-two, not sixteen!” “i don’t care! he’s thirteen years older than you, and you—” “he wasn’t using me! i knew what i was doing—” “no!” she pointed at you, jabbing the air, furious and breathless, “you were just following him around like some starstruck idiot, lying to me, running away from your job, from your family—” “oh my god, shut the fuck up!” you snapped, tears hot in your eyes. “shut the fuck up! i was in love! and you fucking ruined it!”

you don’t remember much after that—just fragments. you remember your mother shouting something about protection, about how she couldn’t stand by and watch you throw your future away over a man who was never going to give you anything real. you remember knocking over a stack of books, slamming a drawer so hard it bounced back open, dragging your suitcase out of the closet with shaking hands and yanking things off hangers without looking. she cried, kept repeating that she didn’t mean to hurt you, that she was scared, that she thought she was doing what was best. but you didn’t care. you were too angry and too fucking tired of being treated like you didn’t know your own mind. you haven’t spoken to her since. you don’t know if you ever will. because it turns out there’s heartbreak that comes from losing a lover, and then there’s heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who raised you is the reason you lost them. and now it’s too late to take any of it back.

you’ve been crashing with one of your friends for the past three weeks—sleeping on a futon that creaks every time you turn over and makes your back ache by morning. you didn’t really know where else to go. your job barely covers groceries—forget rent, forget deposits, forget the fantasy of having a space that’s actually yours. so now you’re here, trying not to be a burden, trying not to cry into your friend’s couch cushions at night because she’s doing you a favor, and you already feel like a walking pity case. sometimes you lie there and think about how you used to fall asleep in a king-sized bed with high thread count sheets and a man who kissed your shoulders before falling asleep with his hand in yours, and now you’re in someone else’s place, listening to the hum of a fridge that never stops running—feeling lonelier than you ever have in your entire life.

you thought life would’ve gotten better by now, but you spend the nights crying instead—staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. you cry because nothing feels right, because everything feels too hard, because you lost your job, your relationship, your home, your sense of direction—and even though you keep telling yourself you’re only twenty-four, that there’s time to figure it out, some nights it just feels like you’re stuck in and endless pain loop. no one warned you adulthood would feel like this.

you’re alone that night. your friend’s covering a night shift, the apartment is quiet, and your body feels like it’s made of wet tissue—fragile and bloated and cursed with every symptom imaginable, because the universe decided you needed your period on top of everything else. the cramps are brutal, your back hurts, your tits ache, and the fucking futon now has a suspicious little stain that you know you’ll have to scrub later. you’ve been crying (again!) and your throat is raw from it, your eyes puffy, your nose sore from wiping it too hard with paper towels. you feel pathetic. like genuinely, award-winning levels of pathetic. and maybe that’s what finally does it. you reach for your phone with hands that are slightly shaky, not because you’re nervous, but because you’re just so damn tired. of yourself, mostly. and maybe the universe too. your fingers open his old messages. you used to do this sometimes—type things you needed to get off your chest. but you never sent them because seeing your words in that annoying green bubble would be worse than anything else. it would remind you that yes, he blocked you. yes, he’s still gone. yes, this is over, and it’s been over. move the fuck on already, girl. so, following your little tradition, you type:

it was my fucking mom this whole time. she’s the one who leaked everything. i found out like three weeks ago, and i still haven’t processed it. i wish you knew. i wish i could make you know so you wouldn’t go on living your life thinking i betrayed you or whatever tf you decided to believe instead of trusting me. but anyway. talk about trust issues now, bc honestly, idk how i’m ever supposed to trust anyone again!🥰 love this for meeeee omg!😍😍 i shouldn’t have told her i was moving to seoul. i should’ve just disappeared from her fucking life and been happy with you and what we had. but no. because life can’t be that easy for me, right? no. life has to be a fucking bitch in every possible way. i’m so fucking tired.

your fingers hover over the delete button as you cry profusely after typing that paragraph—eyes blurry, throat tight, the screen glowing too bright in the dark room. and maybe it’s the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, but something inside you hits send. because why the fuck does it matter? he’s not gonna read it, he’s got you blocked. but the second you see the message go blue—you freeze. your stomach drops and you stare at your phone like it’s just slapped you across the face. he unblocked you. wait—what? since when? you shoot up like you’ve just been electrocuted, eyes wide as the full horror of what just happened sinks in. “what the fuck! what the fuck! shit, shit, shit—” you whisper to no one, pacing the tiny apartment. so much for crying in your period-stained pajamas—turns out all it takes to yank you out of a full-blown breakdown is the absolute fucking horror of realizing you just sent a long-ass vent session straight to the one person on this planet you were least fucking ready to talk to. congrats, girl! you keep outdoing yourself! “oh my—fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck! oh, god. oh my god,” you keep mumbling. when the fuck did he unblock you?! and why the hell didn’t you check?! your heart is in your throat, pulse hammering so fast it makes your vision blur for a second. you swipe back to the chat like maybe you hallucinated the whole thing. maybe the app glitched. but no. and before you can delete it, there it is—read. “huh?!” you stop in your tracks, frozen in the middle of the room. your mouth falls open. your lungs forget how to work. your entire body goes cold and then hot, and then cold again. “no. no no no no no no—fuck!”

you groan into your hands and sink down onto the futon. your palms are damp with sweat and your brain’s screaming. the message is sent. he’s seen it. and no matter how much you want to crawl inside your phone and delete it—there’s nothing left to do but sit in the aftermath. so you do. you sit, legs curled beneath you, staring at your phone screen. you check the time—3:41 a.m. in texas. in seoul, it’s late afternoon. you decide to leave your phone face up on the floor next to you and try to pretend you’re not watching it from the corner of your eye like it’s about to perform a fucking magic trick. every time it lights up, your heart jumps—once it’s duolingo, passive-aggressively reminding you for the hundredth time that you haven’t finished your korean lessons (well… thank you for the reminder, motherfucker!). and another time it’s your period tracker app asking if you’re feeling moody lately. no shit! you lurch forward every time, breath catching in your throat, only to get sucker-punched by disappointment again and again. and still, no reply. you try to sleep, not because you think it’ll work, but because it’s the only other option. but lying down just makes it worse—your thoughts are louder. you flip your pillow, then flip it again. the sheets are damp with sweat, your legs restless, your hands twitching toward your phone like it’s calling to you. you wait for hours… he never replies.

and by the time the sun comes up, you’ve barely slept at all. your eyes sting, your mouth is dry, and you’ve gone full zombie-mode by the time your shift rolls around. you survive your shift at the bar by sheer muscle memory, making drinks, taking orders and smiling through clenched teeth. and when it ends, your body aches like it’s been rolled through the pavement. you go home—your friend’s home—after midnight, feet aching, back sore, and stomach hollow from skipping dinner because the thought of eating made you feel sick. the place is dark when you walk in. she’s probably already asleep, and you tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before collapsing on the futon. you check your phone—still nothing. and that’s it. that’s the end of the story. why would it end any other way? of course he’s not going to reply. you should’ve never sent that fucking text. you should’ve stuck to your sad little ritual of typing and deleting and pretending you had closure. because this? this is embarrassing.

you toss your phone onto the floor like maybe breaking it will break the shame too, and flop onto your side dramatically… and then it buzzes. you’ve never gotten up so fast—hands scrambling for the phone. you swipe, thumbs clumsy with nerves because holy shit, there’s a notification from him. but somehow you manage to open the message.

Can I call you?

you stare at the screen. your pulse is pounding loud in your ears, and for a second you’re genuinely not sure if you’re going to throw up or pass out. your entire body is shaking and your blood has drained out of your face. you can feel it. you’re cold and clammy all over, heart thudding like it’s trying to punch its way out of your chest. you try to breathe—in through your nose, out through your mouth—before typing:

yeah, okay

your phone starts ringing a second later—like he’d been waiting. and the sound of it, his name lighting up your screen again after all these months, knocks something loose in your chest. the apartment is quiet—just the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you cross over to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. you slide it open as quietly as you can, since you don’t want to wake your friend, and step outside. it’s darker than you expected, the only light coming from the streetlamps below and the faint orange glow of someone’s window across the way. the balcony chair creaks under your weight as you sink into it, the metal cold against your bare thighs. your breathing’s all uneven now—short little gasps like you just finished running, though you haven’t moved more than ten feet—and you can’t stop staring at the screen. you swipe to answer. for a few seconds, there’s nothing. only silence. then, finally, a voice. “hi.” you grip the phone tighter, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “hi,” you say back. and then silence again. you can’t tell if it’s awkward or loaded or both.

you shift in the chair, curling one leg up underneath you. “how are you?” he asks. oh lord. he was literally fucking you raw less than a year ago… and now he’s making small talk. stop this madness. “i—i’m good,” you say, lying through your teeth, obviously. you clear your throat. “you?” “fine,” he says after a beat, but he sounds anything but—tired, like something in his chest’s been weighing him down. and then another pause, before he finally says, “i read your message.” “yeah… i know. i mean—i saw.” you chew the inside of your cheek, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve. “was it really her?” you nod before realizing he can’t see you. “yeah. it was.” he doesn’t say anything, so you keep going, just to fill the space. “i saw… an email she sent. and we—we fought. bad. i left the same day and i… i haven’t been back since.” “you—where are you staying?” he asks, and you hear something in his voice, concern. “friend’s house.” you try to make it sound casual. he goes quiet again, and for a second, all you can hear is the low static hum of the call. you bite your bottom lip before blurting, “i didn’t know you’d unblocked me.” “yeah. i did like a month ago, i think.” you hum. you want to ask why, but you don’t. because the call already feels like a glass balancing on the edge of a table, and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. and besides, you know you wouldn’t get the answer you want. if he wanted to talk, he would’ve. if he missed you, if he regretted it, if any part of him wanted to reach out… he would’ve. and he didn’t. so you swallow that sharp little ache, ignore the part of you that still wants to believe in something softer, and you say, “i’m sorry for sending that, by the way. i was… i don’t know. not in a great headspace yesterday.” “don’t apologize,” he says. “i’m glad you told me.” “you deserved to know.” “mmh.” the silence stretches for another second before he says, “thank you.”

the quiet that follows is soft, almost gentle. for a second you think that’s it—you can almost feel one of you hovering over the red button, and you know you should probably let it happen, let it end on something simple and clean. but you don’t want to hang up yet. so, instead, you do what you always do when your nerves start to buzz—you talk. “i’ve typed stuff before. like—messages. to you.” oh my god… shut up! shut up! why the fuck are you saying this? you want to swallow the words back down immediately but nope—your mouth keeps going. “i never sent them but… i don’t know. i wasn’t even supposed to send you that one last night—i don’t know why i did.” you press a hand to your forehead, silently screaming. “anyway i—yeah. sorry. i should just… shut up.” there’s a pause on the other end, heavy enough to make your fingers twitch against your leg. you expect him to change the subject or maybe just hang up altogether, and for a second you even brace yourself for the sound of the line going dead. but then he says, “what kind of stuff?” you blink, eyes still fixed on the quiet street below, unsure you heard him right. “what?” “the messages,” he answers, and his voice is a little quieter now, like he’s not sure if he should be asking. “what were they about?” you’re caught so off guard that you let out this small, breathless laugh that doesn’t hold any humor at all. “seriously?” you ask, more to yourself than to him. you rub a hand over your face. “i don’t know, just… random things about my life. like my day, what i was doing… sometimes just things i wish i could say to you but knew i couldn’t. i don’t know.” you trail off, embarrassed, already regretting every word spilling out of your mouth. “you can tell me now,” he says. you blink, heart stumbling a little in your chest, because you don’t know what you were expecting him to say—but it definitely wasn’t that. your fingers tighten around the phone again. “you… want me to tell you?” “i do.” you hesitate. not because you don’t have things to say—god, you’ve got too many—but because you don’t know what version of your life he’s expecting. probably not the one you’re living. “i didn’t think you’d care,” you admit quietly. “i care—of course i care.” oh… you close your eyes, press your palm to your chest and you can feel how fast your heart is beating. you force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “i’m bartending now.” you immediately want to cringe, because wow, what an opener. “they fired me from starbase. so… yeah. but it’s okay, this job isn’t so bad… i mean—it’s not good either, but it pays.” he hums, a soft sound of acknowledgement, like he’s listening. “and, like i told you, i’m living with a friend. after—after everything that happened with my mom… i couldn’t stay. so, yeah.”

something about saying all of that out loud—narrating your life to someone who once knew it better than anyone else—makes your bottom lip tremble before you can stop it. this tiny traitorous movement that you feel more than see, like the last thread of control slipping quietly from your hands. you swallow hard. try to hold it together and sound normal. “but i’m, um… i’m looking for a place,” you add, voice higher now, too fast. “something small for myself.” you don’t mention that your bank account laughs at you every time you open the app, or that you fall asleep on a futon in the corner of your friend’s tiny apartment, feeling like a burden. you don’t say any of that, because it’s pathetic. but the tears come anyway, completely against your will. not just because of your mom or your job or your life crumbling in pieces so small you can’t even name them—but because you’re talking to him. and everything about this feels so impossibly far from what you used to be. the way you speak to each other now, like strangers, it’s breaking you open in places you didn’t know were still sore. you try to sniff it away, wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but it’s useless. “are you…” his voice cuts through the line. “are you crying?” “no.” you suck in a breath. “i mean—yes. yes, i am. it’s just—i don’t know.” the tears are falling faster now, and your throat is thick with everything you’ve been trying so hard not to feel for the last nine months. you sniff, drag the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your nose, and bite out, “why’d you even call me, seunghyun? seriously. what was the point?” “i wanted to apologize.” he pauses. “i—i’m sorry. i should’ve trusted you, i should’ve listened. i was just… angry. and scared.” you exhale through your nose, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. “it’s okay,” you say quietly, even though part of you wants to tell him it’s not.

he doesn’t reply right away, and for a second you think the call might be really ending this time—that this was all he needed to say, a final stitch to close the wound and move on. but then—“i missed your voice.” your breath catches, and you don’t know what to say to that. because it hurts. it hurts so fucking much to hear it. “you hurt me, seunghyun,” you whisper. “i know,” he says, voice breaking. “i know i did, baby—shit. sorry. fuck, i—i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to call you that.” you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your knuckles to your lips like it’ll stop the sting. “don’t. don’t do that.” “i didn’t mean to—” “no, you don’t get to do that,” you cut in, sharper this time, words tumbling out fast. “this isn’t fair,” you say, and now your voice really starts to shake. “you’re not—you’re not being fair, seunghyun.” “listen—“ “no, i don’t wanna fucking listen!” you raise your voice, frustration spilling out faster than you can rein it in. “sorry,” you say quietly. “sorry. i—i didn’t mean to speak to you like that.” “i know,” he whispers. “but i understand. i deserve it.” “no, you—i just… it’s a lot. and hearing your voice like this again—fuck, i don’t know.” he doesn’t say anything, and you’re not even sure if that’s a good or bad thing, so you keep going before you lose your nerve. “you shouldn’t have unblocked me. you should’ve just left it the way it was,” you continue, sobbing between words. “what—” “i was doing okay,” you lie, even though you both know you weren’t. “or at least, i was trying. and then you—you do this, and now i feel like—i feel like i’m right back where i started.” he’s silent again, and it drives you fucking insane—how he always does this, lets the silence do the work for him, like it’s your job to fill in the blanks. “you can’t just show up in my life when you feel like it. that’s not how this works. you don’t get to block me, forget about me, go on with your life, and then crawl back into mine just because you’re curious or lonely or whatever the fuck this is.” your breath is shallow now, chest rising and falling fast. “i can’t do this, seunghyun. i can’t—” you cry. “so do it again. block me. because if you don’t… i will.”

you wait a second—two, maybe three—before you hang up. you stare at the screen for a beat too long after the line goes dead, your own reflection faint in the glass. your limbs feel shaky as you drag yourself up from the chair with the kind of stiffness that makes you wonder if heartbreak settles in your bones like lead. the apartment is quiet when you slip back inside. you don’t even bother changing. and when you fall onto the futon, you collapse. your chest hurts, in the literal, physical way—like there’s something pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. you’re still crying, face crumpling into the crook of your elbow. and even though you try to keep it quiet because your friend is asleep in the next room, your body has other plans. the sobs come in waves, ugly and loud and gasping, and there’s no one to stop them, no one to shush you or hold you or say it’s going to be okay. you press your face into the pillow and scream once, like it might help get it out, but it doesn’t. you cry until you’re too tired to cry anymore, until your body feels wrung out and empty. until your eyelids are heavy, your head pounds and the ache in your chest starts to dull—because, yes, even pain has its limits. and when sleep finally takes you, it feels like relief.

you don’t even hear her come in. it takes a few tries before your friend gets through to you, nudging your foot, then your shoulder, then finally your name, said a little too loudly for how early it is. “hey! you’ve gotta get up. don’t you have work?” you jolt upright like you’re coming up for air, groggy and disoriented, face crusted with dried tears. you mutter something like “shit, what time is it?” before fumbling for your phone. and that’s when you see it. seunghyun texted you while you were asleep.

Hi. I just booked a flight to Texas.

I’ll be in Brownsville for a few days, and I really, really want to see you.

I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me.

But if you do, I’ll be here next Sunday at 4 P.M.

he had sent a location.

We have a lot to talk about.

I didn’t want our call to end like that.

You don’t have to reply, just know I’ll be there, waiting.

And if you don’t show up, that’s okay too.

I hope you have a good day. 🫰🏼

your first thought is no. not even a soft, hesitant kind of no—just a loud, stubborn one that echoes straight through your head. NO. you don’t want to see him. you don’t want to talk. you don’t want to sit across from him pretending like the last nine months haven’t been eating you alive. you lock your phone, toss it somewhere near the futon, and move through your morning like you’re not actively dissociating—getting dressed and slapping on mascara with a shaky hand. you go to work, surprisingly making it on time. and when your shift ends, you go home. you eat leftovers straight from the container, ignore the ache behind your eyes, and tell yourself you’ve made a decision. you’re not going. simple as that.

but as the days creep forward and that sunday inches closer, your initial no—the one that came so fast and full of conviction it practically shouted over your entire body—starts to feel less like a boundary and more like a bluff you’re trying to convince yourself to believe. you find yourself rereading his texts on the bus ride home, or glancing at the clock and thinking about time zones again, something you swore you’d broken the habit of months ago. it’s not that you want to see him (girl… you do, you aren’t fooling anyone) it’s just that you’re curious. and a little bit stupid, apparently. and then, like your brain didn’t already have enough to chew on, instagram decides to kick you while you’re down. you get the notification late at night: TOP 최승현🌙 posted for the first time in a while. you stare at the alert, blinking. no way. how fucking convenient. you open the app before you can stop yourself, and there it is—proof that he unblocked you on your private insta, because you’re staring right at his profile. oh my… you’re a slut in mourning. it’s a selfie. he’s staring straight at the camera, head tilted slightly to the side to flex that stupid jawline, jesus christ... he’s wearing a black hoodie—the same one you used to borrow when you were together. more specifically, the one you were wearing the first time you let him fuck you raw. is he doing it on purpose? is this his way of getting your attention? trying to say he misses you? that he’s thinking about you too? or maybe you’re just being delusional and he’s literally just wearing his fucking hoodie like any normal person would… not everything is about you. right? you zoom in without shame, you stare, you squint and you hate yourself a little. you flip your phone face down and mutter, “fuck off,” like that’s going to do anything—like you’re not already replaying every time you tugged his hair while he was between your thighs, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue circled your clit.

sunday. 3 p.m. comes and you’re still telling yourself no, still convincing yourself with weak half-arguments and imaginary moral high ground, still walking around the room like you’re above it, like you’ve evolved past the the version of yourself who would show up for him no matter what. you’re not going. you’ve already made that decision—made it days ago. in fact, you’ve been repeating it like a fucking mantra: i’m not going, i’m not going, i’m not going. it’s the one thing you’ve been stubbornly sure of. and yet, by 3:07, you’re in front the drawer your friend let you use. you’re not sure when you stood up or how you ended up yanking it open, but suddenly you’re staring at your clothes like any of them will know what the fuck you’re doing. and you tell yourself: what harm could there be in just… seeing? just showing up, looking hot, and reminding him what he lost? right? what could go wrong? you drag yourself into the shower, rinse off the sweat and anxiety, and talk yourself out of having a panic attack while shaving your legs. you towel off, throw on something decent and slap on a bit of makeup as you wonder why the fuck are you wasting your free day on this, when you could’ve been watching reruns of some trashy dating show or doom-scrolling in peace. and before you can rethink your decision again, you’re on the bus, heart pounding harder with every stop.

you show up an hour late—closer to five-thirty than four—but you don’t feel bad about it. if anything, it makes you feel a little less like you’re crawling back and a little more like you’re arriving on your own terms. the place he chose to meet you is a rooftop wine bar in downtown brownsville with thick wooden beams stretched overhead to break the light. string lights hang loosely between them and the tables are spaced out, some close to the railing with a quiet view of the city below. he’s already there, of course, seated near the far edge of the terrace, next to the railing, with a half-finished glass of wine in front of him. you spot him instantly. he’s in a long-sleeved maroon sweater, and you don’t know why the fuck he’s wearing sleeves in this heat. his trousers are loose and slouchy, and his boots—yes, boots, in thirty-degree texas weather—are polished to hell, the soles thick and clunky. his cap sits on the table beside his wineglass, and he’s wearing his glasses—the ones that make him look so gentle. you used to love it when he wore them around you. he doesn’t see you right away—he’s looking out over the terrace, lips pursed like he’s deep in thought—but your stomach still drops like it’s the first time all over again.

you take a slow breath, then start walking. the heels of your shoes click against the tile, and the closer you get, the more surreal it feels—seeing him again. and then he looks up. you don’t know what you expected, but the way his whole face shifts when his eyes land on you catches you off guard. his brows lift just a little, like he’s not sure he’s seeing you right, and then there’s this soft pull at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression people only ever give to people they’ve missed. he moves quickly after that, chair scraping back as he stands up too fast, brushing his palms down the sides of his pants like he’s suddenly unsure of himself. your heart thuds a little too hard as you close the last few steps between you, nerves spiking even though there’s no reason to be this tense—you’ve seen him like this before, touched him, kissed him, loved him. but now it feels like starting from scratch. “hey,” you say first, because someone has to break the tension. your voice comes out quiet, breathier than you meant. he clears his throat, shifting his weight. “hi.”

he stands there, hovering beside the table, and for a second it’s like neither of you knows how to move—do you shake hands? do you hug? his gaze flickers down to your hands, like he’s expecting you to offer one to shake, and then back up to your face. it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do, and god, neither do you. a hug feels too intimate, but standing here in this weird, polite standoff feels worse. so you do it—you step forward, close the space, and wrap your arms around him quickly, not giving yourself enough time to regret it. he’s surprised, you can tell by the way his arms come around you just a second too late. you pull away before it can get weird, and he lets you, hands immediately dropping to his sides like he’s scared to overstep. you glance at the wine glass, then back at him. “sorry i’m late.” seunghyun shakes his head, quick. “no, it’s fine. i—” he exhales. “i didn’t think you were coming.” you nod, slow and awkward, arms crossed tight over your chest for a second before you remember how that looks and force yourself to let them fall to your sides. “yeah. me neither.” he huffs a tiny laugh, almost embarrassed, and gestures toward the seat across from his. “do you wanna sit?” you nod, murmuring a soft “yeah,” as you move toward the chair. you sit, legs crossed, back too straight, and he mirrors you, settling across from you. the table feels huge between you. ridiculous, really—after everything you’ve done together, everything you’ve been to each other, now you’re playing pretend like two people on a first date who forgot how to talk.

