#that started with me being late and making about five mistakes (one of which with difficult to manage consequences) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daegudrama · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Suck It Part 2

Pairing: Reader/Jung Hoseok

Summary: What starts as lingering glances and offhand touches turns into something neither of you can ignore. You're not supposed to fall for someone on tour, especially not him. But between stolen moments and rising tension, it's only a matter of time before everything changes.

Word Count: 18.7k

Part 1

You leave the next morning and fly straight to San Antonio. You link up with the rest of the dancers at the hotel, and Yunjin is as bubbly as ever, telling you about her friend’s dog and the late-night tacos they found near their place.

It’s almost comforting, how normal everything seems.

Until show day.

You spot Hoseok again in the chaos of the arena. His hair is done, outfit already set for act one. He’s standing across the room when you walk in, adjusting an earpiece. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at you.

Backstage buzzes with pre-show energy, and no one seems to notice the space between you. You smile when you’re supposed to. Laugh when someone tells a dumb joke, but your stomach churns every time he walks by without a word.

And when it’s time for your duet, the difference is impossible to ignore.

Your bodies move in perfect sync, like they always have, but something’s shifted. There's no eye contact. No spark. Just precise movement and silence. It’s technically flawless, maybe even breathtaking, but it feels hollow. Like a beautiful shell with the soul scooped out.

The crowd doesn’t notice. They scream just the same. But you do, and when the lights go down and the applause echoes, it’s not adrenaline you’re feeling.

It’s heartbreak.

You’re backstage, towel pressed to your neck, still catching your breath from the final number. Everyone around you is glowing with cheeks flushed, laughing, buzzing from the high of another successful show.

But you feel…muted.

You walk through the corridors of the arena with your head down, avoiding the spot where you and Hoseok usually high-five after the duet. He’s not there anyway. You’re not sure he even waited. Maybe he slipped away as soon as the curtain closed.

In the dressing room, you sit on the floor near your bag, trying to convince yourself that you're being dramatic. It was just a kiss. One kiss. People kiss all the time. People make mistakes all the time. It shouldn’t be this heavy. But the problem is, it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not when it was happening.

You close your eyes, forehead pressing against your knees, and you can still feel the warmth of his hand on your back. The way he tilted your chin. The breath you both shared just before everything tilted into something electric.

It was real. You know it was real.

His hand had trembled. Just slightly. You hadn’t imagined that.

And the things he said, you're so pretty, and funny, and smart, those hadn’t felt like some throwaway excuse. They’d felt honest. Emotional. Like they’d been building up in him for a while and just finally cracked the surface.

You sigh. Hard. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe you are just another dancer to him. Maybe he panicked and backpedaled because he realized he’d crossed a line. But then why look at you like that? Why kiss you like he didn’t want it to end?

You blink quickly, throat tightening as you hear laughter echo down the hallway from the others.

You’re not new to crushes. You’ve had your share of infatuations. But this…this is different. It feels different. It felt like something blooming, and now it's just silence.

You whisper to yourself, “God, I’m so stupid.”

But deep down, a voice you can't silence murmurs, No. You’re not. Because that kiss meant something.

A security guard appears in the hallway just as you're zipping up your warmup jacket. You're still reeling from the performance which was technically solid, but emotionally dull. Something’s missing, or rather, someone.

“Come with me,” the guard says, voice low.

You frown, confused, especially when the rest of the dancers glance your way with subtle side-eyes. You feel the heat of their curiosity even after you fall into step behind the guard. You open your mouth to ask where you're going, but he doesn’t answer until you’re a good distance away from the others.

“Hoseok’s dressing room,” he finally says under his breath.

Your heart trips over itself. You don’t say anything, just nod and try to keep your face neutral, though your thoughts are anything but. Is he going to pretend the kiss never happened again? Is this damage control?

The security guard knocks twice and then opens the door, gesturing you in. Hoseok is already inside. He’s alone, sitting on a couch, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He looks up when you enter, eyes bloodshot and heavy, like he hasn’t slept.

He stands quickly. “Thanks,” he mutters to the guard, who nods once and pulls the door shut behind you.

Silence stretches, tense and uncertain. You stand there awkwardly, trying to read his expression. He’s not smiling. He’s not even looking directly at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice rough. “For kissing you.”

You flinch. That stings more than it should.

But then he adds, “Kissing you was not a mistake. But it was inappropriate.”

You blink at him, mouth slightly open.

He runs a hand through his hair again. “I wanted to kiss you. God, I wanted to—but I shouldn’t have. Not with the power dynamics. Not when we were both a little buzzed. I’m your boss, and that was out of line. Especially in the middle of a tour.”

You stare at him, stunned. Not just by the words, but by how much it seems to be tearing him up.

“That’s it?” you say softly. “You wanted to kiss me, but now it’s just…what, buried?”

“I don’t want this to affect the rest of the tour,” he says, voice gentle now, almost pleading. His eyebrows are knitted together. “You’ve worked too hard. I’ve worked too hard. We can’t let a kiss throw all of that off course.”

Your chest tightens. “But it wasn’t just a kiss. It meant something. At least…it did to me.”

His face twists like that hurts him, and you keep going before you lose your nerve.

“I wanted to kiss you too, Hoseok. That wasn’t just you getting carried away. That kiss…it made me feel something I haven’t felt in a really long time. It made me feel good. Alive.” You step forward. “And I want to do it again.”

He looks like he’s caught between wanting to bolt and wanting to reach for you.

And then you add, voice a whisper, “Do you?”

His lips part like he’s about to argue again. “That doesn’t make it right. Just because we both wanted it doesn’t mean—” He stops short when you slowly cross the room and sit beside him on the couch.

Close, but not quite touching.

He turns his head toward you, and you see the war in his eyes. The way his jaw tightens like he’s trying to hold the boundary in place with sheer willpower. But you also see the hesitation crack under the weight of how much he wants to just give in.

He tries again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “I’m supposed to set an example. There’s a line—”

You tilt your head and meet his gaze. “I think you’ve been setting one. You’ve been kind. You’ve been professional. You’ve taken care to make sure I’m comfortable. Even when I was bleeding under my costume.”

He swallows hard at that.

“I’m not asking for anything dramatic,” you say. “I’m just saying…you kissed me, I kissed you back, and neither of us regretted it. That doesn’t have to ruin everything.”

Hoseok exhales shakily and looks down at his hands, like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I’m terrified,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Of what?”

He finally looks up again, voice barely above a whisper. “That I already care more than I should.”

Your breath catches.

There’s silence for a moment as your