he reaches for his wine glass, turns it slowly between his fingers without drinking. “you look good,” he says, eventually. “i mean… really good.” you meet his eyes, and then, because you can’t help it, “so do you.” he smiles at that, soft, almost sheepish, and then glances down at the wine list sitting neatly on the table between you. “you want anything?” he asks, tapping the edge of the menu lightly. “they’ve got a good selection.” you shake your head, giving a small, polite smile. “just water’s fine.” “water, then,” he says, and signals to the server passing by to order you a glass. there’s a beat of silence after the server leaves, just the soft clink of his glass when he shifts it on the table. he doesn’t look at you—just studies the red swirl of wine for a second like it’s got the right words floating in it somewhere—then finally says, “i’m glad you came.” you nod once, unsure what to say to that, fingers twitching in your lap. “and… i’m sorry,” he adds quietly. “about the phone call. the way it ended… that wasn’t how i wanted it to go.” “i know.” “i didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he says. “or backed into a corner. i just—my head was a mess, and i handled it wrong. i’m sorry.” “it’s fine. thank you—thanks for the apology.” and you mean it. he leans back slightly in his chair, exhales through his nose. his fingers trace the rim of his wine glass like he’s trying to occupy them. “i didn’t know if you’d ever want to see me again. after everything.” “i didn’t know either. up until like… three o’clock.” his mouth twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “last-minute decision?” “very,” you say. “bad one, maybe. not sure yet.” “i get it. i wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up.” “i almost didn’t,” you admit. “but then i thought—i don’t know. if i didn’t come, i’d just keep wondering what you wanted to say.” he nods, finally meeting your eyes again. “i wanted to say a lot of things.” “like what?” he hesitates, jaw tightening slightly, like the words are caught somewhere behind his teeth. he exhales, slow and heavy, and leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “i wanted to apologize,” he says. “for how things ended. for—for what i said. for not listening.” “seunghyun—” you start, but he shakes his head. “i didn’t believe you,” he goes on. “and i should have. i should’ve known better—i did know better. but it was easier to be angry than to be scared, and i was so, so fucking scared. scared of being exposed again, of people dragging my name through the mud all over, of losing everything i’d tried to build back up—” “i know. i know, hyun. i understand you. it’s… it’s okay.” it isn’t, though. “and instead of trusting you,” he says, like he didn’t hear you at all, “i panicked. i pushed you away. and i hate myself for it.” you shift in your seat, hands gripping the sides of the chair, aching with the weight of all the things you wish could make this easier. “hyun,” you murmur again, softer now, like saying his name might take the edge off his pain or yours. “you don’t have to—” “i do,” he says. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it… about how fast i let it all go. how fast i let you go. and the worst part is…” he stops, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “the worst part is that i made you think you didn’t matter to me. like it was easy for me to—to cut you off. and it wasn’t. it’s never been easy. it still fucking haunts me.” he pauses. “i just needed you to know that. i needed—i needed to say it to your face.” he exhales shakily, like just getting the words out took something out of him. his eyes stay fixed somewhere past your shoulder, like he’s afraid that meeting yours will make it harder. “and i missed you,” he says quietly. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

the words land somewhere low in your gut, like they’ve been thrown instead of spoken. and for a second, it stings in a sweet way, that traitorous part of your chest aching at the sound of his voice wrapped around something soft again, something that once made you feel safe. but the sweetness evaporates almost instantly, replaced by a sharp kind of heat under your skin, the kind that flares when something touches a bruise you thought had already faded. because you don’t get to miss someone and do nothing about it. not when you’re the one who made it clear, so fucking clear, that it was over. your jaw tightens. because no. no, he doesn’t get to say that. your eyes start to sting, the burn rising fast and sudden behind your lashes. and then, without warning, a single tear slips down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand. “why didn’t you reach out, then?” he blinks, startled, like he hadn’t expected the question. you sniff once, wipe at your cheek again even though the tear’s already gone. “i waited, you know. for so fucking long. every day, i thought maybe today you’d say something.” you scoff. “but you didn’t. not a word—not until i told you the one thing that finally cleared me.” his lips part like he wants to speak, but you don’t let him. “and now you’re here,” you go on, voice shaking. “saying all the things i used to fantasize about hearing. and don’t get me wrong—it’s nice. it’s—it’s really fucking nice, i needed to hear it. but if i hadn’t sent that message, if i hadn’t broken down and hit send for once instead of just typing and deleting like i always did… would we even be here right now?” you’re not sure what answer you’re hoping for. but you needed to let him know how much it sucked to feel like the only one who kept looking back.

he exhales slowly, eyes falling from yours to the table, like he can’t bear the weight of them. because what you’re saying isn’t just true, but something he’s thought about too, something he’s afraid to admit out loud. “you’re right,” he says, voice low and tight. “you’re right. but i—i wanted to. so many times. but when i thought about saying something, i’d convince myself it would only make it worse. that you didn’t want to hear from me. that you were happier without me.” you stare at him. “you thought i was happy?” “i hoped. because the alternative fucking hurt.” “but you still let me think it was my fault,” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “you let me sit in that, seunghyun. for months. do you even understand what that did to me?” he doesn’t speak right away—just drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to rub the shame off his face. “i know. i know i fucked up.” “you didn’t just fuck up,” you snap. “you abandoned me. you—you went on with your life while i… i lost everything. and all because you couldn’t bring yourself to believe me.” “i wanted to believe you,” he says, a little too desperate now. “i swear to god, i did.” “then why didn’t you?” he looks at you like that question physically hurts him. “you already know. i told you—i told you about han seohee. i’ve been betrayed before, and i just—it felt safer to assume the worst than risk getting hurt again.” “yeah?” you say, and your voice comes out rough, almost trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been trying to swallow. “well guess what, seunghyun—i wasn’t han fucking seohee. i wasn’t anyone but me. your… your girlfriend. and you didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. not even for a fucking second.” his jaw tenses, lips pressing into a thin line like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to speak. “i didn’t ask you to be perfect,” you continue, voice softer now. “i never did. all i wanted was for you to believe me—and you couldn’t do that.” he shakes his head, pained. “it wasn’t about you,” he mutters. “it was about me. my past. my shit. it twisted everything.” you shake your head, the frustration rising even though you don’t want it to. “yeah! and you let it win!” you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly through your nose, trying to collect yourself.

this wasn’t what you intended when you showed up. you really don’t want to raise your voice at him—shit, you weren’t even supposed to get this upset. the last thing you want to do is hurt him. “i moved across the world for you, seunghyun,” you continue, calmer. “i put everything on the line. and the second things got hard, you chose to believe the version of me that fit your fears.” his face falls. “i know,” he whispers. “i know. i thought i was protecting myself—but i should’ve protected you too. i should’ve protected us. all i ever wanted was to keep this thing—what we had—safe.” he sighs. “i’m really, really sorry. for everything.” the interruption comes at just the right time—the server appears, setting down the glass of water with a soft clink. you thank him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and seunghyun gives a nod before the server leaves, the space around you settling into silence again.

you take a sip, the cold water almost jarring against the heat crawling up your throat. the moment stretches, and you know there’s more to say. the conversation isn’t finished—not even close—but your chest already feels too full. it’s too much all at once, and you feel the weight of it pressing down behind your eyes. so, you set the glass back down and glance up at him, forcing your voice to steady and offering the smallest smile you can manage. “i watched squid game,” you say. “you were amazing in it.” his face softens and he lets out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah. like… really good. i wanted to text you when it dropped but… you know.” yeah, he knows… he had you fucking blocked. seunghyun nods once. “i appreciate that,” he says, voice a little quieter now, like he’s not sure what to do with the softness in your tone. “wasn’t expecting it to do that well, to be honest.” you hum, tracing the rim of your glass with the pad of your finger. “well, people love a villain. especially when he’s funny… and hot.” that pulls a small, surprised laugh out of him, and his cheeks turn red. “well, thank you.” you smile, gaze softening. “i read the interview you made back in january too, by the way.” “oh. did you?” you nod. “yeah.” “you know, i kept wondering what you’d think if you read it. part of me hoped you wouldn’t. the other part hoped you would.” “i did. twice, actually.” you smile faintly. “once when it came out, and again when i was mad at you. to remind myself you were still in there somewhere.” that seems to knock the wind out of him a little. you continue, “i think… i didn’t expect you to be that honest.” “i wasn’t planning to do it, you know,” he says after a pause. “the interview. for years, i thought if i just stayed silent, eventually everyone would forget. but i didn’t forget. i couldn’t.” you study him. “it read like someone who’s been carrying a lot. for a long time.” and you know that better than anyone—because you were there, in the thick of it, helping him through his worst days. his mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. “yeah.” you let the silence sit for a beat before speaking. “i thought… i thought it was brave. i actually—i felt proud,” you confess. and there it is. the thing you’ve been meaning to tell him ever since everything ended, but couldn’t bring yourself to say until now. “i’m proud of you, hyun.” he feels it—that familiar, overwhelming tightness in his throat. he swallows hard, eyes watering slightly. he nods once. then, he opens his mouth, tries to speak, to say thank you, but his lower lip trembles before the words can form… so he closes it again. and hopes the nod is enough.

his family never said that to him. at least not after his mistakes were exposed. so this—this thing you just gave him, so casually and so fucking sincerely—it hits like a punch to the ribs. and it comes from you. you, who he’d hurt more than anyone else. it comes from someone who knows. someone who was there when he was a shell of himself, someone who saw the worst parts of him and stayed, until he made it impossible for you to do so. his eyes hurt and his throat burns and there’s a tremble in his jaw he can’t quite stop, and still he says nothing, because there’s nothing that would be enough to meet the weight of what you just gave him. “that part you said about the group,” you murmur after a moment, voice a little hesitant now, “how seeing them felt like looking at a photo of a family you’d been separated from…” “that’s exactly what it feels like.” “i know,” you nod, gently. “i’m sure they miss you too. i don’t know if you’ve been in touch with them or—” “i haven’t.” he cuts in quickly, and there’s a finality to it. you don’t push, but you notice the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tenses. there’s even a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. “sorry. i didn’t mean to bring up something that—i mean, i wasn’t trying to pry. i just thought… maybe after everything, after all these months, it might’ve felt possible. or… i don’t know.” you trail off, suddenly unsure of what you’re even trying to say. maybe part of you just wanted to believe he wasn’t as alone as he used to be. he hums. then, after a moment: “you were the one thing that made that time bearable. everything else was a mess, but with you, it was—” he stops himself, mouth twitching, like the rest of the sentence is too fragile to say out loud. “you didn’t fix it. but you made it hurt less. and i’ve never—i’ve never thanked you for that.” “you didn’t need to. i knew you were thankful.” you pause. “and… i’m not saying the article fixed anything, but it made sense. why you pulled away. i get it more now.” “that doesn’t make it okay.” “no,” you agree, “it doesn’t. but it helps.”

after that, things start to loosen—the conversation shifts slowly, and the air between you starts to feel less dense, less charged with the tension that had been building since the moment you sat down. the heaviness doesn’t vanish, it’s still there but easier to ignore when you’re focused on something else, like the way seunghyun starts tapping his fingers against his glass, or how your knee keeps bouncing under the table because your body hasn’t quite figured out what to do with the weird, awkward comfort of being near him again. it’s not like either of you suddenly forget the months of silence, or the way things ended, or all the shit that never really got said… but eventually, the edge softens, and your mouths start moving for other reasons—comments that aren’t weighed down by anger or guilt, memories that aren’t necessarily painful, and a rhythm that, while still tentative, starts to resemble the way things used to be between you, back before everything got ruined. because at first, you’re both careful—testing the boundaries of what’s okay to say, what’s still too raw to touch—but as time passes and the conversation wanders into safer ground, you find yourself laughing. which then makes him start laughing too, and it feels bizarre and comforting all at once—like your body forgot how easy it used to be to laugh with him, how that sound had once been a constant part of your days. and when he leans back in his chair, a little more at ease, you realize it’s been a long time since you’ve seen seunghyun look like that. it’s still weird. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. it’s weird to be sitting across from him, in real life, hearing his voice without a screen in between, seeing the way he moves and talks and exists like a real fucking person again. there are still moments where it catches you off guard—how familiar this all is, and also how far away it feels from who you were the last time you looked at him like this.

and when he asks, “do you want to go for a walk? brownsville’s botanical garden isn’t far from here. and it’s still open for another hour and a half,” you don’t even pretend to think about it. you just nod, and the look on his face, that flicker of relief, tells you he didn’t expect a yes. his driver’s already waiting outside, like always, and neither of you says much on the way. the ride is short, ten minutes, maybe fifteen. you watch the town pass through the tinted window, and beside you, he’s silent, but not in the closed-off way he used to be when things were bad. it’s a softer kind of silence now, where he’s letting himself be here, in this moment, with you. the botanical garden is smaller than you remember, and it’s mostly empty by the time you get there. as you walk, side by side but not too close—under a pink sky that’s starting to fade into something darker—there’s still a nervous flutter in your stomach, still that ridiculous awareness of where his hand is, of how close it would be if you reached out, but you don’t. because you remember—you remember how fucking much it hurt to lose him, how badly it ended and how long you waited for an apology that never came, until today. and as you both slow near a bench surrounded by wildflowers and a few trees that creak lazily in the warm breeze, he gestures toward it with a quiet nod, and you both sink down into the wooden slats. there’s a few inches between you, enough space to feel the gap and remind you both that no matter how easy the conversation’s been, there’s still a line neither of you has crossed yet. for a moment, you both just sit there, watching the wind tug lazily at the branches, listening to the low hum of cicadas starting up somewhere in the distance. and then, very casually, he asks, “so… is there someone in your life these days?” god—he hates how obvious it probably sounded the second it left his mouth. he doesn’t look at you when he asks, just keeps his gaze forward, like he’s talking to the horizon instead of you, like the question is just curiosity and not the thing he’s been thinking about since the second he saw you again. you glance at him. “yeah,” you say softly, honest because there’s no point in pretending. “i’ve been seeing someone.” oh… it hits him harder than he wants it to. not because he thought you’d been waiting around for him. of course not. he knows better than that. knows he doesn’t have that right. but something about hearing it out loud, from your mouth, in that voice he used to fall asleep to—it makes his stomach twist. you can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, and in the way his hands suddenly find his lap, like his body doesn’t quite believe the version of calm he’s trying to sell.

a long silence settles in, and he tells himself not to ask the next question, the one that’s pushing at his throat, but it slips out anyway, “does he know you’re here?” you shake your head. “no.” he turns slightly toward you, brows pulling in just a little. “i never told him,” you add. “about us.” and that fucking stings. “i just said there was someone once. but not who. i wanted to respect your choice, you know… you didn’t want it out there, you wanted to keep it private. and i… i guess i got used to it, too. so… i kept that, even after it ended.” he swallows hard, but doesn’t speak. because what is there to say, really? he sits there, listening to your words settle into the space between you, feeling it again—the shame. seunghyun stares out into the garden with a tight jaw, wondering when exactly he stopped deserving that kind of grace from you—and why you’re still giving it anyway. he stays quiet longer than he should, but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack under the weight of everything he isn’t saying. and maybe he should let it go—but he can’t. “is he good to you?” he asks. he hates how much he wants to know. hates how pathetic it makes him feel to sit here, asking about a man who has what he used to. what he walked away from. “yeah,” you reply, and your voice is careful. “he’s… he’s kind. he works in construction with his dad—they run their own small company, mostly residential stuff. but we don’t see each other a lot… he’s the kind of guy who’s in bed by ten and up by five, and my schedule’s kind of all over the place too, so… yeah. but it works. things with him are—they’re simple… easy.” you don’t mean it as an insult, but fuck, it lands like one. “that’s good,” he says, and the words feel like gravel in his mouth. he forces them out anyway, and forces himself to nod, like that makes it more believable. “you deserve that.”

seunghyun wonders if this guy knows how you like your coffee, if he knows how you get when you’re overwhelmed—how you play with the hem of your shirt, how your voice gets sharp when you’re scared and how underneath that, you’re just trying not to break into a million pieces. he wonders if this new guy has ever seen you cry, and if he did, whether he knew what the fuck to do with it. if he sat with you in it, or tried to fix it, or made it worse by telling you everything would be okay when he didn’t know shit about what was actually going on inside your head. he wonders if this guy knows how you ramble when you’re tired. if he’s heard the stories you only tell when you’ve had one glass of wine too many, the ones that make you laugh even as you wipe your eyes. if he knows the things you’re afraid of. he wonders if this guy’s ever traced the line of your spine with his fingers just to feel you shiver under him, if he knows how your breath catches before you ever make a sound, how your thighs tense when you’re trying not to beg. does he know how to touch you the way you like? and fuck—does he get to hear you like that? whispering his name, nails in his back, legs shaking, voice breaking around the kind of moan that used to make seunghyun lose his goddamn mind? and then, in the middle of all that wondering, he hates himself a little—for being so fucking jealous.

you must feel the shift in the air too, the way his silence has gone from thoughtful to tense, like he’s holding something back. so you add, “we’re not… dating.” his head turns a little at that, eyes flicking over to you for the first time in minutes. “no?” you shake your head. “i’m not ready for that. not again. it’s been—i’ve been figuring shit out. still am.” he nods slowly. you glance at him, like maybe you’re trying to gauge his reaction, but he gives you nothing. “what about you?” you ask after a moment. “you seeing anyone?” “no.” it comes out fast and flat, like the idea pisses him off. you wait, maybe expecting him to explain, but he doesn’t. so you press, “not even casually?” seunghyun lets out a short, humorless laugh. “what would be the point?” your brows pull together, but you don’t answer. “i’m not exactly great company,” he adds, almost bitter. “and i’m not trying to let anyone close just so they can realize it for themselves.” “you are great company, hyun. don’t say that.” he just scoffs under his breath and shifts on the bench like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. “yeah, well,” he mutters, “guess that’s not enough anymore.” you turn to look at him. “what?” “nothing.” “no—say it.” you’re watching him now, fully turned toward him, and he can feel it—the weight of your stare, the tension in your voice. he shakes his head. “you’re here, telling me you’ve got someone, and—i don’t know, it’s just… i don’t know.” “you asked, seunghyun.” “i know. i just—i wasn’t expecting that answer.” you blink at him. “so what? you ask me if i’m seeing someone, and now you’re pissed that i answered you honestly?” “i’m not pissed,” he lies, and you both know it. “don’t lie to me. i know you better than anyone—” “do you love him?” he asks, and the question comes out so suddenly, so bluntly, it knocks the air out of your lungs. “no,” you say, after a beat. “i don’t love him. if i did, i wouldn’t be here.” he nods, like that’s what he wanted to hear, but the tightness in his mouth doesn’t ease. “okay.” “what do you want me to say, seunghyun?” you ask, keeping your voice even, though it’s getting harder. “that i waited around? that i haven’t touched anyone since you left? is that what you were hoping for?” “i wasn’t hoping for anything,” he snaps. you raise an eyebrow. “sure.”

he exhales, a short, frustrated breath, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt path between his shoes. because the truth is—he was hoping for that. he was hoping you’d tell him that, even after all this time, you were still a little bit his. and hearing otherwise—he doesn’t know what to do with that. doesn’t know how to sit across from you like it doesn’t matter when it feels like it’s fucking tearing him apart—sitting here, stewing in his own mess, wanting things he let go of, wishing you’d stayed stuck when all you ever did was survive the damage he left behind. every twisted part of him that wants you to be okay, also wants you to still need him. he’s so, so fucking selfish. and you’re right, of course. every word. his hands curl into fists. his vision blurs. he doesn’t mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. fuck. he takes his glasses off and drags a hand over his face, hoping you won’t say anything, hoping maybe you’ll look away long enough for him to get it under control. but he can’t. “i’m sorry,” he chokes out. “i’m sorry i’m acting like this. i just—i didn’t think it would feel like this. seeing you. i thought i could handle it, and i can’t.” his throat aches. he wipes at his face again, furious at himself for crying, for falling apart in front of you, for being nine months too late. “seunghyun—“

his name barely leaves your mouth before he’s crumbling again, shoulders shaking. you slide across the bench, closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around him, firmly. he tenses at first, like he doesn’t know what to do with the comfort, and then he just folds into you. his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears, breath shuddering against your skin, and your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head instinctively. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “fuck, i’m so sorry. i fucked everything up.” you close your eyes, heart aching with the weight of it. “i ruined it,” he says again, voice cracking. “i ruined us.” “it’s not your fault.” “it is.” “no—you were just scared. my mom’s the one who put us in this situation. and yeah, you hurt me but i—i forgive you, hyun. you’re forgiven, okay?” you hold him tighter, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady because maybe if you stay calm, he’ll remember how to do the same. and for a while, he just cries. you haven’t seen him like this in a long time—haven’t seen him break this hard, this openly, not since the first time he told you he didn’t know how to live with himself. or the nights he’d curl into you, silent and shaking, too proud to sob until his body gave him no other choice.

when the worst of it passes—when the sobs begin to slow and his breathing evens out—he leans back and sniffles, avoiding your eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black cloth—one of those soft ones he always carried for his glasses, or for sweat when he was anxious. he dabs at his face, wiping away the tears first, then pressing it against his temples and the back of his neck. he’s sweating like hell, his hair damp, the collar of his sweater sticking slightly to his skin. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse. “i’m a mess.” you reach for the cloth gently, fingers brushing his as you take it from him, and he doesn’t resist. “let me.” you wipe the tears from under his eyes first, careful and slow, then run the cloth lightly across his forehead, down to his cheeks, around the curve of his jaw. your other hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him. “you’re okay,” you murmur. “just breathe.” he nods, throat moving as he swallows hard. and then, after a long pause, with a voice that’s barely there he says, “i… i still love you.” you freeze, the cloth limp in your hand, your breath catching mid-air. did you hear that right? and then, quieter, he adds, “i don’t think i’ve ever loved someone as much.” yeah, you heard that right. your heart stumbles in your chest and you sit there, watching him. he won’t meet your eyes now, like saying it took the last of whatever strength he had left. his shoulders are hunched, jaw tight like he’s bracing for rejection even before it comes. he looks younger like this, and older too, worn down by months of pretending he was okay, of convincing himself he didn’t still ache for you every fucking day. and you love him. oh, you love this man so fucking much… you wish you didn’t sometimes, wish it didn’t still hurt. you place the cloth down carefully in your lap and reach out without thinking, your hand brushing the side of his face, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory. and he leans into it. you let your hand fall to his jaw, thumb gently swiping along the damp edge of it. “i love you too, hyun,” you say. “i never stopped.”

his shoulders shake, and you can tell he’s holding back again, trying not to fall apart a second time. you take his hand in yours. “you said… you said that you missed me. earlier. and the truth is… i missed you too,” you whisper, voice low and breaking now. “i missed everything—us. i tried to forget all of it and i couldn’t. i didn’t want to.” his fingers twitch under yours and he grips your hand tighter. you can feel how warm his skin is, how clammy his palm’s gone from the crying and the heat and all the fucking emotion, but you don’t let go. you just hold on, because this is the first time in months you’ve both said the truth out loud, and if it’s going to hurt, you’d rather it hurt with him right there beside you. his eyes are glassy, and you can tell he’s struggling to find the words. “i used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking you were still next to me,” he says. “and every single time it hit me that you weren’t, it felt—” he stops himself, rubbing a hand over his chest to stop it from aching. “i missed you so much it made me sick sometimes.” and you believe him. because you know that feeling. you remember what it felt like to lie awake with your back to the wall, trying to sleep in a bed that felt too big and too cold, your hand unconsciously reaching for a body that wasn’t there anymore. you remember the mornings you’d open your eyes and forget, just for a second, that he was gone—and how that second was always worse than the rest of the day combined. but sitting here now, his hand still trembling slightly in yours, all you can think is: we can’t go back. “i love you,” you say. “and i want to be with you, seunghyun. i want—hell, i’d spend the rest of my life with you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and your chest pulls tight as the tears finally spill over. “and i mean it. but… what would change?”

he’s silent. not because he doesn’t know what to say—but because he knows exactly what he’d like to say, and none of it would be true. “i can’t go back to hiding,” you continue before he can speak. “i can’t—i don’t want to be that girl again.” he closes his eyes for a second, then nods. “i know.” “but i also know…” you exhale, voice shaking, “i know that’s all you can offer me right now.” he shifts slightly, like he wants to argue. “that’s not—” “there’s no point in lying, seunghyun.” he runs a hand over his mouth, pained. “i could—maybe, in a few months, if things calm down—” “you and i both know that’s not how it works,” you say, cutting him off gently. “a few months won’t change the industry. or the people watching you. it won’t suddenly make us easy. and you know, seunghyun… you know a few months is unrealistic. and i don’t wanna—i don’t wanna wait in the shadows anymore. i won’t do it. i promised that to myself.” he sighs, long and defeated. “yeah. i know—i’m sorry. i just… i didn’t think i’d be getting this much attention again. after everything. the interviews, the show… it’s all been more than i expected. and it could get to you too, for the wrong reasons—” “i know,” you nod. “i know. and i get it, i really do. i’ve already deleted half my socials because of the harassment i got when it was just a rumor, and that wasn’t even real to them.” his face falls, shame coloring every line of it. “i’m sorry about that, too.” “yeah,” you murmur. “it’s fine. or—it’s not, but… it happened. those months were awful. but they’re behind me now.” he watches you for a long second, then says, “if we’d been closer in age, maybe it wouldn’t have been so complicated.” you smile, even though your lower lip is trembling slightly. “yeah. maybe it would’ve been easier.” the world outside won’t stop pressing in, and the timing keeps pulling you apart before you even get the chance to hold each other properly. “i hate this,” he whispers. “i hate that we finally said everything and it still isn’t enough.” “me too,” you say, sniffing. “but love isn’t the problem. it never was.” he nods slowly, and you know he’s holding back more tears.

you look at him—his swollen eyes, the slight tremble in his mouth that mirrors your own—and for a moment, you wish you could be selfish. you wish you could say fuck it, go back with him, crawl into the warmth of what could’ve been, and pretend that love alone is enough. but you can’t. “maybe you were right,” you say, trying to laugh through the tears, your voice catching halfway through. “maybe breaking up was the right thing to do. for both of us.” oh… the way his heart drops when he hears that—how much he wishes he could take those words back. how much he regrets ever saying them in the first place. how much he’s begged time, in every quiet moment since, to let him go back and rewrite your story. but it’s useless. it didn’t feel right then, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. you’re all he ever wanted. you’re all he wants. and deep down, he knows—you always will be. and it fucking kills him. it kills him to know that loving you isn’t the question—he does. with everything. the question is what to do with that love, now that it can’t go anywhere. because if you tried again… if you gave in to the ache and the want and the desperation—nothing would really change. you’d end up right back here. except next time, you’d be even more broken. “if i were braver,” he starts, “if i was different—” “don’t,” you cut in. “don’t do that. you don’t need to be a different person, hyun,” you say softly. “you just need a different life. and you don’t have that right now—and maybe you never will. but it’s okay.” “how can it be?” he says, and there’s a crack in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “how the fuck is it okay to want something this badly and still have to let it go?” you let out a shaky breath and look down at your lap. “we can’t change it. this. it’s… it’s not okay—fuck, i know it’s not. but it’s what we have.”

he goes quiet again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, tears still hanging in his lashes. you both sit in it. the sadness. the weight of every missed chance, every wrong timing, every choice that brought you to this bench. “if there’s another life,” you murmur, “maybe we find our way back to each other there.” he nods. “maybe,” he says, and you know he’s picturing it too. the could-have-beens. the should-haves. the soft life you never got to live. but not this one. he’s quiet for a while after that, like he’s still standing in that other life you just painted with your words—still walking through it in his mind, holding your hand in a version of the world where things were easier. and then his voice cuts through the silence, “but i don’t want to lose you in this life, either.” and before you can say anything, he adds, “do you think we could… i don’t know—be friends?” you turn to look at him, and he’s watching you carefully, not with expectation but with something closer to fear. he’s afraid you’ll say no, afraid you’ll cut the thread that still tethers you to him, even if it’s frayed and worn and barely holding. but you smile a little. it’s small and sad, but a smile after all. “yeah. i think we could.” he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “maybe not right now,” you add gently. “maybe we give it some time. let it stop hurting so much. but yeah… eventually, i’d like that.” he nods again, eyes flicking toward you like he’s trying to memorize your face in this exact light, with this exact expression—still full of love. “i just don’t want to lose you completely.” “you won’t,” you say. and it’s the one thing you can promise. “you’re too much a part of me now, hyun, you always will be. we’ll figure it out.”

the gravel crunches quietly under your shoes. the path back through the garden is dim now, the sun completely dipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky painted in that deep, rich blue, settling into dusk. every now and then, you glance at seunghyun in your periphery—his hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, like he’s trying to hold on to every last moment of this without showing it. you walk without touching, without speaking, but everything between you is loud. and then, just before the path curves toward the iron gate that separates the quiet of this place from the rest of the world, you stop. “seunghyun,” you say, his name barely above a whisper. he turns to you slowly, like he already knows what’s coming, like he’s been waiting for it without letting himself hope. you reach up with both hands and cradle his face—thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, your fingers slipping into the soft, familiar edges of his hair. his breath catches, his eyes flicker, and then they fall shut just as your mouth finds his. his hands are on you within seconds—your waist, your back, the side of your neck, fucking everywhere. he kisses you back hard, full of need and every word he didn’t know how to say earlier. you make a soft sound against his mouth, one he swallows greedily, pulling you closer, gripping the fabric at your back like he doesn’t trust the world not to rip you away. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan, and when he groans against your mouth, his tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. he kisses you hungrily. because he knows this is the last moment he’ll get to remember what it feels like to be wanted by you. his hands slide up your sides, and then one of them cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. your heart stutters in your chest at how tender it is—how fucking unfair it is that someone can love you this gently and still not be yours. you kiss him deeper, your tongue meeting his, your mouth opening wider like maybe if you just give enough of yourself, it’ll keep him for a little longer. but eventually, it has to stop. your hands loosen in his hair, and his grip on you falters. you pull away first, even though it feels like tearing something out of your own chest. you’re both panting, and your lips are swollen. “sorry,” you whisper. “i just… i needed to do that one last time.” you close your eyes and let your hand rest over his chest, right where his heart is pounding beneath your palm—fast and uneven, like yours. “i needed it too,” he says quietly. you both feel it settle deep in your bones—that quiet, devastating truth: the kiss was goodbye. to everything you were and everything you’ll never be again.

by the time you make it back to your friend’s apartment, the sky has already folded into itself, navy and thick. you step inside, the house dim and quiet, the hallway lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the kitchen where your friend’s probably left a candle burning. you move through the space like you’re not really there. your shoes come off, your jacket lands somewhere near a chair you don’t look at, and you’re halfway down the hall toward the living room with that hollow, buzzing emptiness ringing in your ears—when your phone vibrates once. and you think, for a stupid second, that maybe it’s him. but no. instead, it’s your banking app, and there on your screen, as casual as if someone had just venmoed you for last week’s pizza, is a deposit—an absurd amount of money, like… frankly ridiculous amount—and next to it, the name. choi seunghyun. you stare at it for a second, not really processing it, your brain taking its sweet time catching up, and when it finally does, you quickly message him.

seunghyun

WHAT THE FUCK

what

why

wtf

what the actual fuck

You told me you were staying with your friend while looking for a place.

I thought it might help.

are you crazy?

wtf

this is insane, hyun

It’s nothing🙂

it’s NOT nothing wtf

you wired me enough to pay rent for a year

maybe more

no, no, definitely more

way more

what part of that feels normal to you

this is so much money, what were you thinking

I was thinking you deserved it.

i don’t need you to take care of me like that

i’m not your responsibility

You’re not.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you however I can.

it’s too much, hyun

So is everything I feel for you.

i don’t know if i can accept it

Please do.

Friends help each other, don’t they?

i’m being so frl rn old man

Me too, princess.

are u trying to make me cry?💔 be honest

We’ve cried enough today.

I want you to be happy, so please let me do this for you.

thank you seunhyun, really

Of course🫰🏼

i love you

I love you too.

Take care❤️

you too :)

you press the phone to your chest, close your eyes, and sigh. and maybe it’s dramatic to cry over a money transfer, but here you are. not because you need the money, but because you know, this is the only way he knows how to take care of you now—by giving you something tangible and useful in his absence. and that hurts.

it’s been two years since that last conversation with seunghyun—two whole years since that kiss in the garden, since the deposit, since his last message sat in your phone. life didn’t stop after him. it moved forward the way time always does—slow. and eventually, you did too. you moved out of your friend’s place not long after meeting seunghyun—gave yourself permission to look at listings just slightly outside your price range, to stop filtering by ‘cheapest first,’ to imagine something more. and when you found it—a corner apartment on the top floor of a building, all warm wood and tall windows and soft morning light—you said yes. it’s not huge, but it’s beautiful. clean lines, a little balcony that overlooks the street, a kitchen that makes you want to cook even when all you know how to make is pasta… it’s the first place you’ve ever lived that feels like it was meant for you. and yeah, sometimes you think about seunghyun—you think about how he gave this to you. but mostly, you think about how you made it into something your own.

you also dropped the guy you’d been seeing back then and focused on yourself. let yourself learn how to be alone. you got a new job too—something better, something steadier. it pays well, and you don’t come home every night feeling like you’ve been scraped raw, which is more than you used to ask for. things with your mom are better now, or at least better than they used to be. she calls every week, asks about work (because that’s her favorite topic), sometimes even about your mood, and it’s clear she’s trying. but the thing that still sticks in your throat, the thing you can’t seem to move past, is that she’s never actually said she was sorry. she speaks like it was a necessary evil, like leaking your relationship to the press was some calculated decision made for your protection, not a betrayal that burned through your entire life. and maybe if she showed even a flicker of regret—real regret—you’d be able to meet her halfway. but without that, there’s only so far you can go.

you’re not healed. but you’re okay. you wake up most mornings without feeling like you’re drowning, you go to work, make dinner, fold laundry while music plays in the background. you laugh with friends and sleep through the night more often than not. and your screen time is down 12% this week—so, progress. that has to count for something. but some nights, when it’s quiet in your apartment and the city hums softly outside your window, you think of seunghyun. you wonder where he is, if he’s okay, if he ever sees something and thinks of you. you wonder if he’s happy, if he’s sleeping well, if his hands still tremble when he’s anxious or if someone else has learned how to hold them steady. and sometimes, you stare at the ceiling too long, or catch yourself holding your breath when a memory slips through—and it still surprises you, how much he lives in the smallest, stupidest things. because no matter how much distance time gives you, there are people who never really leave. and seunghyun, no matter how far away he is now—he’s one of them.

so when his name lights up your phone one random thursday evening two years later—you almost fall off your bed.

Hi.

Sorry if this is weird.

I was looking through my gallery and I found this.

it’s a photo taken from above—his arm stretched out enough to fit both of you into the frame, the angle slightly off-center. you’re completely out, fast asleep on top of him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist like you were trying to merge with him in your sleep. your cheek is smushed against the ridiculous pajama top—the one he bought for himself first, then ordered a second one for you when he realized how cute you’d look matching. yes, the infamous pajama set that everyone and their mother saw after your mom leaked everything. his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, but his face is soft—eyes shining even in the low light of the room, a sleepy grin on his face.

Turns out, the picture those fans took of us wasn’t the only one we had.

I hope life’s treating you nicely🫰🏼

and something about it—about him still having that photo, still thinking of you enough to send it—makes you smile. you write back faster than you thought you would.

omg seunhyun!!! hii!!

when did you take that photo? and why didn’t u tell me about it?😭

I took it when you came to Seoul for my birthday.

I forgot I took it.

You woke up right after hahah😴😄

it’s sooo sooo cute🥹

It is😊

How are you?

i’m good :)) but a bit tired because i’ve been helping my friend paint her house and it’s been a lot of work

my arms are so sore😭

what about you?

you doing okay?

Yes! I’m good.

I missed talking to you.

me too :)) and i’m glad to know you’re doing well!

I also wanted to know if you’d like to go for a coffee next week?

I wanted to fly to Texas to see you.

We could catch up.

If you want to, of course🙂

yesss ofc, i’d love to :)🩷

i’m really happy you reached out

been thinking about you a lot, honestly

You have?

more than i’d like to admit hahah

i was wondering how you were doing :)

I’ve thought about you too.

And I’m really looking forward to seeing you😊

me too🙂‍↕️

I’ll send you the details once everything’s booked, is that okay?

yeah, sure, that sounds perfect :)

See you soon🫰🏼

when the day finally comes, there’s a quiet nervousness in your chest—not the kind that makes your hands shake, but the kind that hums beneath your skin. you don’t know what to expect. it’s been two years. whole seasons, whole versions of yourself have passed since you last stood in front of him. you’ve changed. you’ve grown. but some things stay. he’s waiting outside the café when you arrive—hands in his coat pockets, hair a little longer. and the second your eyes meet, he smiles. and you smile back, like no time has passed at all. the conversation flows without effort. you don’t even notice your coffee going cold—you’re too busy talking and laughing like it hasn’t been two years. and you don’t try to stop the feeling that rushes in, that warm, aching knowing in your chest that says, yeah. it’s still him. even after everything. it’s still seunghyun. you don’t know what’s going to happen next, and for once, that doesn’t scare you. you just let the moment be what it is, suspended in something that feels a lot like peace. because maybe this is it. maybe you don’t need another life to find your way back to each other—you already do in this one.

i hope this lived up to your expectations for part 2 :) i genuinely did the best i could. i’ve spent so much time on this fic and gotten so attached to everything about it that it doesn’t even feel like something i made up anymore?? like someone out there is living through it and suffering bc of seunghyun fr… my brain fully believes it atp😭

thank you so much for all the support you’ve shown to this fic, and for all the kind messages i’ve been getting because of it—i seriously wasn’t expecting it at all 🥹💗

regular taglist: @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii

hidden pt.2 taglist: @ulquiorraswife @rubyylovestoread @youlikeex @liv2cool

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p bigbang #seunghyun x reader #hidden #t.o.p fanfic #bigbang x reader #top bigbang #bigbang #big bang #top x reader #t.o.p x you #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p #squid game #part 2

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darlingghoulette · 2 months ago

Text

walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya'

Summary: You come across a fun surprise on a supply run and decisions are made to “spice things up” in the bedroom for you and Joel. You fuck about it. That’s the fic. Rated E.

Content tags: crack treated seriously for porny reasons, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, afab!reader, reader has a vagina, no other physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, brief discussion of body insecurity, pussy play, pussy pronouns, finger sucking, oral, unprotected p in v, Joel talks you through it because of course he does, excessive use of contractions because Joel is Southern and so am I, ambiguous reader age–she was alive before Outbreak Day so you can do the math however you’d like. I’d still say she’s younger than Joel because the demons in my soul command me to write Older Man Smut.

Author’s note: this started as a conversation about having a majestic bush in the apocalypse and spiraled into an excuse to write smut. While this is hot, I 100% believe that Joel would want his girl all natural as the good lord intended, but hey, pussy is pussy. Just wanna say: your body is your own, fuck patriarchal standards for body hair. This is just for a lil fun.

Read on AO3

It starts as a joke.

You’re clearing an old beauty store on patrol, some old chain business that used to peddle expensive makeup and a million different types of skin care that all essentially do the same thing. It’s not the normal kind of place to look for supplies, but if there was anything you’d learned living through the apocalypse, it was to be resourceful.

You and Maria had already found a decent haul. Shampoo, acetone, disposable applicators that could be used at the clinic. And no infected growing into the walls to be seen. So far, at least.

All in all, the mood was pretty high. Maria doesn’t patrol much, especially after having the baby, and a calm, successful trip outside of the walls was a welcome one. She’s not technically your sister-in-law, seeing as you and Joel aren’t married, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to a best friend and sister since the end of the world.

You’re trading lighthearted conversation as you browse the aisles, nearly ready to call it a day when you see it.

A medium sized box, dented and dusty. One of those wax melting kits, a little pot with tiny beads of brightly colored wax pellets. You’re already kneeling down to see if all the pieces are still intact when Maria ducks around the corner.

“All set?” she asks, shooting you an amused look while you dig excitedly into the box.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen one of these?”

The packaging has certainly seen better days, and the wax beads aren’t nearly as vibrant as they probably once were, but surely wax doesn’t go bad, right? For her part, Maria is regarding the contents warily.

“Can’t say I’ve had the time to get a wax in the past, hm, twenty years or so. So, probably about that long.”

It’s almost strange to think about how little things like body hair used to be a huge deal Before. You can remember the first time in middle school you felt embarrassed about how all your friends shaved their legs and you weren’t allowed to. Before you even realized it was just a commonly accepted societal norm and not worth the huge drag out with your mom who had bigger things on her plate than her kid’s race to puberty.

Stupid shit like that stopped being important…well, ever, if you think about it, society’s expectations were bullshit and patriarchal by design–but especially after the world ended.

“We should try it.” you joke, even though something about the idea is actually tempting.

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Come on,” You’re already imagining wrangling it into your saddlebags. “It could be fun! The guys are out helping with the dam maintenance until tomorrow, we could have a girls night! Movies, wine, torture for the sake of beauty. The full ritual, you know?”

“I’m with you for the rest of it, but I’ve made peace with my legs how they are.” You hadn’t necessarily had your legs in mind.

Maria, genius that she is, correctly interprets the wicked grin curling your lips up slowly without you even having to say anything.

She snorts, amused, but in a way that’s absolutely laughing at you instead of with you. She’s good at that. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you defend, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m not taking you to the clinic after you rip off something important giving yourself a Brazilian with a 20 year old kit.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at her. “Now who’s being dramatic? It’s not a rusty razor blade. It’s wax, Maria. I’ve just…you know. Never done that, even Before. And I’m sure it would be even safer with more hands helping…”

“Ask someone else then.”

“Like who? You’re the only person I’d trust. And really the only person I have besides the 15 year old whose dad I’m currently seeing, and we just got her to the point of somewhat tolerating our relationship, I’d really rather not jeopardize that.”

The image of what a disaster that would be makes you both laugh, but there’s enough truth in the statement that you feel a twist of embarrassment at even the thought. Absolutely not.

“Besides,” you say, faux-innocence dripping from your tone. “Might be a fun surprise for Tommy. Spice things up after the baby?”

The look Maria directs at you is flat and unimpressed, but you can tell she’s not actually annoyed. In fact, there’s a glimmer of something sharp in her eye that tells you she might actually be entertaining the idea. “We don’t need things spiced up, we’re doing just fine, thank you.”

Your nose wrinkles a little at that, you may have brought it up first, but that’s your not-brother-in-law she’s talking about fucking–

“But,” she continues on before your face interrupts her anymore. For a few beats, anticipation hangs heavy between you in the dilapidated store.

“But?”

The pursed seal of her lips eases into a grin, mischievous and matching your own.

“But it might be fun to see the stuck dumb look on his face if I sprung this on him.”

You let out a sharp bark of laughter, imagining your own Miller with a similar reaction. Yeah, this thing is definitely coming home with you. Just in case, you know?

*****

For the millionth time in the last hour, you shift awkwardly on the couch.

It’s the next day after your patrol shift with Maria. The ensuing girls night you’d had turned into more of a get tipsy on the Bison’s good whiskey and goof the hell off night. It was good to see your friend so relaxed, you thought, she stayed so busy and stressed keeping the town safe and secure. A rare cutting loose was called for..

It just so happened that the liquor in your system also made the mysterious box you smuggled from the supply run a whole lot more appealing.

It was a whole ordeal, including cursing, awkward stops and starts, and more drinks than was probably smart for people your age. Thankfully, Maria was more familiar with the whole process and did most of the legwork. Not the most comfortable or glamorous passtime, and you got to know each other in ways that you certainly hadn’t expected, but the results at the end…

You cross your legs again, the sensation of your clothes on bare skin is novel when you change positions. It was stupid, and way more painful than you’d expected. Something fueled by drunk decisions and committing to the bit for laughs, but you can’t deny…it feels kind of nice? Different. But nice.

Still, in the light of day, a new anxiety is popping out after your rash choice to go all beauty-school dropout.

The sun has sunk deep into the mountains, throwing those picturesque oranges and pinks across the Wyoming sky.

Joel’s due home from his overnight trip to the dam any time now.

Leftovers you’d snagged from the dining hall are keeping warm for him in the oven. There were no dishes to wash since you’d chosen to spare him the fate of choking down something you’d thrown together. (And he would have, the kind hearted fool. You’re not the best cook, but he insists on eating whatever you make while you attempt to learn.)

The book you’re reading hasn’t progressed a single page, you keep picking it up and putting it down without retaining anything, your mind too caught up in its spiral.

What if he hates it?

Of course, it’s a stupid thought. You know he’s not the kind of person who would judge you for something small like this. Sure, it’s not how he’s seen you since you both got together. But some guys go crazy for this, right? It used to be the preferred style for some people, back in the day. Even if it’s not his, it’s just fucking hair. It’ll grow back. He’s told you over and over that he’d love you no matter how you looked, and more than that his actions speak for himself. He’s literally seen you crouched over a toilet and ralphing your guts out. He’s seen you at every worst you’ve had in the last five years and is still there. In comparison, this is such a laughable insecurity.

What if he thinks exactly that, though? It’s not a dealbreaker, but what if he laughs at you, what if he thinks it’s stupid and childish and you’re trying too hard, what if he hates it, or what if–

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your–admittedly silly–crashout.

“Baby?” he calls out from where you can hear him shucking off his work boots, starting the familiar routine of sloughing off the outside world for the comforts of home.

“Living room!”

Before you can quite go back to riling yourself up, he’s behind you, curling down over the back of the couch to kiss you hello on the slope of your neck. Your head leans backwards, craning up at him above you.

His presence is like a balm, you can feel the smile growing on your lips while you take in the soft look he’s gifting you in return.

He’s ruffled, hair a mess from the blowing wind outside; the scent of horse and woodsmoke and sweat rolling off of him. It never fails that fresh-off-work Joel just drives you absolutely up a wall. There’s something so masculine and protective and natural about him when he comes home like this that makes you want to just jump his bones as soon as he walks in the door some days.

Today’s no different.

“Have a good weekend, darlin’?” He’s leaned down further now, grunting just a little at the probable murder its doing on his back, to kiss you on the forehead. It makes you huff a soft breath of a laugh out of your nose.

“Better now, but yeah, it was pretty good. Dinner’s in the oven.” you hum, watching him straighten back up and start shedding his coat. “If you wanna take a shower first, I’ll get you a plate.”

He kisses you again in thanks, a soft peck to your temple, a large palm coming to cradle your jaw briefly to press you into the contact. It’s intimate despite being so tame, a gesture that makes something deep in your bones melt better than any on-TV passionate romcom kiss ever could. This is real and warm, and makes you feel incredibly silly recalling your anxiety from just a couple minutes ago.

*****

It’s only after you’re both set up at the kitchen table that the anxiety and anticipation begins to creep back in, Joel fresh from his shower in sweatpants, you with your feet propped in his lap with a cup of tea while he eats his late dinner.

He’s telling you about the maintenance at the dam, how the group of workers had a disagreement on how to set up the factory to better prepare for the Spring storms that’ll move through soon. And you’re listening, really, you are. Nodding along when it’s needed, adding commentary when the conversation lulls. It’s just…

You can’t help shifting in your seat occasionally, or shooting him quick glances, wondering about his reaction. It’s getting you all twisted up again, and you’re trying to decide when will be the best time to bring it up. You’re nearly bursting with it, ready to pop and just get it over with already and–

“Alright,” Joel sets down his fork. “What’d she do?”

You blink, brought short by the sudden change in conversation. “Huh?”

“What’d she do?”

“I’m not following.”

Joel looks at you, a deadpan expression on his face, one brow raised and–Oh, no, that’s his dad detective face.

“You’re over there squirmin’ like a sinner in church and you can barely meet my eye. If it was something you did, you’d have broken by now because you can’t keep a secret for shit. Which brings me to thinkin’ Ellie pulled some kinda fool stunt and you’re trying like hell to cover for her.” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling up into an amused and exasperated expression. “I went by the garage first thing when I got back into town and didn’t notice anything, but she’s gettin’ better at being a normal sneaky teenager. So, what’d I miss?”

You can’t help it, that breaks you. You laugh, spine uncurling from its ramrod position. He always finds a way to break you out of your spiral. Even if he’s a little off the money, there’s something about the fact that he’s so attentive to your moods that releases the balloon of tension that’d been growing in your chest for most of the day.

During your giggle fit, Joel just smiles at you, pleased to have unfurled the little wrinkle you get between your brows when you’re really stewing on something. The meal mostly done and forgotten, his hands move to massage your socked feet in his lap, tugging playfully.

“Nothing happened, but it’s cute how you think you could get me to snitch on her,” You snicker, kicking one foot out to gently bump into his stomach. “She knows where I sleep and I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

He laughs, mumbling a that’s probably smart under his breath before trying to weasel more answers out of you.

“Alright, if it ain’t that, then what is it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you sniff.

“Baby.”

His tone is low and coaxing, only meant to prompt the issue out of you, but it has the effect of kindling embers in your stomach. He sits there with his broad shoulders and tousled curls fresh from the shower, hands doing magic on the muscles of your feet, oblivious for all the world that he’s just about the most attractive image of a man you’ve ever seen in your life.

You sink a little further into your chair, using the foot that’s not currently in his grasp to rub along his thigh. Something in his eyes immediately darkens.

“It’s a surprise.”

Taking the opportunity where it’s given, his hand slips further up your calf, fingers just barely brushing the tender skin at the crook of your knee, fully exposed for him in the pajama shorts you’re sporting.

“Don’t gotta surprise me, don’t need nothin’. Got everything I want right here.”

You grin. “What if I’m part of the surprise?”

He was already looking at you before, but the way his eyes rake over you now? It’s heavy, taking you in like the only water in a desert. As much as his gaze feels like a physical thing, you’d much prefer his hands. It’s that want that has you lining up the final shot.

“I mean, unless you’re too tired from your trip. That would be fine, honest, it can wait until–”

You’re cut off with a delighted shriek when he stands and snatches you up from your chair, leftovers forgotten on the table as a problem for tomorrow.

Head still spinning from the rapid change in scenery, it takes you a second to recognize that he’s headed straight upstairs. He’s on a singular mission, as made clear by the clever hand on your ass that’s not just to keep you supported in his arms.

Joel may be older than you, but goddamn, you always forget how fucking strong he is.

The buttons of his flannel are irritatingly done up and your fingers are trying to get the stubborn bastard things open when he makes it to your bedroom and drops you to the mattress with a squeak. You barely have time to get your bearings back from the impact before he’s pressing down on top of you.

“Missed you so much last night,” he offers, already pressing hot kisses to your neck, your collarbone, pulling at the stretched neckline of a shirt that’s his anyway.

You nod rapidly in agreement, nerves fizzling with electricity before he even touches you. It’s always been like this. The easy, syrupy intimacy of everyday life that can snap on a dime, dropping you both into urgency and need like you’ve never felt before. And, indeed, you need him to fuck you already before you go out of your mind.

In a dance that’s as instinctual as breathing, your legs wrap around him. Your hips undulate up into his so you can feel where he’s hard and just as desperate.

Joel pulls back to hover above you. One hand palmed around the back of your neck, tilting you to look up at him. Guiding you where he wants you. “What do you need, baby?”

You lick your bottom lip, brain catching up to his words. His eyes dart down to your mouth.

“I-I want–” you start, breathlessly, but he cuts you off with a click of his tongue.

“Don’t think I asked what you wanted, sweet girl,” he hums, thumb resting on your chin and pulling it down. Gentle pressure, you could absolutely break away if you wanted to, but you follow his lead, sucking the appendage into your mouth. “Asked what you needed.”

You try to get the word “you” out around your mouthful, and you must do a good enough job that it earns you a kiss to the forehead, a move that might feel out of place to anyone else, but it’s so protective and possessive and him it makes you want to fucking writhe to release the pressure between your legs.

The slick sound of his thumb when he pulls it from you draws a sharp whine from your chest and he shushes you, hands dragging down and down and down your sides, coming to rest on your hips. Something about that wriggles in the back of your head, like there was something you were supposed to be doing here, but you’re way too caught up to remember.

“It’s alright. I gotcha, baby,” Joel says, heated and soft in his low drawl, and then he’s sliding your shorts down your hips. Hands sure and practiced, expert at playing you like a goddamn fiddle. Lips laying scalding, sucking kisses from the crook of your knee to the inside of your thigh as he eases your legs open and–

Stops.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realize that he’s not just pausing for anticipation. He’s full on halted down there, one of your legs still hiked up in his palm, staring down at you like…Well.

You think the term Maria used was struck dumb.

You bite your lip to keep the laughter contained. It’s not very successful, because his eyes snap back up to your face after a snort sneaks out against your will.

There are lots of sexier ways you could play this, probably, but you settle on grinning up at him.

“Surprise?”

The sound he lets out is more of a sharp exhalation of breath than anything, like it was kicked out of him. You think you hear a goddamn tacked on the end there, but it’s quiet.

“What prompted this?” he asks when his words find him again, eyes dropped back down to take in the sight.

“Felt like a change,” you mumble, losing some of your previous steam. You can give him the whole story later, but despite being used to him seeing you all kinds of ways, something about direct eye contact with your pussy makes you wriggle uncomfortably.

“You, uh. You like it?” You’re starting to feel that anxiety creep back in, especially since he hasn’t confirmed or denied, or said much of fucking anything to give you a clue yet.

Something in your tone must give that away, because you can almost see him mentally shake himself–systems coming back online, you think to yourself. The next time his eyes catch yours, it makes your stomach go molten.

“Like it?” he echoes. His fingers have started exploring, petting down your soft skin. Even just the gentlest touch is like a livewire, makes your entire body clench, and he huffs out a soft laugh. “More’n like it, you are…Christ.”

He’s lowered your knee over his shoulder now, using both hands to make you lightheaded without actually touching where you want him.

“She’s so pretty, baby,” he coos at you, making you moan even louder when he caresses the tender skin on either side of your cunt. “You make her all pretty just for me?”

You nod, words a knot in your throat.

“She’s always pretty, though.” You can feel the hot breath closer now, mouth hovering just above where your nerves are on fire. The sensation has your hand snapping down and threading into his hair with a keening whine. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, an’ all mine.”

And then he’s eating at you like a man starved.

He’s always been enthusiastic when it comes to your pleasure, but like this everything feels heightened, sensitive beyond measure. His nose bumps your clit and your vision whites out..

His tongue is not just bullying inside you every few strokes, it’s licking at the soft, smooth skin wherever he can touch. He sets his teeth to gently drag across one of your folds and it sends you nearly howling with it, the pressure in your core ratcheting up so high that you feel yourself hurtling to the edge impossibly fast. Joel knows it, too. He knows your body better than anything else on earth.

“That’s it,” When he pulls back, it’s only with scant inches between you still, dipping back in to lay kiss after kiss on your heated flesh between words, like he can’t stand to pull himself away. Two of his fingers take the place of his tongue, crooking up inside you exactly where he knows drives you crazy and thrusting. Fucking you through it with every trick he knows drives you right to the peak.

“Good girl, take what you need, alright? Give it to me, baby, I got ya’,”

You can’t do anything but comply. Chest heaving, crying out with your orgasm as he eases you down as effectively as he built you up, kissing around your clit because he knows the stimulation can be too much directly after.

You don’t even wait to get your breath back before you’re using the grasp you still have on his hair to yank him up to your mouth.

He tastes like you.

It’s your favorite thing to taste on him.

Down below, past where his fingers are still petting at you, he’s grinding into the bed, trying to relieve the pressure where he’s straining against the seams of his sweatpants. The sight of it knocks enough sense back into you to start tugging at his clothes with urgency once more. It must amuse him greatly judging by the look he gives you.

“Need something?” he asks, but smart man that he is, he’s already joining in to help you shove his clothes away, your hands too shaky from the mind-shattering orgasm still. “Got another one in you?”

“You gonna keep asking stupid questions?” you pant, and it makes him bark out a delighted laugh, genuine and deep, and it has you grinning in response, always secretly pleased when you make him laugh.

It’s a practiced dance between you both; getting him undressed to match you, taking playful nips at the newly uncovered skin within reach, getting distracted by long periods of kissing until you’re so keyed up again that all you can do is pant against his mouth while he teases you.

He’s slowly rubbing the head of his cock against your soft folds, a slick slide that echoes wetly in the room and it’s so fucking obscene you could vibrate out of your own skin.

Up and down.

Coating himself in you and…just feeling. Playing with you. Enjoying his surprise. You let out a whine, impatient and beyond your limits.

“S’it feel good?” he’s toying with you, stroking along your skin everywhere except where you need him. He nudges against your clit and the shocky, overwhelming zip of it rocks a gasp from your chest that he must like the sound of because he does it again, hungry for it.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you think she’s got another one for me?”

You’ve dissolved down to only nerve endings, too wound up to do much in response but grind up against him.

“Feels so good, so soft and sweet f’me,” he groans, the head pressing in just that little bit, barely there, only needing just that little bit more pressure to pop past the resistance and into your body. “Why don’t you feel, baby? Reach down here and guide me in, feel how nice we feel together,”

He grabs your hand, pulling it down between your bodies, grunting when you grip around him. It’s so slick and hot, a combination of the two of you that makes your stomach clench in anticipation. You try to guide him right in, desperate to feel him inside of you, but he resists.

“Slow, baby, slow, there we go,” It’s agonizingly drawn out, but he sinks into you finally, the position you’re in–one of his hands under the small of your back to tilt you up to him, your knees locked around him–combined with the glacial pace makes it feel so intense and fucking deep that you’re sucking in great lungfulls of air to keep from floating away. “Theeere we go, atta girl. Always take it so well,” he murmurs, breathless himself, shoulders tense.

He’s petting along your side with his free hand, gentling you like a goddamn horse, and fuck does it make your eyes roll back. With anyone else it would probably feel condescending. With Joel it just makes you want to slam your hips down into him even more, get him to move already.

He finally does draw back, right before slamming forward again and stealing all of the hard-won breath from your chest.

Time is lost after that. A haze of slapping skin and moans.

He adjusts his grip on you, both hands coming to rest on your hips to physically pull you into the force of his thrusts, propping you up and up until–

“Fuck!”

He hits that spot inside of you that makes your entire body jolt with electricity, and he grins, boyish and cocky.

“There she is,” he’s relentless, angled perfectly to make you lose your mind, thumb coming up to rub perfect, tight circles over your clit in time with his strokes. “I’ve got you, baby, gonna let go for me?”

Already keyed up and sensitive from your peak earlier, the overstimulation is tortuous and so, so good, already hurtling you towards another that you know he can feel impending by the way you’re tightening around him.

You’re trying to hold on, drawing out the pleasure curling at the base of your spine, but he drops down, hips never stopping, thumb still a maddening pressure on your clit, and he bites at your chest.

His breath is scorching hot and wet on your skin as he groans “such a good fuckin’ girl, fuckin’ come on my cock baby, s’all yours,” and he bites down on a peaked, puffy nipple.

Your second orgasm of the night rocks through you, the force of it startling, your fingernails making deep grooves in Joel’s back as you ride through it.

He’s cursing and holding you to him, hips stuttering with your cunt gripping him so tightly. Your end tumbles him into his own, emptying into you and fucking his come deeper on instinct.

The room is silent except for your combined breaths as you both come down.

There’s a pleasant buzzing in your limbs, a humming in the back of your mind as it comes back to the awareness that you still have a rather large man resting on top of you and that your lungs would quite like it if they could inflate all the way.

You tap Joel’s shoulder and he adjusts, sweat-sticky skin peeling from you to move to the side. It’s not as gross to you as it maybe could be. You think that’s what love might be.

He’s no sooner on his back beside you before you’ve rolled to lay against him, one leg tucked up over his, your chest flattened to his. Like space between you might actually kill you right now in the wake of your high. To his credit, he must feel the same, his palms skimming over your back, your ass, down to your knee and up again in a soothing circuit.

Soon you’ll need to get up and run a bath. Currently, you cannot think of anything you’d like to do less than move from this spot.

Joel kisses your hair, then your forehead, across your cheeks, anywhere he can reach, and you hum, absolutely in love with how touchy he gets after a good orgasm. The man may look big and bad outside these walls, but you have his number when it comes to post-coital cuddles.

It’s because you know him so well that you sense something brewing, his thoughts a little too loud for your liking. “Everything okay?”

He just hums, working a spot under your jaw with his teeth.

“Joel.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking too hard.”

“M’not.”

“You are, I can smell the smoke.”

He huffs, head dropping back to the pillow. “Cute.”

“I know,” you pretend to preen, but drop the humor quickly in favor of propping up on an elbow to look at him. He doesn’t seem distressed, but he’s definitely chewing on something. “What is it?”

His forehead is furrowed a bit, mouth curved to one side in thought. “You just…”

Your brow raises, prompting.

“You didn’t do all that,” he gestures at your lower half propped against him. “Just for me, did you?”

You snort. “Didn’t hear you complaining about it a minute ago.”

He rolls his eyes. “I ain’t complaining, I’m just saying.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tease again, maybe even get a little defensive as the nerves from before try to sink back in, but you refrain. You can see in his expression that he’s serious, trying to say something here that’s important, so you let him gather his thoughts. He sighs, appearing frustrated at himself that the words aren’t coming out right.

“You can do whatever you want with your body, not like you need permission from me. I just wanted t’say that you don’t need to do anything to change yourself for me. I know some people did that controlling shit Before, pushed their preferences on their partner, but I thought it was stupid then, too. I love the way you are no matter what, because it’s you, alright?”

You blink at him, not expecting the heartfelt turn in conversation.

There’s a hint of a flush under his tanned skin that has nothing to do with the previous vigorous activity. Talking about emotions usually does that to him, but he always makes a point of letting you know how he feels about you.

You wax your pussy on a drunken whim because you think it’ll be hot, and this large, wonderful idiot of a man is worried you did it out of some obligation to beauty standards and wants you to know he loves you regardless.

As silly as the situation is, you’re utterly, ridiculously charmed.

You smile down at him, still propped on his chest. The perfect vantage point to see how his eyes get drawn to your kiss-swollen mouth.

“And what if I said that I was just trying something out? Comparing differences, you know, to see what I like. Scientific, almost.”

His eyes darken.

“In that case,” With a startled shriek, he has you flipped, back pinned to the bed once more. “Thinkin’ we should keep on testin’.”

He’s creeping back down your body, focus resting on his come that has been dripping out of you, fingers scooping through the slick and pushing it right back inside where it belongs. It wrenches a shocked moan from you.

“Joel, I can barely move already.” you whine.

“Good thing I’m doing all the work, then.”

His eyes are locked on the apex of your legs, greedily taking you in.

“I ain’t done with you yet, pretty thing,” and you don’t think he’s talking to your face at all.

#joel miller x reader #Jackson!joel #x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Rated E #joel miller smut #my writing #smut #that man is the KING of pussy pronouns and i will stand on that fact until my dying day #pedro pascal universe #I guess I should use that tag too even though Game Joel is also valid and has my entire heart #pedro pascal fic

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stxrvel · 8 months ago

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remorse (5)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, flashback, a lot of remorse, fights, stubborn people, lack of communication, angst. a/n. its finally here. i haven't re read this chapter bc im almost falling asleep and i have to work tomorrow, but i'll give this one another look in the weekend. a friend of mine helped me with the traduction bc i'm really really burnt out rn. also, chapters names changed!! i hope you guys like this one! see you on the next one🫶🏻

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“Oppa…”

Yoongi raised his head, his body leaning toward the piano acknowledging your presence in the room, and you could tell how he was physically struggling to move away from the instrument. Under his watchful gaze, you walked in his direction shuffling your feet, with a pitiful expression and every intention of openly complaining to one of the elders in your group of friends. But you relaxed your expression when you were a few steps away, recognizing his notebook on the piano lid and the trail of ink between his fingers at a safe distance from the keys.

His laughter confused you, and when you looked up, his lips were curved into a pretty smile. It was annoying. He was only two years older than you.

“What happened now?”

You remembered that you had come with a purpose, but your mind, as evasive and suggestible as ever, found more interest in what your eyes had caught.

“The usual,” you barely commented, moving to sit on your legs in front of Yoongi. “Were you writing?”

Yoongi glanced over to find his notebook, his shoulders shaking in a sigh because he knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation now that you had discovered him.

“Something like that…”

“Can I see it?”

“It's nothing decent. I don't think it's prudent.”

You pressed your lips together at his response, letting your shoulders droop, disappointed. But it was what you had expected; after all, Yoongi was quite secretive about his notebook, and it was rare for him to let you get this close and know so much about him. Even though you had probably known each other since you learned to swim and multiply, and surely knew more skeletons in his closet than he would like to admit, Yoongi still had a reluctance to show you or anyonw his writings. You had to catch him at a very relaxed moment.

So you set aside your emotions, not allowing Yoongi to respond as you pouted, and crossed your arms while turning your head away.

“Taehyung and Jungkook got so competitive on the court that they kicked us all out,” you frowned, remembering how the two had rushed past you and stolen the ball in the blink of an eye, moving so quickly and with cheeky laughter that you barely understood what was happening until you saw them tussling with the ball in front of the scoring area.

They were already in extracurricular hours, and although everyone had subjects to study and delve into, they decided to take a moment to take advantage of the fact that the school court would be empty and play for a while. Jin and Namjoon had left the game after two quarters because they simply couldn't keep up, and since one was in your group with Jimin and the other with the two kings of competition that day, they decided to kick them out and leave them as referees along with Hobi, who was the initial one.

Surprisingly, Yoongi also didn’t attend the game or his extracurricular class, choosing to get lost in the music room, taking advantage of the fact that it was empty that day because classes ended early.

“I don’t understand why they have to ruin everyone’s fun.”

Your little thirteen-year-old self, ignorant of many aspects of life, could only cross her arms and complain. Yoongi smiled, his two extra years of age giving him an understanding that perhaps you didn’t have access to, because it was inconceivable to you that such a sacrilege could be considered funny. Basketball hours were sacred!

“They're just messing around.”

“Oppa, you should've seen how they were pushing each other,” you shook your head, refusing to believe that Yoongi really wanted to defend them. “If you had been there, you could've stopped them.”

“And Jin?”

“He was laughing with them.”

“Ah,” Yoongi turned his head. “So the second best option was me?”

You shrugged. “Well, I thought I could convince you to go to the court, but…”

“But…?” Yoongi rested a hand on the bench, leaning in to see you on the floor.

“Maybe it’s more fun to listen to you play the piano.”

You smiled brightly, intertwining your fingers while Yoongi wore a half-smile. Without responding, he straightened up again, adopting the posture he had when you saw him through the glass of the door, before you interrupted his concentration. His fingers danced in the air for a few seconds, touching the notes in his head, recalling sound after sound, until the pressure on them gave way to a melody unknown to you.

It had to be a new piece, a new composition in his notebook. Yoongi played, calm and serene, focused and absorbed, letting the sound flow as if it came directly from nature.

Seeing Yoongi like this was… a strange event. Later, as time passed, you would think it was unbearable to have to see him everywhere, to hear his name around every corner, but at that moment you were lost in him, absorbing the sounds of his mind that his fingers materialized on the piano, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tide of his emotions, the way he conveyed so many words with his touches. The fast and slow notes, the change of tempo, all so meticulously created and organized to send a message, to describe an emotion, to paint a scene.

Yoongi was scared. Perhaps nervous, even. When he finished his piece, you could only look at him in awe, his shoulders moving a little faster due to the intensity with which he finished, keeping his head down, as if processing what he had just done. His fear was palpable, his hopelessness and unease.

“Oppa?”

“I don’t know…” he paused, dropping the lid over the keys and taking a calmer posture. “I don’t know if I’ll do the right thing when I graduate.”

“Why?” your brow furrowed, and you leaned forward in concern. “You’ve always talked about it. And you have a lot of talent, oppa, I know you’ll make it.”

Yoongi gave a nearly pained smile, as if he understood something you had no idea about.

“Jin is going to medical school.”

“I know. But it’s what he’s passionate about,” you moved closer to your friend, trying to give him some of the support he always gave you. “Isn’t music what you’re passionate about?”

The black-haired boy frowned. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he played the piano until he was breathless, but the gestures of his doubts were there too: when his fingers trembled with anxiety, his eyes gaining more shine as the seconds passed.

“Oppa,” you called, trying to break the silence, trying to prevent his thoughts from eating him alive. “If it’s what you love, you’ll succeed. I’m sure of that.”

You saw how the haze in his eyes disappeared, his features relaxing at least a little.

“I probably only have your support. I’ll have to rely on that.”

His small smile constricted your heart. In that moment, you didn’t know what you could do to show him that it was enough, but you were also unaware of the reality that his words held. It was probably due to your age, the age difference with Yoongi, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would never be completely satisfied with that. You wondered if it was about you, just for a second, recalling the way he smiled when some of the other boys gave him words of encouragement.

Maybe he was just more vulnerable with you than with the others, but a thirteen-year-old's reasoning didn't go that far.

With your foolish conclusion, you came home that day with a heavy heart.

Speaking of loose ends and unresolved issues, there were some specific people who deserved to take home the award and the crown for the most intrigue of the century. Because when you entered Choi Dohyun's office, with Seojun and Yuna on either side, even knowing that there were things still pending answers and others you could barely understand, the last thing you expected was for those you weren’t even aware of to suddenly materialize, like a kick to the stomach.

But keeping your head high and your composure was something you had lacked the last time, and thus, against all odds, your face showed no emotion when you caught a glimpse of Min Yoongi storming out of the office looking angry, not even when his eyes moved towards your figure and his wires crossed for a millisecond, betraying his movements. The sound of his shoes against the floor didn’t even distract you, keeping your gaze fixed on the man who appeared behind the door, with a huge smile on his face and eyes that screamed that signing this contract might take more from you than it would give.

Min Yoongi flanked you, a nearly imperceptible gasp of surprise escaping him as you passed by his side, not even giving him a glance of acknowledgment over your shoulder, as if he were less than a mere insignificant dust particle, and he collected himself as best he could to keep walking, ignoring the astonished looks your companions shot him.

You flashed the biggest smile, a feeling of anger settling deep in your stomach, and you shook hands with Choi Dohyun, who was cheerfully introducing himself with a voice an octave higher than usual.

You didn’t miss the way he shot a glance down the hallway, where Min Yoongi should have been disappearing, and the bitter sensation in your throat intensified.

“Well, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m very happy because we finally have this,” Yuna beamed, raising the envelope with the contract as if it were her most cherished possession, just as they exited the large publishing house and the cool afternoon air greeted them, “but did we just see the damn Min Yoongi leave that office?”

You simply sighed, feeling the tension radiate from your brother’s body, who hadn’t separated from you since the moment you were ushered away by Choi Dohyun's secretary.

“That was… wow. I don’t even have words.”

Seojun rolled his eyes, and you had to suppress the urge to pinch his side when Yuna turned to look at you with the envelope in her hands while you all waited to see your father’s blue car navigate the avenue.

“Do you think… this means we’ll have more opportunities to meet the seven gods of Olympus than most people?”

Her smile made you feel nauseous, but out of her ignorance, you could do nothing but try to mimic it. Seojun, on the other hand, was making nothing but irritated faces.

“Maybe, if you work harder.”

Yuna let out another squeal of excitement, and you took a deep breath when she turned around to look at the cars again. Seojun wrapped his arm around yours, glaring at anyone who came too close, even by accident.

Your friend kept murmuring in disbelief, and all you could think was that she was probably holding in her hands the worst decision you had ever made.

Whatever the reason for your encounter with Min Yoongi, you had deduced that your bad luck came down to being out of the house. Putting a foot outside the holy altar of your home was proving lethal for your emotional stability, so you spent the rest of the day locked up, managing your social media and overseeing deliveries.

Dohyun had agreed that the publishing house would handle the entire printing, packaging, and shipping process of the books, as purchases were only growing with each passing day. His real offer was to leave you with nothing to do but continue planning your stories, because at that moment, you were a goldmine for him.

“Unbelievable! Jung Hoseok revealed the truth behind the distancing of the Korean entertainment dynasty.”

The voice coming from Yuna’s phone caught your attention. You lifted your head from the blank document on your computer screen, glancing sideways at your friend, who was comfortably sprawled on your bed with a furrowed brow and a conflicted expression, as intrigued as she was worried about what she had just heard.

“These past few days have been tough for the kings of entertainment, as the last public sighting of them was over a week ago when Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jeon Jungkook left the businessman’s building and enthusiastically greeted all their fans. As good followers, we know it’s too strange not to see them often, and the last time this happened was when Jung Hoseok had the accident that prevented him from continuing to play professional tennis.”

Yuna looked intensely focused, biting her nail and awaiting the climax of the video. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny you were a bit curious about what news they would share, knowing that the boys weren’t ones to openly discuss their private matters.

“With their reputations at stake and rumors flying back and forth [how exaggerated], Jung Hoseok had to come out to clarify the situation. His official statement, which was informally published on the famous app Whotalks, said: ‘We’re all fine. Please be patient with us.’ Whether his statement implies misunderstandings among friends that are in the process of being resolved or if we should wait for an official statement from their leader, we’re not sure. But it’s concerning the—”

“Why would they make such a big deal about this if they aren’t even sure what that post implies?”

Yuna paused the video, giving you a confused look, surely thinking you were immersed in whatever you were doing on the computer (nothing), too busy to pay attention to these “insignificances,” as you used to say.

“Y/N, you really have no idea of the magnitude of power these men hold over the entertainment industry. With a snap of their fingers, they could shake everything.”

“And why did they get so much power?”

“They earned it. Through their hard work.”

You couldn’t help the huff that escaped you. You didn’t find what Yuna had said funny because it was true; they had worked incredibly hard to achieve what they had at that moment. At least you knew that their beginnings had been humble. But it annoyed you, inevitably, because you couldn’t control the resentment shaking in your chest. Healing my ass, you hadn’t forgotten anything from the last few years, no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself otherwise. So much effort to force them out of your life, only for them to find a way to disrupt it again in a week as if they had some right.

What a bunch of audacious—

“Oh. A message came in.”

Your friend sat up on the bed, and you sent her a confused look.

“Messages come in every second, Yuna.”

“It’s from a verified account.”

Without lifting her gaze in your direction, you froze in your chair.

“Oh—”

Oh no.

“No fucking way—” Yuna stood up in the bed, exclaiming loudly: “Kim Taehyung is in your DM's!”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“¿¿Huh??”

The words slipped out before you could think twice. From the tense way the words left your mouth, you could tell Yuna was torn between asking more or simply contradicting you. Her eyes moved from the screen to your face, her fingers moving almost imperceptibly over the device.

“You know, every time you make it harder to understand what’s going on with these people.”

Finally, she locked her phone and dropped it on one of your pillows. You had never been a fan; your friend understood that. She had never questioned you about it… except for that random afternoon in this same room when she asked too many questions, but after the encounter with Yoongi that afternoon, you wondered what moment or what would need to happen for her to stop believing that it was just a matter of taste differences and for you to have to tell her the truth.

Before everything that happened a week ago, you had never considered it necessary to talk about it because so much time had passed, and you believed you were at a point where things related to them really didn’t affect you anymore, nor would you ever have to interact with them again to warrant giving your friend a statement. But of course, things were different now, and emotions would continue to clash with one another, and you hated to think that their attitudes meant they were trying to return to your life, or at least get involved to some extent, which would imply, strongly, that you would have to tell Yuna what had happened.

“Have you ever thought that you might have run into him if you had gone to the convention?”

“Yeah...” you sighed in defeat. It was impossible not to consider that alternative, how things might have turned out. If you would still have this overwhelming resentment in your chest or if they would have carved their way back into your heart once more.

The foolish you at eighteen would be thrilled right now.

“And even with that doubt... don’t you have even a little curiosity about what he says?”

You preferred not to, to be honest. You would rather just rip out every memory from your head with tweezers to be able to return to a semi-normal life, where your biggest worry should be saving enough for a trip and not when those damn lunatics were going to leave you alone.

But you found yourself stretching out your arm to take the phone when Yuna handed it to you, a grimace of insecurity settling on your face.

“I’m not going to ask,” Yuna spoke, and you sent her a glance just as she turned on the bed and took her own phone to continue watching her celebrity gossip. “I’m not going to pressure you.”

You didn’t respond. You lowered your gaze to the device in your hands, feeling a mix of relief and bitterness. Well, at least she had given you the opportunity to worry about that later.

The screen lit up, and there it was. A new message from Kim Taehyung.

thv Hi. It’s Jimin.

Huh?

You ?

The read notification arrived almost instantly after you replied. With your brow furrowed, you watched the bubble appear from his side of the chat.

thv I’m sorry for writing from Tae’s account, but you blocked me

Ah. Ah. Right.

After receiving the notification that Jungkook had followed you a few days ago, and especially because he had shown up at your work out of nowhere short after that, you had blocked everyone else with an Instagram account, just to be safe.

A small detail.

You Oh, yeah

That Jimin was trying to contact you, considering the context of the whole situation, wasn’t too outrageous. When you studied together, apart from being the first to start teasing others and fostering friendly banter, he was also the first to try to fix things because he couldn’t stand hostile and tense environments. It’s not that you thought he had a chance to fix anything now, but maybe you were a little interested in what he had to say. After several days, it was inevitable not to feel curious, right?

After the bubble appeared and disappeared several times, the message finally arrived.

thv Do you think we could talk in person?

You No.

thv I promise it'll just be me

You No.

thv It can be anywhere you choose

You I said no If you have something to say, write it If you don’t have anything interesting to say, then I’m going to block this account too

thv No Wait Okay.

The sound of Yuna’s phone had faded into the background of your mind. You kept your eyes on the typing bubble, fearing that maybe Jimin would change his mind and decide not to respond to the questions swirling in your head. Now that he was being so persistent, you were more eager to know. I mean, it was the least you deserved, right? Some kind of answer, some kind of reason, a why. Something to explain everything, because the root of that growing resentment in your chest was due to their lack of communication, to their ease in discarding you like a worthless piece of paper, not even caring if the air swept you away or the rain destroyed you.

They owed you something, and you had the right to an answer. You could have moved on, yes; you thought you had, yes; living with resentment in your heart affected a person’s life, yes... but God would be the only living being on earth and in the universe who wouldn’t feel even a pinch of pain for everything that had happened. For the inexplicable disappearance, for the disconnection, for the destruction of an incredible blind trust that was woven with that friendship you believed to be unconditional but ended up being one-sided. Who could really blame you for being cautious of them?

If when you cultivated that friendship, that friendly love, the fruits they returned to you were rotten, how could you simply trust? Who could?

thv I’m sorry for what happened. I know this was very abrupt, and it must have been strange for you

Strange, for lack of a better word. Strange was a euphemism.

thv I apologize on behalf of everyone.

You I’m not interested

thv If we could meet in person, I could explain better

You I’m not interested. That wouldn’t change anything.

thv I know this goes beyond what happened this week, but I don’t want you to have a bad impression

You You’re a damn audacious one, Jimin Do you think it’s only the latest thing that would make me see you all negatively? Is that the only thing you’ve done? Or well, what you haven’t done either

thv Okay, I expressed myself very poorly I know we were already on bad terms before; I meant that I didn’t want it to get worse

You Well, honestly, I didn’t think it could get worse until now.

thv I’m making it worse

You Wow, apparently you do have awareness and common sense For many years, I thought you lacked that

You blocked the phone, letting it drop onto the table, your heart racing because of the audacity that man had to refer to what had happened as if it were just a silly childhood memory, as if it had simply been a stupid basketball game where you weren’t allowed to play. That only reinforced your thinking, the only plausible reason you had given life to over the past few years, the only explanation you had for their disappearance: that they never cared about you as much as you did about them; that you were never truly fundamental in their lives. Because, come on, they had built a friendship and shared memories before you appeared on the scene; they knew each other beforehand with a depth you could never reach, long before your name reached their ears. They had a connection; you were never ignorant of that; there was something in them that kept them united, something that made them understand each other almost on a spiritual level, and naively, you believed they had made you a part of it; that you had managed to be part of that connection.

But no, it was never like that. It was always one-sided. Whether you were a game, a case of charity, or someone they simply couldn’t say no to, you had no idea, but none of those options felt too foreign to reality. Especially considering the way Jimin referred to the past as if it had been a child's game and nothing more. There was never more for them. You should've known that.

thv I’m really sorry, y/n I truly wish I could talk to you in person I promise I can explain many things

His messages shone on the lock screen, and more than feeling curious again, you felt rage. So now they could talk. Now they could fucking communicate. Where was that willingness ten years ago? Five years ago, even? You never thought you would see any of them so willing to offer you what you had longed for, maybe at least to finally bring closure to the whole situation.

But you didn’t want to give them the right to become the victims in this situation. They had time to do something, yes, now you knew, and they simply chose not to; it was high time you really let it go. Let them go. What would an explanation fix now? When, if there was still something of the friendship you built, it should've crumbled to dust. Their willingness now meant nothing. If you ever saw any of them again, you would rather rip their hair out in a fit of rage.

You Fuck you Fuck all of you

And you blocked Taehyung’s account.

Anticipating any possibility, you also blocked Jungkook and hoped that would be the end of it.

Finally, you would try to seek true healing, because it was about damn time.

You y/n, I'm so sorry y/n? y/n????????????????

Oh no. Taehyung's going to kill me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Speaking of the king of Rome.

Park Jimin flinched, tightening his fingers around the phone he was holding, which clearly wasn’t his, literally caught red-handed. He swallowed hard when his friend’s footsteps drew closer, circling around to face what he feared most.

“Jimin...” Taehyung began, his confused expression turning into caution, quickly shifting his gaze between the phone and the wide-eyed blonde. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Jimin shrank even more, pursing his lips, realizing there was no escape. In his defense, he had fervently believed for a moment that he would succeed. Taehyung hadn’t agreed from the start, especially given how angry Yoongi had been that afternoon when he arrived at the penthouse and how he had locked himself in Namjoon’s office, and the tone of their voices hadn’t diminished for even a second, especially not when Jin arrived an hour later.

Taehyung and Jimin weren’t sure what had happened, but considering the recent events, they could make an educated guess.

It all led back to you.

They were surely paying for what they did.

“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Taehyung strode closer and snatched the phone from Jimin’s tightly clenched hands. Jimin let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the couch as Taehyung began to scroll through the messages, growls escaping his throat.

“I didn’t think she’d be so...”

Jimin hesitated, and when he turned to look at his friend, his furrowed brow silently asked, “are you serious?”

Another defeated sigh escaped him.

“You’re not fixing anything. If Namjoon finds out about this...”

Taehyung didn’t finish his sentence, but Jimin understood. But could any of them really blame him? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! No one was a saint in that place when it came to you. At least he had the decency to try to explain things when the others just charged in as if nothing had ever happened (for now, Taehyung and Jungkook, simply because he still had no idea what had happened with Yoongi).

The problem, of course, was that Jimin was better at comforting someone in person than through messages.

“There's no going back from this.” Taehyung murmured, still focused on the screen. The shine in his eyes gave Jimin an idea of what was going through his mind, and he remained silent until Taehyung looked up. “We really messed up.”

“Did you need this reality check?”

“Did you?” Taehyung frowned. “I don’t know why you expected a different response.”

“Well, what did you expect to happen doing what you did?”

Jimin watched his friend click his tongue.

“What did you expect me to do? I didn’t think it would snowball like this.” Taehyung shook his head, and Jimin barely recalled with a shudder how the atmosphere had felt in the penthouse after Tae had posted that story about your books on his Instagram. “I just wanted...”

Once again, Taehyung chose to remain silent, but in his absence of words, Jimin understood.

To make up for it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to say anything,” Taehyung added, shooting a sideways glance at his blonde friend. “After whatever happened with Yoongi, I don’t even want to imagine how Namjoon would react if he finds out about this.”

“If he finds out what?”

Jimin and Taehyung froze on the couch, watching through the reflection of the TV as the person appeared behind them before they could recognize the friendly yet concerned tone.

Jung Hoseok circled the couch, clearly troubled by what he had just heard. It was evident he had just returned from practice because his hair was wet and he looked somewhat flustered, his cheeks flushed despite the chilly weather that night. He dropped his training bag on one of the armchairs, and Jimin averted his gaze when he caught his friend's eyes. It wasn't that they usually kept secrets and tiptoed around the others, but ever since Jungkook had pulled that stunt of searching for you at work when Namjoon had expressly forbidden it, the waters between them had been a bit tense, and any topic involving you could explode any healthy and cooperative conversation in seconds.

Hoseok crossed his arms, allowing his cheerful expression at finally arriving at the penthouse to fade completely, hardening his features as he shot a stern look at the two young men.

Taehyung also averted his gaze. The moment he heard Hoseok's voice, he tucked the phone between his legs and probably looked tenser than he should have. He, just like Jimin, didn’t dare meet Hoseok’s eyes at that moment. Because Hobi had stopped at the door, and with whom they had in front of them, they couldn't hesitate. They both knew it, they both understood.

And Hoseok knew very well. He was aware of all the tricks the two shared and could sense from their silence that they were up to something. Besides, of course, their conversation had been overly revealing. They had to be thankful it was him who arrived in the midst of their confessions, and of course, he would demand to have a conversation of such gravity with such freedom.

But no, in that house, secrets were not kept.

“If he finds out what?” Hoseok emphasized the words, urging the stubborn young men to keep their mouths shut.

Hoseok then exhaled through his nose in a sigh.

“Is it about y/n?”

Jimin and Taehyung lifted their gazes, a bit tempted but diverting their eyes as if pretending to be uninterested. While the atmosphere had been very tense lately, Hoseok and Jin had kept themselves somewhat distanced from all that unease, mainly because their demanding jobs kept them away from the penthouse most of the time. Namjoon, for his part, couldn’t escape the topic as easily since he had an office at home, initially to monitor them in a healthy way, and now because he felt the need to keep an eye on each of them to prevent them from doing something stupid.

Yoongi... well, maybe he had tried to stay on the sidelines, but he had clearly failed miserably if he had ended up arguing with Namjoon and Jin.

“What did you guys do now?”

Hoseok's severe tone was chilling. Jimin remembered the times he had decided to participate in his dance classes, the few that he taught personally each month, and how he had felt Hoseok’s sharp gaze and his blunt comments about his steps in front of all the students. It was as if he became another person. Although it was terrifying, the two young men admitted it was refreshing to see him like that in the academy, because he had lost a bit of his spark since his accident. Before, he only looked that serene and committed when he was at his tennis practice.

At that moment, however, Jimin and Taehyung appeared more reluctant despite his severe attitude, because they didn’t know if he would spill the beans to Namjoon afterward.

“And what happened with Yoongi?”

The slight softness in his tone made Jimin lift his head. Still with his arms crossed over his chest, Hoseok sat across from them at the table in the center of the room.

Jimin sighed, and Taehyung shot him an alarmed look. Are we really going to give in this quickly?!

“We don’t know what happened with Yoongi. He just arrived in the afternoon, locked himself in the office with Namjoon, and they wouldn’t stop arguing. Then Jin came in, but that didn’t make them stop.”

Hoseok looked up, scanning the hallway. Now the house was silent, perhaps more grave and tense than usual. Hoseok didn’t know how it had come to this and hadn’t sensed that atmosphere immediately.

“Is Jin here?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Taehyung replied, shifting on the couch. “He stormed out of the office a while ago.”

Hoseok grimaced at the mere thought, causing a shiver.

“Then it is about y/n.”

Jimin and Taehyung once again averted their gazes.

“Oh, come on.” Hoseok uncrossed his arms, more frustrated than angry at that moment for not being able to fully understand what was causing so many arguments among his friends. “I’m not going to go talk to Namjoon later, regardless of what you tell me. I just want to understand.”

The two young men exchanged a glance, Hoseok believed, communicating mentally. It was always strange but interesting how those two could understand each other at such a level that often they didn’t even need a look. They could support each other's ideas without overthinking it, just like they were doing at that moment in front of him, and Hoseok couldn’t help but think that this topic could cause them more harm than they realized. That these two were even hesitant to share something with him now, fearing to do so, considering whom they could trust or not, spoke volumes about how this issue was being handled and it was not healthy at all.

Hoseok didn’t know that Namjoon had been arguing. The only time he had talked about that topic with the others was when Jungkook’s incident happened, because by crossing such a clear and blatant line, Namjoon saw the need to have a group meeting to set some ground rules. But whatever had continued to happen that he was unaware of was creating cracks in the trust of all the members, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I wrote to her on Taehyung’s Instagram,” Jimin began, looking down with his hands intertwined on his legs. “And I might have made things a lot worse...”

“Might have?” Taehyung turned to look at the blonde, who barely raised his head to meet his gaze before Hoseok interrupted.

“And what did you say to her?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. “I asked if we could meet in person, and when she said no, I just tried to apologize for everything.”

“Don’t forget that you proceeded to carry out a rather undisguised gaslighting.” Taehyung added.

“I didn’t manipulate her!”

“You spoke to her as if everything that happened didn’t matter at all!”

“That’s not how it was! I just expressed myself very poorly,” Jimin exclaimed, facing Taehyung’s accusations, who remained with his arms crossed and chin raised, clearly in disagreement with him. “You, more than anyone, know that I don’t communicate well through text.”

“Because you overthink everything. You didn’t even need to text her in the first place. I told you it was a terrible idea. Now she hates us even more!”

“Did she say that?” Hoseok intervened.

Taehyung gave him a disbelieving look.

“And I quote: fuck all of you.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Taehyung looked angry, and Jimin appeared offended that Taehyung was so upset about what he had done, in addition to misrepresenting his words, if Hoseok understood correctly. But the brown-haired guy had a point: it had indeed been a terrible idea, and Namjoon would lose all his hair if he found out. He understood Jimin’s motivation for trying to reach out, but Hoseok felt Jimin had lost some tact in the process by approaching you just to find a quick solution. Clearly, the atmosphere in the penthouse was affecting everyone, and not in a good way. He couldn’t judge or blame Jimin for trying to lighten the situation for both parties, even if he could have approached it differently.

So Hoseok sighed, understanding the magnitude of the problem they had, and turned to the two young men who were now looking at him attentively, after recently avoiding his gaze as if their lives depended on it.

“How did you think you were going to meet her with the level of fame you have?”

Hoseok knew Jimin had acted on impulse, and perhaps addressing the underlying reasoning would make him think better next time, if there was one.

Jimin opened his lips slightly, confused.

“I... I don’t know, but I would've found a way.”

Taehyung scoffed. That would have been impossible because, surely, only after Jungkook, Jimin was one of the most recognizable faces in the industry and, therefore, couldn’t walk freely down the streets without having a horde of fans behind him within seconds. If, for some divine reason, you had agreed to meet with Jimin, then he would have exposed you too much to the public eye and you would have had more problems before getting any answers.

“There’s no way, Jimin.” Hoseok spoke, as the blonde shot a fierce look at his brown-haired companion. “We’re no longer in a small town.”

The two young men turned to the elder, putting their silly squabbles aside. A feeling of nostalgia and longing filled the air, embracing them and bringing to the surface poorly buried memories in the gardens of their minds; the gusts of Hoseok’s words uncovered them easily.

“We can’t afford that luxury now. We lost the opportunity a long time ago.” Hoseok reminded them, with a hint of discord in his voice.

Taehyung hated remembering those times. Having had his hands tied, sealing his mouth voluntarily, believing he had no other option... it completely sickened him. For a long time, regret had physically drained him.

“I won’t talk to Namjoon, don’t worry.” Hoseok assured them, and although the two young men should've breathed with relief, the truth was that they already felt too shaken. “But be more careful about where you talk about these things.”

“What things?”

“Fuck!”

Taehyung jumped off the couch when the voice came from his right, being the closest to the source. The three friends turned to see Yoongi, walking down the hallway from his room to the main living area of the penthouse.

“Are you guys sharing secrets?”

Instead of being scared, Jimin and Taehyung fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted breath. Yoongi shot a confused look at Hoseok, who returned it with a more severe expression.

“Come here, Yoongi. We need to talk.”

i hope you guys enjoyed! and thanks to my friend for helping my unresponsive overworked ass.

[Friend: I don't know if the tags worked. I'm sorry!]

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @11thenightwemet11 @yoongznme @queenbloody @lynnettys-world @darlingz99 @dreamerwasfound @chaotickyrith @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthigs @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @kariningss @juju-227592 @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @jincapableoflove @notrustfratedjin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison @ismelllikechlorine247 @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife @thatgirliehan @yuuuumii @welcometomyworld13 @sugarbaby69x @whoa-jo @cerulean1riz @kawennote09 @angelfuzzy2 @themoonsblueside @damn-u-min-yoongi

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chaoticforever · 27 days ago

Text

When Perfect Cracks | Eddie Diaz x Male! Reader

Summary: To the outside world, it seemed like everything was perfect. Y/n had a boyfriend who loved him, a job he worked hard for, and a life finally falling into place. But Y/n had learned long ago that perfection often came with a price.

A/n: Shoutout to the person who requested this. It’s been fun writing for the 9-1-1 fandom and I liked writing this.

It's often said that time flies when you're having fun, but being in love and sharing those happy moments with that special someone takes it to a whole new level, making time pass by even more quickly.

One year.

That’s how long Y/n L/n and Eddie Diaz had been a couple. Looking back, it was almost comical how they started dating, considering the two hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. In fact, Y/n couldn’t stand Eddie, to say the least. And Eddie? Oh, he hadn’t been too fond of Y/n either.

It all started with the parking lot incident at the grocery store. Y/n could still hear Eddie’s exasperated tone, accusing him of backing into his truck when, in reality, Eddie was the one who hit him, leaving a nice, ugly dent in Y/n's car. The man had the audacity to argue, crossing his arms with that infuriating, know-it-all look like he had never been wrong a day in his life.

Realistically, Y/n should’ve called the cops, but he’d been in a rush and didn’t have time to deal with it. He just hoped he’d never have to see that dude again.

Fate, though, had other plans.

On his day off, thanks to some saved-up PTO, Y/n got a text from his best friend and roommate, Buck, asking if he could drop off the lunch he’d forgotten at their apartment. Being the good friend he was — and knowing how much Buck liked his cooking — Y/n agreed and headed to the 118 firehouse to drop it off and bounce.

And that’s when Buck introduced him to the team. Surprisingly, one of them was the one who dented his car — Eddie Diaz. The moment Eddie saw him, he let out a little sigh, as if Y/n’s mere presence was some kind of personal inconvenience. It probably was, but that was Eddie's fault. Their conversation that day? Well, it was nothing but passive-aggressive remarks.

So, yeah, Y/n was not a fan. He thought Eddie was arrogant, pompous, and far too smug for someone who acted like being a firefighter made him superior.

As it turned out, the animosity was a two-way street. Y/n later found out from Buck that Eddie had called him stuck-up. Annoying. Said he didn’t understand why Buck was friends with someone like him.

Y/n knew It would have stayed that way — two people who did not tolerate each other, held together only by their mutual friendship with Buck — if it hadn’t been for that one sunny afternoon at the park.

The 118 had been hosting a community event for local kids, setting up obstacle courses, fire safety demos, and fun little challenges. He had only agreed to attend because Buck wanted him to help out, and Y/n figured it was a decent way to spend a Saturday. He wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to give back, so he set up a barbecue station, grilling sausages, burgers, and hot dogs for the attendees.

And then he saw Eddie with the children.

A little girl, barely six, had stumbled and scraped her knee. Y/n went to help, but Eddie got there first, kneeling down with a gentleness that caught him off guard, to be honest. Eddie's voice was warm and reassuring as he told her she was strong, it was just a scratch, that he’d had worse but always got back up. She sniffled, nodded, and, without hesitation, held out her arms for Eddie to pick her up after he finished bandaging her knee.

Y/n hadn't expected Eddie to be so kind. It was one thing to know that Eddie's job as a firefighter involved helping people, but it was quite another to see him do it off the clock with such genuine warmth and compassion. Y/n had anticipated a more gruff, no-nonsense approach, but instead, Eddie was gentle, patient, and encouraging. Just like he encouraged a nervous young boy to climb up the mini firefighter obstacle course. He certainly hadn't expected to see that little display. And Y/n definitely hadn’t expected the way his own heart softened at the sight.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t the arrogant jerk Y/n had thought he was. Eddie, it seemed, had misjudged Y/n as well. He assumed that Y/n was too stuck-up to bother with something as humble as volunteering at a community event. Yet as he watched Y/n flip burgers and hotdogs on the grill, he was surprised to see that Y/n was not only present but also actively participating and helping out.

But somewhere between setting up activity stations together and laughing at a group of kids who somehow ended up covered in paint, the tension between them shifted. And later that day, the two talked — really talked. No snark. No jabs. Just two people realizing they had been wrong about each other in the beginning.

That day changed everything.

What followed was polite conversations that quickly turned into playful teasing. Then, Y/n and Eddie were hanging out with each other. Soon, they had late-night talks, both in person and over the phone.

Before either of them fully realized it, something more had started to form. Feelings they hadn’t anticipated. Eddie was the one who made the first move by both asking him out and kissing him first.

Now, a year later, here they were, celebrating their first anniversary. Who would have thought? Certainly not Y/n. However, he surely wasn’t complaining because he had fallen in love with Eddie. And that was one thing he’d never regret.

Y/n slipped on a deep, rich blue shirt over his white tee, fingers working the buttons just as Buck nearly walked past his room. He had just gotten in, heading toward the bathroom, but paused when he caught sight of Y/n getting dressed.

"Well, look at you," Buck stepped into the doorway and gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Dressed up. Got big plans?"

Y/n rolled his eyes. Buck was more than aware of his plans tonight and what day he was celebrating. Hell, Buck has been celebrating today more than Y/n himself.

In fact, Buck had been making sure that Y/n knew he was aware, by sending him a barrage of "Happy Anniversary" texts — fifteen, to be exact — early that morning. But that wasn't all he did, not even close. His roommate had also brought him a cake with a sappy anniversary message, posted a shoutout to him and Eddie on his Instagram story, and recommended the restaurant they were going to. Granted, Buck mentioned it months ago and they decided to check it out tonight, but still.

Regardless, Y/n decided to play along, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "Nah, Buck, I just enjoy wearing dressy shirts while lounging around our apartment."

Buck chuckled. "Right. Because nothing says 'lazy night in' like a button-up shirt and cologne I can smell from the hall."

"Maybe I want to smell nice for myself."

"Or maybe you just want to smell nice for Eddie," Buck teased, wiggling his brows.

Y/n shook his head as he finished buttoning up his shirt and started adjusting his collar. Okay, fine, Buck wasn’t exactly wrong. He’d chosen this new Versace cologne because he knew Eddie would like it, but he wasn't going to admit that to Buck, not out loud, at least. "You're impossible," saying that showed how Buck was right on point about Y/n.

"And yet, you continue to put up with me," the blue-eyed firefighter fired back. "So, where are you and Romeo going tonight?"

"That place you wouldn’t shut up about — Desiderata," Y/n replied, smoothing down his shirt. "And before you say anything, yes, I made the reservation a month ago."

Quickly, Buck held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m just making sure you don’t mess this up. One year with Eddie Diaz is a big deal. The man practically had a heart attack picking out your gift."

Y/n paused mid-motion, turning to Buck with narrowed eyes. "Wait, what?" Eddie got him a gift? Even after Y/n had made it abundantly clear he did not want a gift.

Blue eyes widened as if Buck had let slip a secret he hadn't meant to share. Upon realization, Buck quickly shook his head. "Nothing. Just forget I said anything." The words tumbled out in a rush, and he didn't wait for Y/n to reply before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

"Oh, no you don’t." Y/n grabbed his phone and then followed Buck into the kitchen, where his friend was already rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out a bag of chips. "Buck, spill it. What did Eddie get me? It better not be anything expensive."

"I am sworn to secrecy." Buck zipped his lips, making a show of locking them shut and throwing away the imaginary key. "Besides, it’s better if you see it yourself."

Y/n groaned. He really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. He wasn’t a fan of receiving gifts in general, but if Eddie had gone all out, Y/n was going to have words. That money could’ve been spent on Christopher or on something actually important rather than getting him stuff.

"Fine. I’ll just wait and see for myself." He checked his phone, noting the time. If he wanted to make it to the restaurant on time, he had to leave now. But before heading out, Y/n had one last question. "Yo, weren’t you supposed to go out with, uh... the reporter chick? Tyra?"

"Taylor," his roommate corrected, as he opened up the fridge and grabbed a can of Pepsi. "And she had to cover a story tonight, so our date's been rescheduled."

Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could pry further, his phone buzzed in his hands. He looked down at it and saw Eddie’s name flash across the screen.

Eddie: I’m at the restaurant. Take your time, but just know every second you make me wait, I’m mentally judging you.

A chuckle escaped Y/n as he shook his head and pocketed his phone. "Alright, I’m leaving. You good if I head out now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go have your disgustingly romantic evening," Buck waved him off. He picked up the soda can and the bag of chips and headed into the living room, clearly ready to spend the evening doing his own thing. "I'll be here, watching the game," he plopped down in the armchair with a comfortable sigh. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV before adding. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That doesn't leave room for much, man, especially the good stuff." and that little comment was definitely a dig at Buck's playboy past before he toned it down.

"Hey!"

Y/n’s laughter echoed as he grabbed his keys from the metal hook and left their apartment, locking the door behind him. The drive to the restaurant wasn’t long, but his mind kept drifting back to Buck’s slip-up about Eddie’s gift. He really, really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. Y/n didn’t need anything fancy. Spending the night with Eddie was more than enough.

Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, he shifted the car into park and checked himself in the rearview mirror. His shirt? Smooth and crisp. Hair? Decent enough. Lips? Soft and chap-free. He was ready.

When he walked inside, Y/n realized that Buck wasn't exaggerating — this place was fancy. The restaurant featured gold chandeliers that hung above the patrons, pristine white tablecloths covering the tables, sleek lanterns with LED candles, a violinist playing soft, classical music, and even a waterfall inside, cascading down rocks with a soft, calming sound.

And he quickly spotted Eddie, who was sitting at a table near the waterfall. Dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, Eddie was focused on his phone, completely unaware of the effect he was already having on Y/n. Eddie looked really good.

He is doing this on purpose, Y/n thought. He has to be. Eddie had to know how good he looked, how those damn rolled-up sleeves highlighted his toned arms, the ones Y/n had admired more times than he’d ever admit out loud.

Y/n walked over, stopping at the chair meant for him. "How’s the date so far?"

At the sound of his voice, Eddie looked up. The moment their eyes met, a small, knowing smirk curled at his lips, the one that never failed to make Y/n’s stomach flip. His gaze lingered, taking in the deep blue shirt, the way it complimented Y/n’s skin, the way he smelled — Y/n could tell from the look in Eddie’s hazel eyes that the cologne choice had been a success.

"So far?" Eddie teased, locking his phone and setting it face down. "Pretty boring. But I think it just got a whole lot better."

"Smooth Diaz."

"Only for you." Eddie gestured to the seat across from him. "Now sit before people think I got stood up on my anniversary."

Y/n huffed out a laugh and slid into the seat, taking another glance around. "You know, Buck wasn’t wrong — this place is nice. It almost feels like we should have worn tuxes or a suit jacket." He reached for the menu but didn’t open it, instead letting his gaze drift back to Eddie. "And you look handsome, by the way. Though I see you went with the ‘roll the sleeves up and make Y/n suffer’ look. Bold choice."

Eddie smirked, casually leaning forward, and resting his forearms on the table. “Oh? You noticed?” His voice was all feigned innocence, however, his expression gave him away, revealing the truth behind his words. Eddie knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it on purpose.

Y/n scoffed, opening the menu to avoid looking at Eddie too much. "Hard not to."

The h/c hair male let his eyes skim over the food options, debating what to order. Normally, he’d go for something simple when he went out, such as a burger or a cheesesteak, but tonight, he figured he’d try something new; different. Something a little more fitting for tonight's occasion.

"How was work?" Eddie suddenly asked.

Y/n let out a deep sigh, setting the menu aside and rubbing his temple as if trying to massage away the stress of the day. "Very exhausting," he answered, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and relief. "I had to spend most of the day working out a strategy to close the Morgan deal. It's been dragging on for weeks, and my boss was breathing down my neck for a solid proposal by the end of the day." He sighed again, his shoulders sagging a bit as Y/n relived the monotony of his day. "So, basically, I spent my day working on the Morgan deal, staring at spreadsheets, crunching numbers, speaking to clients, and pretending like I didn't want to throw my computer out of the nearest window."

Eddie nodded. "So, a typical finance day?"

"Pretty much," Y/n muttered. "Except this time, if I screw up, we lose a multi-million-dollar deal. No pressure, though."

Except all Y/n had felt was pressure. He knew that he couldn't afford to screw up this deal, not when so much was riding on it. If he failed, he would not only lose the deal, but also his chance at getting a promotion, and that was something Y/n had desperately wanted for a while now.

The promotion would bring with it a significant pay increase, more benefits, and, most importantly, a private office, something Y/n always wanted. No more cramped cubicles, no more distractions, no more shared workspace. Just his own four walls and a door with his name on it.

Eddie studied Y/n, his head tilting to the side in a subtle, thoughtful gesture. "You don't screw up," the words that followed were a statement, not a question, and they were laced with a quiet confidence that was reassuring in Y/n's intelligence.

Y/n's eyebrows shot up, his expression skeptical. "You sound pretty sure of that." Judging from his tone, Y/n, undoubtedly, wanted Eddie to explain the basis for his confidence in him, and the man sure did.

"Because I am." Eddie shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re a smart guy, and you always work hard. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you."

Hearing that caused Y/n to feel warmth blooming in his chest. Eddie had a way of making him feel like he was capable of anything, even when he doubted himself. This guy sure did have a way with words.

"Thanks," he gave a small, grateful smile. "Hopefully, my boss feels the same way."

Just then, a waiter approached their table. A young man with a friendly smile and an immaculately crisp uniform. "Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Nathan, and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?"

Eddie turned his attention to Y/n with a questioning look. "What are you feeling?"

"Hmm," Y/n's e/c eyes scanned the menu once more, his fingers tracing the edges of the page as he deliberated on his drink of choice. "I'll take a whiskey sour."

Both of Eddie's eyebrows shot up from Y/n's choice. "Going strong tonight, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Y/n confirmed without missing a beat. "I deserve this after the day I had."

Eddie's head nodded to the side as if to say that he agreed with Y/n's decision to treat himself to a stronger drink without verbally speaking. His gaze then shifted to Nathan. "I will take a Maui margarita."

Nathan's pencil moved, the tip gliding smoothly across the small notepad in his left hand as he quickly jotted down the drink orders. "Alright, I'll be back with your drinks shortly." He sent another grin.

Once the waiter left, Y/n asked about Eddie's Saturday, and Eddie explained that had spent the day watching movies with his kid and baking cookies with him.

However, their little baking endeavors had been less than successful, with the cookies emerging from the oven burnt to a crisp. In fact, they were so severely charred that even Christopher, who was typically eager to taste Eddie's food, had declined to take a bite. So, he pretty much spent his time baking for nothing. Even then, he couldn't blame Christopher for not taking a simple bite out of them.

After all, when Eddie, himself, had mustered the courage to try one of the cookies himself, he had been forced to concede that they were, indeed, inedible, which was the kindest way of putting it.

That is precisely why Y/n had taken it upon himself to handle all the baking duties whenever he visited Eddie's place. He had even assumed the role of head chef, not because Eddie was a bad cook — on the contrary, Eddie was quite good at cooking — but Y/n had always learned to appreciate the value of edible food.

Pretty soon, their drinks arrived, and Nathan set a whiskey sour in front of Y/n and a Maui margarita in front of Eddie. Then, Nathan took their food orders, jotting down Y/n's selection of the Grilled Chicken Alfredo and Eddie's choice of the New Orleans Pasta, before leaving to put their orders in.

Once the waiter left again, Y/n lifted his glass to his lips and savored a slow sip of his whiskey sour, eyeing Eddie over the rim of the glass. He had been trying to resist the urge to mention the surprise gift Eddie had gotten him, knowing it was to be a secret until the right moment. He tried to respect the surprise. But yeah, he couldn't do it. He had to say something.

"So…" Y/n's lips parted and the word left his lips in a languid, drawn-out manner. "Word on the street is you got me a gift."

Eddie's eyes widened in surprise, his finger, which had been absently tracing the rim of his glass, stilled as he blinked in reaction to Y/n's words. A sigh left his mouth and he shook his head. "Damn it, Buck," he muttered to himself, his voice low and resigned. "I should've known he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut," the firefighter found his gaze on Y/n. "I specifically told him not to say anything."

"Yeah, well, it’s Buck," Y/n said matter-of-factly. "Keeping secrets isn’t exactly his strong suit." He pushed his drink aside and leaned forward. "What did you get me? I told you not to get me anything."

"And I ignored you," Eddie replied smoothly, unapologetically disregarding Y/n's wishes. "Because I wanted to get you something special. And before you start, no, what I got you is not expensive."

Y/n’s lips flattened into a thin line and he shot him a look. "That's what people say when it is expensive. So, what is it, huh?"

Eddie could see there was no way out of this. He had planned to give Y/n the gift after dinner, but he knew how persistent Y/n was, and there was no chance he’d drop it until he saw it. With a sigh, Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it on the table right in front of his boyfriend.

Y/n stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. He wondered what was inside there. It had to be some type of jewelry, judging by the box. And for one panicked second, the e/c-eyed man's brain jumped to the craziest possibility that there was a ring inside. Oh, he hoped not. He loved Eddie, but the idea of marriage, at least at this point during their relationship, was not something he was ready to consider.

All of a sudden, his thoughts screeched to a halt. He paused, his eyes still fixed on the box, as a new comment formed in his mind: now wait a damn minute—?

"This looks expensive."

"Shut up and open it, Y/n."

Without waiting another moment, Y/n picked up the box and lifted the lid open. He let out an internal sigh of relief when he saw that it wasn’t a ring. Thank God. Nestled inside was a sleek silver chain necklace, simple yet elegant, resting on a soft, red cushion. His eyes traced over the delicately engraved plate in the center, reading the words etched into the metal.

Siempre contigo.

Y/n looked up at Eddie with a questioning look in his eyes. "What does this mean?"

Eddie's expression underwent a subtle transformation, his features softening into something more... affectionate. He reached for his drink and took a slow sip of it. "It means: Always with you."

Always with you. It was three little words, but the meaning behind them, especially in this context, carried so much weight. Y/n stared at Eddie, something in his chest tightening. He glanced back down at the necklace, then back at Eddie, who was watching him with that steady gaze — the one that meant he was waiting for Y/n to voice his opinion on the necklace.

For a moment, Y/n didn’t know what to say and was rendered momentarily mute. He simply held the necklace in his palm, feeling the cool weight of it against his skin. Eddie wasn’t usually the most openly expressive guy, but he had a way of showing how much he cared without needing to say it outright. And this? This was exactly that, and it was so touching.

The words tumbled out of Y/n's lips in a soft, barely audible whisper, as if he was still attempting to process the reality of the gift. "You really got this for me?" and Y/n's voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

Eddie's head nodded, a gentle, affirming motion as he replied, "Yes. I know you're not big on gifts, but I wanted you to have something from me. Something you can wear every day — if you want to, that is." He just shrugged and he looked almost sheepish, his eyes dropping to the table before rising back up to meet Y/n's gaze head-on. "I just… I wanted you to have something that reminded you I’m always here. No matter how crazy work gets, how tough life becomes for you, or how stressed you are — I’m with you. Always."

Y/n swallowed. He wasn't typically the emotional type, but there was something about Eddie's words, about the necklace, that had touched a deep chord within him. And dammit, Eddie really knew how to get to him, how to slip past every last one of his defenses and make his heart ache in the best way possible. He ran his finger over the smooth silver, tracing the engraving with his thumb. It was perfect.

He really, really liked it.

Actually— "I love it," Y/n said, pulling the necklace from the box and unclasping it. Eddie's hand shot out, taking the jewelry from his hands. Moving around the table, he quickly fastened it around Y/n’s neck.

"There we go," Eddie murmured once it was secured. Though, his hands lingered for a moment, grazing the warm skin at the nape of Y/n’s neck before he settled into his seat. "Now you’re stuck with me."

Y/n laughed, adjusting the necklace so it sat just right. "I’ve been stuck with you since the day you put that dent in my car."

"You put that dent in your own car."

"That’s debatable," and it was funny how, even after all this time, neither of them had backed down from blaming the other for that infamous parking lot incident. It was a lifelong argument now, one they’d probably continue to have decades down the line. "You know, this is kind of unfair, right? Now I feel my gift for you sucks."

Eddie looked genuinely surprised. "You got me a gift?" he sounded shocked, too.

“Of course," Y/n confirmed, "I did. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?"

Eddie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “And here you were, giving me a whole speech about not wanting a gift, only to turn around and get me one, too."

"Yeah, yeah," Y/n dismissively waved Eddie off, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a black box. "Guess I’m a hypocrite." And, honestly? Y/n knew that.

Eddie took the box with a curious look before opening it up. Inside sat a sleek, silver watch with a deep black leather strap. It was classic, elegant, and exactly Eddie’s style. Eddie's lips parted slightly as he traced the edge of the watch face.

Y/n studied Eddie’s expression closely and he could tell that he liked it. "I know you’ve been wanting another watch since your old one broke. I figured I would save you the trouble of having to shop for one."

Eddie was still staring at the watch like he couldn’t quite believe Y/n had gotten him one. "Y/n, this is — this is amazing."

"Oh, I know," for a watch that cost eight hundred bucks, it better be nothing short of amazing. "I have great taste, don't I?"

Eddie's eyes lifted, meeting Y/n's gaze as a soft, breathy laugh escaped his lips. "You really didn't have to do this," he said.

Y/n tilted his head slightly. "And yet, I did."

Following that, Eddie's face broke into a wide, joyful smile as he removed the watch from its cushion sliding it onto his wrist. He fastened the buckle, making a slight adjustment to get the fit just right, before holding his arm out to admire the way the watch looked on him. "Perfect," he declared. And then, without warning, he leaned across the table, and grabbed Y/n's face, his fingers wrapping around Y/n's jaw. Before Y/n could even react, Eddie's lips were on his, pressing into a brief, but intense kiss. It was enough to make Y/n’s heart race as he kissed him back, his fingers gripping Eddie’s wrist before the firefighter finally pulled away.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," Eddie laced his hand with Y/n’s as his thumb traced a soothing pattern over Y/n's knuckles.

The h/c-haired man gave a little squeeze to his hand. "Happy anniversary, Eddie."

And yeah, Y/n was happy that night. Really happy. It was one of those rare, perfect nights where everything aligned just right, where nothing felt off or out of place. However, sometimes, Y/n worried when things got too perfect. Life had this way of pulling the rug out from under you and throwing curveballs when you least expected it. He’d felt that firsthand when his ex-boyfriend of two years, Brant, had cheated on him the moment Y/n had let himself believe things were solid. Brant's infidelity had left him shattered and for a long time, he had struggled to trust again.

But Eddie was different. He wasn’t Brant. He was steady. Reliable. The kind of guy who said Siempre contigo and meant it. Y/n knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Eddie. Not tonight. Not ever.

The gift was thoughtful. The restaurant was beautiful. And the company? Well, that was the best part. Or so he thought. Because later, when the two men ended up in Eddie’s bedroom after their dinner…

Yeah, Y/n had no choice but to revise his previous stance. That was the best part.

XXXXX XXXXX

Y/n stood before the mirror, making a slight adjustment to the cap on his head to ensure it was perfectly straight. It had been weeks since he had a Saturday off from work, and he planned to make the most of his free day. Eddie suggested spending the day outside, and Y/n had thrown out the idea of going to Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier, a place he had always wanted to visit but never had the chance to since moving to L.A. it seemed like the perfect way to spend the day with both Eddie and Christopher.

A timer beeped from the kitchen. Turning away from the mirror, Y/n sauntered into the kitchen, where he slipped on a pair of orange mittens before opening the oven. He pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, setting them on the table as he kicked the oven door closed behind him. Since Eddie's previous attempt at baking had resulted in a batch of burnt cookies, Y/n had taken it upon himself to make a batch of non-burnt ones for Christopher.

Right on cue, Eddie strolled into the kitchen, his eyes immediately locking onto the cookies like a man on a mission.

"Finally, they're done. Smells so good," Eddie’s hand reached out, intending to grab a cookie and shove it down his throat. Just as his fingers were about to make contact with the tray, Y/n swooped in and slapped Eddie's hand away with a playful swat. Eddie's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and he looked up at Y/n with a mock-offended expression from being denied one. "What did you do that for?"

"These cookies are for Christopher," Y/n answered. "Besides, they just got out of the oven, so they need a minute to cool."

"These cookies are for me too. Sharing is caring, as they say, cariño." Eddie's hand, once again, reached for a cookie, as if hoping to sneak one past Y/n's defenses by using the affectionate term to try and melt Y/n's resolve. But Y/n was having none of it and smacked Eddie's hand away a second time. "You know," he crossed his arms, "you’re kinda cruel for making the whole house smell like fresh cookies and then not letting me have one when I am clearly in need of a cookie fix."

"And I'm in need of some sunscreen for today. So how about you go check if you have some? Then you can have a cookie."

Eddie's face scrunched up in a scowl, and he muttered something under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen. Y/n didn't quite catch what he had said, and he thought he was in the clear. Just then, Eddie paused and suddenly turned around. In a flash, he snatched a cookie off the tray and made a run for it, dashing out of the kitchen before Y/n could even react and, at least, attempt to stop him. That damn man.

Shaking his head, Y/n grabbed a spatula and started transferring the cookies into a plastic container. Prior to sealing it, he picked one up and took a bite, deciding to try for himself and... wow. He mentally patted himself on the back. The cookies turned out really good. Christopher was certainly going to love them. And Eddie—

The sudden knock at the front door broke the spell of Y/n's cookie-induced reverie, and he was jolted back to reality. I wonder who that could be, Y/n thought as his feet carried him to the front door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a woman with green eyes and brown hair that fell in loose waves down her back. What caught Y/n's attention, however, was her impressive height — she was very tall for a woman. Y/n didn't know who she was. He had never seen her before.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

In return, the woman threw him a friendly smile, but it was tempered by a hint of confusion that danced in her eyes. "…Hi," her greeting was polite, courteous, but slightly hesitant, as if she was unsure of herself. Her gaze briefly dropped to the phone in her hand, as if double-checking something before refocusing on Y/n, "I'm sorry, I think I might've gotten the wrong address. I was looking for Eddie Diaz...?"

"Oh, then you have the right place. I’ll go get him. Who should I say is here—?" He ended his question in a curious manner. It wasn’t just for introductions. Y/n was also trying to figure out if Eddie had ever mentioned this woman before, and if so, what their relationship was like. Was she a friend of Eddie's? Or a family member?

The woman's mouth opened to answer Y/n's question. However, her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps, which was getting louder by the second. She stopped mid-breath, with her head moving slightly to the side.

Eddie sauntered into the living room, a bottle of sunscreen clutched in his hand, eyes fixed on the label. "You're in luck. I still have a lot — well, some — sunscreen left for you. I think I’ve earned another cookie, don't you?" He looked up, but his expression faltered as his gaze landed on the woman standing in the doorway. His eyes widened in shock, and Y/n saw a flicker of some expression on Eddie's face. Anger or, maybe, annoyance if Y/n had to guess. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, whose name Y/n still didn’t know, stared at Eddie in the way people do when they haven’t seen someone in a long time. Her eyes roamed over his face, reacquainting herself with every feature.

Then, with a subtle straightening of her back, she swallowed hard, and a small, tentative smile began to shape on her lips. The smile was hesitant, almost shy, and it seemed to tremble on the edge of her mouth, testing the waters. And it was accompanied by a greeting: "Hi, Eddie."

Y/n shifted uncomfortably by the door, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the mysterious woman. A sudden sense of awkwardness washed over him. Y/n felt like an intruder in this home as if he had now stumbled into a private conversation that wasn't meant for his ears. "Uh, who is this?" He asked, evidently directing his question to Eddie.

"This is Shannon," Eddie answered, his gaze never leaving her face as he spoke.

Oh. This was Shannon. As in Eddie’s ex-wife and Christopher’s mother Shannon. Well, this has caused Y/n to feel even more awkward. This is the woman who had left Eddie to raise their son on his own. Y/n had heard the painful story from Eddie, about how Shannon had abandoned them to care for her mother, but also to get away from Eddie. She disappeared, leaving Eddie to pick up the pieces and raise Christopher by himself. What really stuck out to Y/n was the fact that she had never come back to visit her own son or called to check in. Not even once, and that was messed up.

"Oh," Y/n said, the word escaping his lips as a default response because he didn't know what else to say at this moment. After a beat, more words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Well, uh… come inside." Y/n stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

Upon doing that, Eddie's eyes snapped to his, a look of warning or perhaps even annoyance flashing across his features. Y/n met his gaze with a sheepish shrug, apologizing silently, but he genuinely did not know what else to do in this type of situation. He didn't have a script for how to handle the arrival of Eddie's ex-wife at this moment, and he was simply trying to roll with it. Besides, Shannon was clearly here for a reason, and the two men had a good idea of what that reason might be.

Shannon nodded her thanks to Y/n as she stepped across the threshold, into the house. Y/n closed the door behind her, his eyes darting to Eddie as he tried to read his reaction. Eddie's shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, and his entire demeanor screamed that he was not pleased to see Shannon as he watched her walk into the living room.

Shannon's eyes roamed the living room, taking in the surroundings. It was as if she was trying to reassemble a puzzle, piecing together the fragments of a life she had purposely left behind years ago.

Her attention lingered on the framed photographs, though. Some of the photos showed Christopher alone, his bright smile capturing the camera's lens, his school photos, snapshots from the park, pictures at the carnival, and other moments from his childhood. But it was the photos of Christopher with Eddie that seemed to hold her attention the longest.

There was tension. The kind that settled heavily in the air and made the silence feel unbearable. But the silence was broken by Eddie’s voice cutting through, finally. "Why are you here, Shannon?"

"I—" Shannon let out a tiny breath, finally shifting her gaze back to Eddie, meeting his stare head-on. Her green eyes locked onto his hazel eyes. "I wanted to speak to you. And I wanted to see Christopher."

Once Shannon's words escaped her lips, Eddie's head began to shake to convey his disagreement. What exactly he was disagreeing with, Y/n couldn't tell. Was it the idea of talking to him, or the notion of seeing Christopher? Or was it both? It was most likely a no to both statements.

Just as the tension in the room seemed to be reaching a boiling point, the sound of soft footsteps echoed down the hall, as if an unseen force had been watching the interaction and decided to intervene. Christopher appeared in the living room with a bright smile on his face. He had his Dodgers cap on and his excitement for the day was obvious in his features.

Christopher's bright smile and energetic demeanor came to an abrupt halt as his gaze landed on his mom, standing in the room with them His eyes widened, taking in the sight of her after all these years.

"…Mommy…?" he breathed, his tone uncertain, as if he was unsure if he was seeing things, if this was all just a dream or a trick of the mind. He took one step forward, never letting his eyes leave Shannon's face. "Is that really you?"

Shannon felt her heart tighten in her chest. She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, Christopher. It’s really me."

Without another second wasted, Christopher rushed forward. Shannon immediately knelt to meet him, wrapping him in her arms as tightly as he held onto her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go, leaving him with the memories of this fleeting moment. It was intense.

"I missed you so much," Christopher whispered into his mother's shirt.

"I missed you too, baby," she responded, as she lifted Christopher up into the air. She squeezed him tightly, never wanting to let him go, never wanting this moment to end. Tears formed in Shannon's eyes and she buried her face in her son's hair.

Finally, Christopher pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His face was bright with excitement. "I have so much to tell you! Dad and I were going to the pier today! And Y/n was coming too!" He turned to Eddie. "Can she come with us?"

The room seemed to freeze. Eddie didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, but his gaze did soften slightly upon seeing how happy his son was at this moment.

Seconds stretched unbearably. Shannon turned to Eddie, too. "I would love to go," she said gently. "If that’s okay with you."

Eddie's sharp exhalation through his nose was a telltale sign of his internal struggle, as he stood there, his eyes cast downward at the floor. Y/n could almost see the battle raging inside Eddie's head. He didn't want Shannon to join them on their little trip. That much was obvious. However, Christopher was looking at him with those big, hopeful eyes — the ones Eddie had never been able to say no to.

And Shannon must've known that too, because she wisely chose to wait, to let the situation unfold without forcing the issue. She didn't try to persuade Eddie, didn't attempt to guilt trip him or beg for his permission. Instead, she allowed her son's excitement to do the talking for her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Alright," he finally surrendered to the inevitability of the situation. "You can come with us to the Pier." He added.

Christopher's face lit up with a radiant grin as he turned back to his mother. He grasped her hand and Shannon dragged him towards the door. Eddie, meanwhile, grabbed Christopher's two crutches and followed them out the door. Then, Y/n moved, trailing silently behind the trio.

Outside, Eddie locked up the house before heading towards his truck, while Y/n made his way to his own car, parked behind Eddie's. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he should be going with them anymore. Now that Shannon was coming, this felt like an outing that had nothing to do with him. More than that — this is family stuff.

Eddie, Christopher, and Shannon had issues to work through, and Y/n didn't feel like he needed to be a part of it. As much as he loved Eddie and Christopher, It wasn't his business, and he didn't want to intrude on their personal problems or overstep any boundaries he shouldn't.

Just as Eddie was finishing up helping Christopher into the car and stowing his crutches in the back, he noticed that Y/n was standing by his own vehicle, making no move to get into the passenger seat of Eddie's truck. Eddie frowned. "What are you doing, Y/n?" he asked, his voice low and questioning, as he walked over to where Y/n was standing and stopped.

Y/n paused, his hand wrapped around the car door handle. "Well, I just figured that..." he rubbed the back of his neck, choosing his words with care. "Maybe I should sit this one out. This seems like a family thing and I don't want to get in the way of—" Y/n's words died on his lips as Eddie suddenly grabbed his hand, the one wrapped around the car door, and dragged him towards the truck without a word. The sudden movement left him stumbling to keep up with Eddie at first, and he almost lost his balance as Eddie propelled him forward. "—or I could still go with you guys, sure. That works, too."

XXXXX XXXXX

Night had fallen, and accompanied with it were a million stars that lit up the dark sky in an ethereal manner. It was such a beautiful sight that it could put someone to sleep from being so mesmerized by it.

And for Christopher, it had.

He had fallen asleep in the truck on the drive back from the pier, his head resting against the seat. Y/n couldn’t blame him. After a long day of riding roller coasters, playing games, and eating more sugary snacks than any child should probably have, exhaustion had caught up to him.

At least, he had a good day.

But Y/n had a feeling that what truly made this day special for Christopher wasn’t just the fun — it was the fact that both of his parents had been there with him. Despite the tension and the history between them, Eddie and Shannon had put their differences aside for the day to give their son the gift of a perfect day.

When they arrived back at Eddie’s house, Y/n was the one who volunteered to take Christopher to his room, scooping up the sleeping boy into his arms and carrying him inside. It served as an excuse that gave Eddie and Shannon the opportunity to talk alone without them being present.

Carefully, Y/n laid Christopher down on his bed, making sure not to wake him up. He reached out to remove Christopher's cap, lifting it off his head and setting it aside on the nightstand. Next, Y/n slid his glasses off his face, folding them up and placing them beside the cap before tucking the blanket up to his chin. In his sleep, Christopher mumbled something incoherent, fingers curling into the fabric.

With a final glance at Christopher's face, Y/n soundlessly stepped out of the room He left the door, slightly ajar, just in case Christopher woke up in the middle of the night, then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge before heading into the living room, where Eddie now sat alone on the couch. Shannon was gone.

Wordlessly, the h/c-haired male sat down beside Eddie on the couch. He didn’t ask what had been said between them. Not yet. Instead, he extended his hand, offering Eddie one of those beers, and Eddie accepted it with a small nod of thanks. His eyes never left the TV that wasn't even on as he twisted off the cap and took a quick chug, downing half of it.

Y/n took a swig of his beer, letting the cool liquid settle on his tongue before swallowing. "So, what did Shannon say to you?" He asked, breaking the silence.

Now, Y/n's curiosity was piqued, and he patiently waited with bated breath for Eddie to share what had been discussed between him and Shannon. The fact that Shannon had left so soon suggested that it had been brief, and Y/n wondered what could have been talked about in such a short amount of time. At the same time, If Eddie didn't say anything, Y/n wouldn't pry or try to force the issue. Eddie would talk to him about it when he was ready.

"She wants to meet with me on Monday," he answered, "Said she wants us to talk."

Y/n glanced over. "And? What’d you say?"

"I told her 'We’ll see.'"

"That’s a way of saying 'probably not.'"

"Yeah, well…" Eddie took another sip of his beer. "I don’t know if I want to hear whatever she has to say, Y/n." His voice was quieter now, more uncertain and his index finger tapped absently against the bottle. "She didn't just leave me. She left Christopher. The one person who needed her the most. And now, out of nowhere, she wants back in his life? Just like that? After never reaching out to us?" he shook his head. "I don’t know if I can trust that."

Y/n nodded slowly, letting Eddie’s words and his frustration settle between them. He understood, deeply, where Eddie was coming from. How could he not? The pain of Shannon's departure served as a double-edged sword, cutting deep into the hearts of both Eddie and Christopher. The hurt was still raw. She had left Eddie to pick up the pieces and left Christopher with nothing but questions and an empty space where his mother should’ve been. Now, just because she had decided she wanted to come back, Eddie's supposed to just let her? No, It wasn’t that simple.

But still...

The silence between them had stretched out briefly. Then: "You should talk to her." Y/n suggested, his words a gentle nudge in a specific direction for Eddie to reopen a door that had been locked for so long.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he considered Y/n's suggestion. "Should I?"

"Yeah." Y/n’s voice was unwavering and he was sticking to his assertion. "Look, man, I’m not saying you have to forgive Shannon or even put any trust in her. But don’t you think it’s at least worth hearing her out? Not for her, but for Christopher."

Eddie did not respond right away, but he also didn’t immediately argue, which Y/n took as a good sign for him to continue.

"You saw how happy he was today. It’s been a minute since he’s seen his mom, and despite everything, he still loves her. That’s not gonna change." He turned his body slightly to face Eddie fully. "I know you don’t want to talk to her, but ignoring Shannon will not make this situation go away. If she’s serious about being in his life again, then you'll need to lay down some boundaries. Figure out what this means for Christopher. And the only way to do that is to talk to her. Face to face."

Hazel eyes drifted over to meet e/c eyes. "Speaking from experience, aren't you?"

There was no denying it. "You know that I am," the words slipped out Y/n’s mouth, quiet and tentative, his gaze drifting off.

It was a well-known fact that Y/n's childhood had been far from traditional. His mom had left when he was just five years old, abandoning him and his two siblings to be raised by their dad alone. He was forced to play the role of both mother and father to three chaotic boys.

Y/n didn't have a lot of memories of her. But one thing that remained etched in his mind was the overwhelming sense of sadness and hurt that had engulfed him when his father broke the news that she left and would not be coming back.

The concept of abandonment had been beyond his comprehension. All he knew was that his mother — the woman who was supposed to love and care for him, had chosen to leave. The confusion and pain had been suffocating, and Y/n had struggled to make sense of it all. He had wondered, as many children do when it comes to those types of situations, if it was something that he had done wrong.

Had Y/n been naughty? Had he not been good enough? The questions had swirled in his mind, fueling a deep-seated fear that he was somehow to blame for this. He even thought maybe it was his dad's fault or his siblings'. Or maybe they all had done something to drive her away?

Whatever it was, he had been convinced that if she just came home, everything would be okay and that they could work through their issues and be happy again.

Things that are broken could be fixed.

Despite the pain and confusion of his mother's departure, Y/n's love for her had never wavered. He had held onto the hope, the desperate wish, the silent plea, that she would one-night return to the family she had abandoned. Y/n had often found himself lying awake at night, long after his dad had tucked him in and turned out the lights. He would sneak out of bed and make his way to the window, pushing back the curtains to keep watch. He would be ready when she came back.

But she never came, and Y/n's hopes had faded. His desire for reconciliation gave way to a sense of resignation, and eventually, to a deep-seated indifference.

He stopped idly waiting for his mother to come back, stopped wondering what had driven her away, and stopped caring about the situation altogether. Or, that's what he told himself after all this time.

Thinking about it now, Y/n... wasn’t sure if that wound had ever truly healed. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he didn’t want Christopher to go through the same thing he had. Because, unlike Y/n’s mother, Shannon had come back to reconcile with Christopher. She was trying. That counted for something.

A quiet sigh slipped past Eddie’s lips. He couldn’t deny that Y/n had made a pretty good point, particularly when it came to his son. He noticed how Christopher kept grinning all day, barely letting go of his mom’s hand, talking her ear off like he'd saved every story just for her. That kind of happiness? It mattered to Christopher, and because of that, it mattered to Eddie too. And yet— "What if she leaves again?"

There it is. That was the real fear, wasn’t it? That Shannon would step back into Christopher’s life, make him believe she was staying, and then disappear all over again. That she'd give him hope, only to rip it away. That she’d hurt him. Again. And Eddie would have to deal with the effect that would have on Christopher.

"I don’t know, man," Y/n admitted gently, not pretending to have all the answers. They're not psychics. They can't predict the future, but they can control how they respond to the present. "Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. Regardless, don’t you think it’s better to hear her out? To see if she’s serious about making things right?"

Eddie looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned Y/n's words over in his mind, weighing them against all his fears. Silence took over, and, when Eddie didn't respond after a minute, Y/n placed a hand on Eddie's knee. "Talk to her. Not for Shannon's sake, but for your sake. And, most importantly, for Christopher’s."

Eddie took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly through his nose. Y/n always had a way of cutting through the noise and making hard things sound simple, even when they weren’t far from simple. But maybe that was because this situation was something Y/n understood better than anyone since he lived it, too.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right," he muttered.

A small smirk appeared. "I usually am."

That pulled a tired chuckle out of Eddie, and he shook his head. "Don’t get cocky."

Y/n gave Eddie’s knee a squeeze before leaning back onto the couch. "Too late."

The two fell into another easy silence, and after a moment, Eddie took another sip of his beer. Y/n did the same, and for the first time since Shannon showed up, Eddie was allowing himself to breathe.

And that? That was one step forward.

XXXXX XXXXX

Monday morning had arrived, and Y/n was settled into his cubicle, surrounded by the familiar trappings of his workday routine. He was hunched over a glowing screen with his business activity reports spread out in front of him, half reviewed and half waiting. His half-drunk cup of coffee sat to his left, lukewarm by now, while a notepad filled with bullet points, reminders, and scribbles lay on his right.

With a pen in hand, Y/n's handwriting flowed effortlessly across the page as he added a few more important notes to his list, eyes flicking between the screen and the page until a soft chime from his computer pulled his attention away. A message popped up in the corner of his screen from his boss, James Thompson.

Please come to my office immediately.

Upon reading that, Y/n felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. It wasn't that he was afraid of his boss, or that he had a bad relationship with him. On the contrary, James was a kind and understanding boss, and Y/n had always appreciated his supportive and encouraging nature.

Y/n respected him both personally and professionally. Despite their nice working relationship, Y/n's mind couldn't help but wander to all the possible reasons why he might be summoned to James's office since the message had no context and no pleasantries.

Was it something good, or something bad? Had he done something wrong, or was it just a routine meeting? Or worse, did he screw up the Morgan deal in any way? He hoped not, but the only way to figure it out was to go to James' office and face whatever was waiting for him.

Pushing away from his desk, Y/n stood, adjusted his tie, and smoothed the front of his shirt. He took a steadying breath, then made his way toward the executive offices. His feet came to a sudden stop in front of the familiar gray metal doors and Y/n raised his hand, knocking on it.

There was an immediate: "Come in."

Y/n turned the handle and stepped inside. The curtains were drawn wide, letting in slats of golden morning light. James sat behind his desk, fingers mid-typing until he gazed up to see Y/n enter.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Y/n asked, closing the door behind him with a quiet click since this conversation was meant to be private. His tone was even, though, his nerves were bubbling hotly in his gut.

The dark-skinned man sat up in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he studied Y/n with a neutral expression, one that was impossible for Y/n to read. His silence stretched for just a beat too long, making Y/n shift slightly where he stood. "Have a seat," James finally said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Y/n did as he was told and sat down in the seat, his hands resting on his thighs, and he waited for whatever was coming.

James studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Y/n, do you know why I called you in here?" and here we begin.

Y/n swallowed, the dryness of his mouth making his tongue feel like sandpaper against the roof of it. "I, um… not really, no." I didn’t do anything! He screamed in his head. Well, I don't think I did anything.

James hummed, nodding slightly. "Well, let me ask you this." He leaned forward, "Is there anything you’d like to tell me?"

Y/n’s brain went into overdrive. Shit. That sounded like something a parent would say when they already knew what you did and were just waiting for you to confess. And James's tone implied he already knew something and was just waiting for Y/n to finally spill the beans.

Y/n's mind scrambled to review every possible mistake he could have made.

Had he made a critical error in the financial reports? Or perhaps he had accidentally sent a sensitive email to the wrong client, compromising confidential information? As he mentally reviewed his recent work and interactions, Y/n did not think it was anything that mundane. He was a diligent and competent employee, always careful to double-check his work and follow procedures. He got along well with his coworkers, and his performance reviews had always been glowing, so no write-up or a serious talking-to. So, what could it be, then? Suddenly, it struck him.

The Morgan deal, Y/n thought. He hadn't received any updates on how it went. And, judging by the way James was looking at him, Y/n had this sinking feeling that he might have screwed it up. He needed to be certain, of course, but he couldn't help but think that he had blown it, that he had made a mistake that would have serious consequences for the company.

Y/n cleared his throat — a nervous habit that showed his otherwise unconfidently calm demeanor. "Uh... not that I know of."

James’s eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Y/n nodded quickly. "Yes. I-I think so..."

The silence that followed was deafening. James just studied him, unreadable, for one… two… three painfully long seconds before breaking into a wide grin. "Well, that’s good," he said casually, "because I was just about to congratulate you, man."

Say what? Y/n blinked rapidly as if trying to clear away the disbelievement and the confusion that had suddenly descended upon him. "Wait... what?" Just moments ago, he had been bracing himself for bad news, for criticism or disappointment, and now... now James was smiling and about to congratulate him? What the hell was happening—? He was very confused.

James chuckled, clearly amused. "Relax, Y/n. I was messing with you." He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and placed it squarely on the desk. "I called you in here to personally commend you on finalizing the Morgan deal. You handled it better than some of our senior managers would’ve, honestly."

Immediately, Y/n let out a breath he had been holding in. His shoulders, which had been tensed up in anticipation of bad news, sagged slightly, relaxing into a more natural position as the tension seeped out of his body. "Oh," he exhaled a soft laugh. "That's good. You seriously had me thinking I was about to get fired."

James' face broke out into a smirk. "If I ever plan to fire you, I promise I won’t be so dramatic about it." He tapped the file. "The Morgans were impressed with your professionalism and strategic approach. So much so that they officially signed the contract this morning. The deal's closed."

Relief flooded Y/n’s chest, followed by a sense of pride. He did it. He actually did it. Guess all those eleven-hour shifts, six days a week, had paid off in the best way possible.

"Wow…" he breathed. "That’s… incredible."

James nodded. "It is. And because of your hard work, this firm just secured one of the most lucrative partnerships we've had in years." A deliberate pause followed before adding: "Which means, you have more than earned a promotion."

Y/n’s head jerked up. "I’m sorry — what?" His voice might've gotten a tad higher as he grinned at the man behind the desk.

James chuckled at his expression. "You heard me. I’m recommending you for the Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager position."

Y/n blinked twice. "You're serious?" He needed to confirm that he heard James correctly, that this wasn't just some kind of cruel joke or a misunderstanding. The position that James had mentioned was a highly coveted one, a role that Y/n had never imagined he'd be considered for, especially not at this stage in his career.

Y/n was aware that there were others in the company who had been working towards a promotion like this, who had more experience and more seniority, and yet James was offering it to him. This is insane. Y/n hadn't been gunning for this role, but he would gladly accept the offer.

"Completely. You have proven yourself capable of handling high-profile clients and complex negotiations. It’s time you get the title and the paycheck to match."

For a moment, Y/n was left speechless. This was something he had been working towards for almost seven years, since he had first walked through the doors of the company as a secretary, fresh out of college and eager to make his mark.

He had always known that it wouldn't be easy, that he would have to put in the long hours, endure the stress, and pour over endless spreadsheets and financial reports. But he had never thought that it would pay off so soon. He had assumed that it would take a few more years, even a decade before he would be considered for a position like Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager. Guess he had been wrong.

"I… I don’t even know what to say."

"A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be a bad place to start." James teased, loving his reaction, layers of amusement laced in his voice.

Y/n laughed under his breath. "Thank you, James. Seriously. This means a lot." He couldn't stop smiling. But as he was basking in the glow of his good fortune, a sudden thought occurred to him, and his expression turned curious. "I didn't even know that position was available."

The sentence had a profound effect on James' expression, causing his features to shift from a warm and congratulatory grin to a more serious and introspective look. It had caught Y/n off guard. "That's because the position isn’t available here."

Y/n's face scrunched up in confusion, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"The Hedge Fund position is available at Bridgewater Associates in Austin, Texas."

For a moment, Y/n just... stared. It was like someone had hit pause. His brain stalled, like a car engine sputtering on a cold winter morning. And then, suddenly, his brain kicked back into gear. "Texas?" he said, "As in... not Los Angeles, Texas."

James gave a single nod. "That’s right."

"That’s… that’s pretty far." Like really far.

"It is pretty far." James’s tone softened. "And I know how much you like working here, how much you’ve built a life in L.A. But this is an incredible opportunity, Y/n. Bridgewater is one of the top investment firms in the country. Getting in with them at this level? It’s not something that comes around often. It’s the kind of break people wait decades for. This is a chance to take your career to the next level, to work with the best of the best."

Y/n's mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right words to express his thoughts, but they seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then, it opened again like a fish out of water and he was about to speak, but still, no words came out. This was not what he had expected when he walked into James' office today.

A promotion? Yes, that had been a possibility, a welcome surprise, even. A promotion that required relocating to a completely different part of the country? That... was something entirely different.

James must’ve sensed the storm of his thoughts because he continued, "I'm not asking for an answer right this second. I just wanted you to be the first to know. You’ve earned this, Y/n. But I get it. It’s a big decision. Take a little time to think it over." Then came the kicker. "But not too much time. If you accept, they will want you in Austin by the end of next month."

The end of next month. Seven weeks, barely any time at all, to make a decision that would change the course of his life. Regardless, Y/n forced himself to nod to give James some indication that he was taking the offer seriously. "Sounds good."

James slid a folder across the desk. "Here’s everything you need to know about the position, the firm, the salary—" he shot Y/n a knowing look, "—which, by the way, is extremely generous. This also includes relocation support and benefits. Look through it and weigh your options. And whatever you choose, just know I’m in your corner. We’d hate to lose you, but we’d be damn proud to see you move up."

Another nod from Y/n. "I appreciate it."

"Of course." James stood and extended a hand. "No matter what you decide, just know that you’ve done exceptional work here. I know you’ll keep doing good work, whether it’s here or it's across state lines."

Y/n stood and shook James' hand, firm and steady. He picked up the folder and left the office, walking toward the break room with a mind that was spinning way faster than he could keep up with. Gosh.

Austin, Texas.

Y/n could practically feel the weight of this choice pressing on his shoulders. He knew that James was right. This was a rare opportunity for someone like him. Most people would jump at the chance to work for such a prestigious company without hesitation and he felt grateful to have been considered for the role. But on the other hand, accepting the promotion would mean leaving everything behind. His friends, a job he genuinely enjoyed, and the city that had become his home.

Amidst the pros and cons, one thought stood out to Y/n above the rest. Leaving Los Angeles would mean leaving Eddie, the man he had fallen deeply in love with.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Y/n didn’t have the answer. Not yet. But he knew he needed to think. Really think. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

Stepping into the break room, Y/n grabbed his lunch bag from the fridge and made his way outside. The sun was out, the breeze was light, and it felt like a waste to eat indoors on a day like today. Jela, his best friend, was already waiting for Y/n at one of the patio tables, waving him over as soon as she spotted him.

Jela asked what took him so long to arrive here, even though he was only five minutes late, and Y/n gave her a recount of what happened inside James's office.

"You can’t move to Texas, Y/n," Jela exclaimed, immediately rebuking Y/n’s possible future plans to leave California.

"Oh, really?" Y/n snorted, stabbing a fork into his container of mac and cheese. "And why not?" He had to hear this.

"Because you can't leave me here, that's why not!" she took a slow sip of her drink, Sprite — with extra ice — before adding, "Besides, you won't like it in Texas. It's not your scene, Y/n. You're a California boy, through and through. You thrive on the laid-back, sun-kissed vibe of LA, the overpriced coffees, the late-night tacos, and the traffic-related rage we have. Not the cowboy boots and country music of Texas," Jela then drove home her point. "More importantly, there's no me there."

"I’ll come back and visit."

"Nope. Visiting isn't good enough. You're staying here," she declared as if she had the power to make that decision for him. Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at her bossy tone, but he knew that she was only looking out for him. Jela took a bite of her sandwich, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing. "I doubt your little firefighter would be happy that you moved away," she set her sandwich down on her plate. "Speaking of that, how was your little weekend with him? Did y'all go to the Santa Monica Pier?"

"Yes," the h/c haired male confirmed. "we did. Christopher was there too along with…" a slight pause formed on Y/n’s lips for a second. "along with Eddie’s ex-wife."

All of a sudden, Jela froze, the chip in her hand hovering in mid-air, more than halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flickered over to Y/n, and she blinked. "Eddie's ex-wife is back?" she questioned, and Y/n nodded. "And what is she doing back?"

Y/n's shoulders shrugged in a casual, nonchalant manner, "She wanted to see Christopher and talk to Eddie. If I had to guess, I'd say that she wants to be back in the picture and be a part of their lives."

The brunette's eyes never left Y/n's face as she searched her friend for any signs of unease or discomfort. "And you're just okay with her being back in the picture?"

"Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?" Y/n’s tone took on a bit of perplexity and confusion.

He didn't understand why Jela was questioning his reaction to Eddie's ex-wife being back in the picture. He didn't feel like he had any reason to be upset or concerned, but Jela appeared to think otherwise. Y/n could tell Jela was trying to imply something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what the implication was.

"Oh, I don't know," and Jela's tone implied that she did know something. "Maybe because ex-wives have a funny way of suddenly stepping back into the picture and messing things up? You don't think there's even a chance that Eddie might... I don't know, start re-evaluating things now that she's back. You're telling me you're not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you'll get pushed aside?"

Y/n's mouth fell open slightly. Her words hit him. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Eddie's ex-wife's return could threaten his own relationship with Eddie. Maybe it was because Y/n knew Eddie loved him. Maybe it was because he trusted that Eddie wouldn’t just drop him like a hot potato if Shannon decided to stick around Eddie and Los Angeles.

Sure, yes, Eddie and Shannon had...well, history. A marriage. A child. They shared something that Y/n could never fully be a part of, no matter how much he loved Christopher or how close he was to him.

But still, he shook his head, pushing that thought aside. “Eddie and I are solid. I’m not worried about that," and he wasn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t been until Jela put the idea into his head. "And Shannon sticking around doesn’t change that."

Jela's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Y/n, her expression skeptical. She didn't seem convinced by his words at all and Y/n could tell that she was still concerned about the potential impact of Shannon's return on his relationship with Eddie. "Mmm," she popped a chip into her mouth. "Just promise me one thing?"

Y/n placed his fork down. "What?"

"Put yourself first. Always. Don’t let yourself be the last priority in your own life. You are worth much more than that."

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at his lunch, his appetite suddenly not as strong as a minute ago. But after a long pause, he finally nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. "I promise."

It was a reasonable promise for Y/n to make, but he had nothing to worry about.

Oh, how he hoped he didn’t.

XXXXX XXXXX

By the time Y/n pulled up to Eddie’s house that evening, the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, casting long, golden streaks across the wide sky. He had come here tonight to see how the talk with Eddie and Shannon went. Y/n hoped that it went well and that the two had come to some sort of an agreement.

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the quiet atmosphere of the house. He didn't see Christopher anywhere, which was a bit unusual, but his attention was quickly drawn to Eddie, who was standing near the couch, eyes glued to his phone. He looked up when he heard the door open.

"Hey, cariño," Eddie greeted with a smile, crossing the living room and planting a kiss on Y/n’s lips. "Didn't expect you."

"I wanted to check in to see how the talk went with you and Shannon," Y/n replied, taking a small step back. "How did it go?"

"It was fine. We had a long talk," Eddie gestured for Y/n to sit with him on the couch. Once they were settled, Eddie continued recounting the conversation with Shannon. "We went over everything. Why she left, why she stayed away, what she wants now. And in the end, I decided that she could co-parent with me. Full Time. Christopher wants her in his life, and, as much as I hate how things went down, I can't deny how happy he was to see her. I can't take that away from him."

Y/n nodded slowly, processing Eddie’s words. "That’s great, Eddie," he said, and he meant it. He was truly happy they had been able to actually have a productive conversation and come to a decision that would benefit Christopher. The kid deserved to have both of his parents in his life, and Y/n was glad that Shannon, for all her past mistakes, was making a conscious effort to be a part of it now. That's more than Y/n ever got from his.

Eddie gave a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Still, Y/n could tell that, despite the small smile and the words of agreement, Eddie was carrying some uncertainty. The decision to co-parent with Shannon wasn't going to be an easy one, however, Eddie was trying for Christopher’s sake. That was the only thing that mattered.

All of a sudden, Y/n's gaze drifted from Eddie's eyes to slightly downward, and he took note of what Eddie was wearing. Tan dressy shirt, paired with black pants that accentuated his lean physique, and — Y/n's nose sniffed the air — Eddie was wearing cologne. If Y/n didn't know any better, he would have thought that Eddie was getting ready for a night out on the town, perhaps, even a date. But Y/n was certain they didn't have any plans tonight.

Curiosity hit Y/n. "Going somewhere?"

Eddie cleared his throat, a slight nervousness creeping into his voice. "Yeah, actually. Christopher said that he wanted me and Shannon to take him out to dinner tonight..." and he watched Y/n attentively. "I hope that's okay with you."

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah — of course that’s okay with me," Y/n hated how high-pitched his voice came out as he reassured Eddie. "I actually have... plans myself," that was a lie. He didn't have any plans with anyone. "Buck and I were actually going out to a bar tonight. Grabbing food, hanging out, having fun... you know, just a guys' night out. I should probably go and get ready."

It was a bullshit excuse, but Eddie didn’t seem to pick up on it. And that gave Y/n the opening to leave. He stood, heading towards the door, but Eddie reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, his fingers wrapping around it in a firm but gentle hold, stopping him from leaving just yet.

"Wait." Eddie stood too. "How was work?"

For the briefest moment, Y/n hesitated in answering the question. He could tell Eddie now — he could tell him, right here and now, that he had been offered a job in Texas and had a big decision to make.

But he looked at Eddie, dressed up for dinner with his son and ex-wife, finally starting to rebuild something important. He realized that he just… couldn’t. Y/n didn’t want to ruin his night. He couldn’t drop that bomb right before Eddie went to dinner. It didn’t feel right. Not tonight. Not when Eddie deserved this moment of peace from having figured out the co-parenting situation, dealing with his ex, and giving Christopher what he wanted.

Therefore, Y/n pasted a smile on his lips, trying to seem nonchalant and carefree. "It was good. I closed the Morgan deal."

Eddie’s face immediately brightened, his mouth curling into a proud smile. "That’s amazing," he said, his grip on Y/n’s wrist loosening as his hand slid down to lace their fingers together. "I knew you would."

Y/n massaged the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… wasn’t easy, but it’s done." And it earned me a job offer in another state, went unsaid. "You should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for dinner."

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, adjusting his shirt. "You should go get ready, too," he leaned in, pressing another kiss to Y/n’s lips softly. "Have fun tonight. Text me later?"

"Sure," the word slipped out of Y/n's mouth with ease, as he backed towards the door. "I will. I hope you have fun, too."

And with that, he left.

As he drove away, Jela’s question from earlier echoed in his head, looping like a song he couldn’t turn off, a lingering itch he needed to scratch. You’re telling me you’re not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you’ll get pushed aside?

Would Y/n get pushed to the side by Eddie now that Shannon was back into the fold? What if Jela was right? What if Shannon did threaten their relationship?

No, Y/n shook his head. Just because Shannon's back, doesn't mean anything. Eddie loves me. He would never do that.

Too bad the man didn't feel confident at all saying that inside his own head. The reassurance did not land. It felt hollow; forced. And as time went on, Y/n would find himself returning to Jela's question, and his unconfident reassurance, again and again. There were moments, three in particular, that would make Y/n question everything. Moments when he didn’t just feel pushed aside. He was pushed aside.

The first time it happened, Y/n had tried to brush it off as no big deal. It had been a long, exhausting week for the two men, and they had planned a much-needed night in. Just the two of them. Takeout, a fun action movie, and some peace and quiet. Shannon had said she would have Christopher at her apartment that night, therefore. It was the perfect opportunity. Y/n had even stopped by Eddie’s favorite Mexican place after work, grabbing their usual order of soft tacos and quesadillas.

Unfortunately, just as Y/n was pulling up to Eddie's house, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced down to see Eddie's name on the screen.

Eddie: Y/n, I have to reschedule tonight. Shannon wants to take Christopher out for ice cream, and he wants me to come with him. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Y/n stared at the message before letting out a tiny breath. It’s fine, he texted back.

He told himself it’s fine as he went home with enough Mexican food for two. It’s fine as Y/n ate alone in his apartment, scrolling through Netflix with no real interest. It’s fine because, logically, Eddie was doing what a good dad should do, being there for his kid, making sure Christopher got time with both his parents. He could not, in good conscience, be upset with that.

Yet, despite the rationalizations, despite the understanding that Eddie was doing what was best for Christopher, Y/n still felt disappointed and frustrated. He just wanted to spend some time with Eddie. That night had been for just them. And suddenly, it wasn’t. Ever since Shannon had come back into the fold, they hadn't spent any real time with just each other.

The second time it happened, the hurt cut deeper. It was during one of Bobby's famous firehouse gatherings, a monthly tradition that brought the 118 together to unwind, share some good food, and enjoy each other's company in a more relaxed setting. Family and friends were always invited. Y/n, himself, had been to a few of these gatherings before. It was something he always looked forward to.

So, when Buck mentioned the upcoming firehouse gathering, Y/n had assumed that he and Eddie would attend together, just like they had done previously. It was a natural assumption, given their history and the fact that, well, they were dating. Except, two days before the event, Eddie casually mentioned that he was bringing Shannon along with Y/n and Christopher.

"She's been getting along with Buck and Hen really well," Eddie didn't even look up from his phone as he spoke. "Figured it’d be good for her to meet my entire team."

Y/n had nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Makes sense." It did not make any sense. He had felt a pang of disappointment and hurt, but he didn't want to show it, didn't want to give Eddie a reason to think he was being jealous or unreasonably possessive over him. Stop.

And that's how Y/n ended up walking into the gathering alone that day. It was a weird, disorienting sensation like he was observing the scene from outside his body. Eddie was there, of course, but he was nowhere to be found, at least not in the way that Y/n was used to. Instead of being together, sharing drinks, talking with the team, stealing touches when no one was looking, and laughing together, Eddie... he was glued to Shannon's side.

The entire time.

Y/n was annoyed.

Because, suddenly, Shannon was the one laughing at his jokes. She was the one sitting next to him at the table. She was the one who Eddie turned to when someone casually mentioned their son.

She had, seamlessly, inserted herself into their little world, and Mr. Diaz was more than happy to accommodate her. Well, he supposed it was her world, too.

And Y/n? He felt invisible.

But what made Y/n's annoyance spike to a whole new level was when he was making some small talk with Bobby and Athena. His eyes suddenly drifted over to Eddie and Shannon, Eddie had his hand on Shannon's back, with his fingers gently resting on the curve of her spine, and Shannon was leaning into his side.

Y/n frowned. What the hell was that? It’s fine, he had to tell himself that yet again.

But this time, it didn’t feel fine.

The third time, though? That was the one that broke something inside of Y/n. He had known for months that his dad and stepmom were planning something big for his birthday. He didn't want a huge party. Just a small gathering, something low-key, but they had insisted. Thirty is a milestone, his father had said. You only turn it once, son. So, his dad rented out an upscale rooftop venue in downtown LA, with a breathtaking view of the city.

Fancy lights, good food, and a ridiculous guest list. Okay. Fine. He could deal with the whole "big party" thing. It wasn't his ideal way to celebrate his birthday, but if it made his dad and stepmom happy, he was willing to go along with it. But the one thing he did want? Eddie there. So, he had told him weeks in advance and made sure he put it in his calendar. Y/n had even reminded Eddie multiple times.

Eddie had promised he'd be there.

And yet. As Y/n stood in the middle of an expensive rooftop venue, surrounded by friends, family, coworkers, and unfamiliar faces, Eddie was nowhere to be found.

At first, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something came up with Christopher. Maybe he was running late or had an emergency. Y/n sent a quick text.

Hey, everything okay?

No reply.

Minutes turned into an hour. Then two. Y/n checked his phone — no messages. He tried calling — no answer. Voicemail.

Not even a simple Happy Birthday. The thought echoed in Y/n's mind like a cruel joke, and it hurt more than he expected. Even if Eddie couldn’t make it, he should have remembered. Y/n’s older brother had flown in from Maryland to celebrate. And Eddie, who lived in the same state, couldn't even be bothered to send a text.

The party carried on, but a quiet sort of numbness settled into Y/n’s bones as went through the motions. He accepted hugs and well-wishes from his friends and family, thanked them for their gifts and kind words, smiled when he needed to, laughed when someone made a joke, posed for pictures, and even danced to the music. But all he could think about was the fact that Eddie wasn’t there.

After Y/n blew out his candles and the party picked back up, Y/n, surprisingly, managed to sneak out of his own party without anyone knowing. He wanted to check on Eddie. If something had come up to where he couldn’t make it, then Y/n could accept that. He just needed to see for himself if that was the case.

Inserting a key into the lock, Y/n twisted it to the right and pushed the door open, stepping inside. Relief washed over him first because Eddie was home. He was safe. He looked perfectly fine. Oh, thank God. And then, just as quickly, that relief turned into something sharp and painful.

Shannon was with Eddie on the couch. And Eddie was kissing her. On the lips.

"…Wow," he breathed. It came out small, nearly silent, but enough for them to hear.

The soft whisper startled them apart like they had been caught in a guilty act. Eddie jerked back so fast like he’d been burned. His eyes snapped to Y/n, "Y/n—"

Y/n's hand shot up, palm facing Eddie as if to ward off any further explanation or apology. "Don't," he made sure to keep his voice calm, even, somehow, despite wanting to scream and cry. "Just don’t."

He didn't want to hear the lies, the half-truths, or the rationalizations that would only serve to further hurt and betray him. Y/n didn't want to talk to Eddie at all. He ran out of the house, not stopping until he reached his car, where he flung open the door and slid into the driver's seat. Y/n could hear Eddie's voice, calling out to him, pleading with him to stop, to talk, to listen. But Y/n was beyond listening. He started the car and quickly drove away.

When Y/n pulled into his apartment complex and turned off the engine, Y/n allowed himself to feel. The scream that tore out of his throat was anguished and raw and spoke of how he was currently feeling. He let it rip, allowing himself to release all of that pain and hurt that had been building up inside him for weeks.

Tears fell down his face as he cried, racking sobs shaking his entire body. God, he felt like he was falling apart like his world was crumbling around him. Y/n slammed his fist into the steering wheel. Again and again, until his knuckles hurt.

Eddie. His Eddie. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. The man he had trusted with his heart, secrets, and fears. This same man had cheated on him with his ex-wife. Eddie forgot his birthday to be with Shannon. Y/n had spent all night making excuses for him. Had bent over backward convincing himself there had to be a good reason Eddie didn't come. As it turned out, the only reason Eddie hadn’t shown up… was because he was with her. Y/n felt like an idiot. He was one.

And he felt like he was going to be sick.

His phone buzzed in the passenger seat, jolting him out of his current state. Y/n glanced at it and wasn’t surprised to see Eddie’s name flash across the screen. Y/n stared at it before pressing the decline button. Not now. He put his phone on silent mode, silencing the ringing and the notifications before putting it face down on the seat. He didn't want to talk to him.

He didn’t give up, though. For days, Eddie made a concerted effort to reach out to Y/n, to apologize and explain and make amends for his betrayal. He called Y/n's phone, but it went unanswered. He sent text message after text message, but Y/n never responded to them. Eddie even left him voicemails, but they went unacknowledged. He even showed up at Y/n's apartment, hoping to catch him off guard and force a conversation. But Y/n avoided him at all costs. He made sure to leave for work early and come home late to avoid any chance encounters with him.

It wasn't until the hazel-eyed firefighter showed up at Y/n's workplace, bursting into an important meeting and causing a scene, that Y/n finally felt compelled to confront him. The interruption was embarrassing, to say the least, and Y/n's colleagues were shocked by the sudden appearance of his estranged partner. Eddie's timing couldn't have been worse, and Y/n's professional reputation was at risk of being tarnished by the drama that was unfolding. When Eddie threatened to return the next day, and the day after that, until Y/n agreed to talk to him, Y/n decided to give Eddie that conversation.

Which was how he found himself sitting at the kitchen table of his apartment, with Eddie choosing to sit next to him. Buck was out, leaving the two of them alone. Y/n had agreed to talk to Eddie, but he hadn't agreed to make it easy for him. He avoided eye contact, refusing to meet Eddie's gaze, instead, focusing on the lines and creases on his own hands.

Eddie was the one to break the silence.

"How have you been?"

How has he been? Was Eddie serious right now? That’s what he was leading with? Y/n’s jaw clenched and he finally looked up at him. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked flatly, cutting straight through the small talk. He didn't even bother answering Eddie's question.

Eddie shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I... I wanted to apologize to you."

Y/n didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, waiting for more words to spill out.

Eddie swallowed, running a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admitted, "I should have been at your birthday. I should have at least called. There’s no excuse for that. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have—" He cut himself off, shutting his eyes for a brief second as if he couldn't bear to say the words out loud before exhaling heavily. "I shouldn’t have done what I did with Shannon that night."

There it was, verbally spoken. The thing Y/n had been replaying in his head on a loop since that night. Y/n inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a moment before letting it go. Then, softly, he asked, "Did Shannon kiss you… or did you kiss her?"

He wanted to know if Eddie had been a willing participant or if Shannon was the one who initiated the act. The distinction may seem insignificant, but to Y/n, it was everything. It was the difference between a moment of weakness and a deliberate choice, between a mistake and a betrayal.

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, and Y/n could see the shame and guilt flicker across his features before he even answered.

"I kissed her."

Y/n felt a piece of his heart break from the admission, but he didn’t let his face betray his feelings. Not visibly or audibly. He had been hoping, desperately hoping, that Eddie would voice something else. That he would claim it was all a mistake, that Shannon had kissed him and he was going to push her away. But no, Eddie had kissed her. He had made a choice, a deliberate choice to betray Y/n's trust and hurt him in the worst possible way.

Don't do it. Don't you dare let him see you cry! He screamed silently to himself. He would not give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing him break down, of seeing him vulnerable and weak. Instead, he gave a slow, numb nod, letting the words settle between them. Let it sting. And then, he asked the question that had been eating away at him ever since that fateful night.

"Why?"

Eddie's hands rose to his face, rubbing over his eyes and cheeks as if trying to scrub away the exhaustion and guilt that marred his countenance. "I don’t know," he muttered at first. But when Y/n shot him a look that said he was full of shit, he sighed. "That’s not true. I do know."

"I've been..." he paused, his eyes darting around the kitchen, seemingly searching for the right words, the right explanation. His gaze finally settled back on Y/n, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "...spending so much time with Shannon these days. Mostly because Christopher wanted us to. And it's been... just... easy."

Y/n felt his throat tighten, but he did not say anything. He just let Eddie talk freely.

Eddie exhaled. "She’s different now. More present. More committed to being there for Christopher. And for the first time in forever, we felt like…" his voice trailed off before he finally admitted, "Like a family. And I liked it. A lot. It made me... happy."

The truth was finally out, laid bare and unvarnished. Y/n had been too afraid to acknowledge it, too afraid to confront the possibility that Eddie's heart still belonged to someone else. But now, it was impossible to deny. Eddie still had feelings for Shannon, feelings that went beyond mere co-parenting or friendship. And Shannon, well, she clearly still had feelings for him, too. That was evident.

"You know, I thought we were good," Y/n said quietly. "I thought we were solid."

"We were," Eddie replied quickly. "We are."

The sound that escaped Y/n's lips was a quiet, bitter laugh, a harsh and mirthless thing that seemed to cut through the air like a knife. "No, no, we're not. You don’t forget your boyfriend’s birthday if things are solid. You wouldn't have ignored my calls, left me hanging and wondering if everything was alright with you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have kissed her."

Eddie didn't argue. He couldn't.

"I get it, though," Y/n continued softly. "She’s Christopher’s mom. You two have history. After everything, you want that family unit and to give your son what he needs. And that’s okay." His lips pressed together. "I can’t be in the middle of that."

"Y/n—" Eddie’s voice cracked.

"We can’t be together," Y/n said, even as it broke him to say it. "Not after this. Not after you kissed Shannon and made me feel neglected. You still love her. I see it."

Eddie's shoulders sagged. "It wasn't—" he started, but then stopped himself, as if realizing that any excuse or justification would be useless. The words died on his lips, and he was left with only the truth. "I do love you, Y/n. That hasn't changed."

Y/n looked away, blinking hard before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe not," he honestly didn’t know if he believed Eddie loved him. "But that's not enough, is it?"

Eddie looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to fight for them. But the problem was, Y/n could see the truth for what it was now, and he deserved to be someone's first choice, not their second. He deserved to be loved with a love that was whole and complete, not a love that was fragmented and divided between him and someone else. He's worth more.

Y/n stood up, swallowing past the ache in his throat. "I think that you should go."

Eddie hesitated, his eyes searching Y/n’s face as if looking for some sign that he could fix this. But Y/n didn’t give him one. After a long pause, Eddie slowly stood, too. He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, all he said was:

"I’m sorry."

Y/n nodded once. "Me too."

Eddie lingered for a second longer before turning and walking toward the door. The moment it closed behind him, Y/n immediately headed up to his room. The closing of the door was like a final note to a song he hadn’t wanted to end. His e/c eyes landed on the photo sitting neatly in its frame on the bedside table.

He and Eddie.

It was one of Y/n's favorite memories. A candid shot of them at the carnival, taken by Christopher. The two of them were laughing as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel. Eddie’s arm was slung around his shoulders, pulling him close. Y/n remembered exactly how he had felt in that moment — happy, safe, and loved.

His fingers trembled as they reached for the frame, gripping it tightly as he sank onto the edge of the bed. His eyes clung to Eddie’s smile, so familiar, so beautiful.

And then — finally — he broke.

Y/n had tried to hold them back, tried to swallow down the lump that had been forming in his throat, but it was useless. The first tear fell, hitting the glass of the frame with a muted sound, like a single drop of rain landing on a still pond. And then another tear fell, and another. Y/n didn't try to stop them, didn't try to wipe them away. He just let them fall, freely and unashamedly, as he let go of all his inhibitions and allowed himself to feel the full weight of his painful emotions.

"Why wasn’t I ever enough?"

The question slipped from his lips in a whisper, cracked and broken, lost in the stillness of the room, barely audible even to himself. Why wasn’t he ever enough for someone to choose him?

He wasn’t enough for his mother to stay. He wasn’t enough for Brant to stay loyal. Now, he wasn’t enough for Eddie to not do the one thing that would shatter him.

A sob tore its way out of his throat, raw and painful. All of this is too much. The betrayal, the loneliness, the heartache — it collapsed on top of him like a wave crashing over someone who'd already stopped swimming. He had given Eddie everything. His love. His trust. His whole heart. Somehow, that still wasn’t enough.

"I just wanted to be loved."

A plea to no one. The universe? Maybe. That’s all he ever wanted. Not something conditional. Not something temporary. Just love. Someone who wouldn’t forget he existed. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and think of him as replaceable. Someone who wouldn’t see him as second place. Someone who would stay.

But maybe that was too much to ask for. Maybe he was destined to be almost enough. Close, but not quite. Worth holding, but not worth keeping.

He wanted to hate Eddie, to direct all his anger and hurt towards the person who had caused him pain. He wanted to hate Shannon, too, to blame her for being the surprising yet unsurprising catalyst that set off the chain of events that led to his heartbreak. He wanted to hate his mom, to lash out at her for being the first one to make him feel like he wasn't enough. But all he felt was tired. So damn tired of being almost enough. So goddamn tired of being the one people moved on from.

His fingers tightened around the frame, and for a brief moment, he considered throwing it. Smashing it. Destroying it the same way Eddie had destroyed both him and their relationship. But he didn’t.

Instead, he set the picture face-down on the small table. He couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. Then, he reached up and unclasped the silver necklace Eddie had given him: Siempre contigo. This was a lie. He yanked it off and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a muted thud. Eddie lied.

Then, Y/n's eyes wandered to the desk, where the folder James had given him lay waiting. Bridgewater Associates — Austin, TX, the cover read. He picked it up and opened the file, flipping through the pages. The job details, the salary, the benefits, and the important information.

Maybe this new job in Texas wasn’t just an opportunity. Maybe it was an escape.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but when you’re heartbroken, time seems to stop altogether, trapping you in the ache of yesterday with no escape.

XXXXX XXXXX

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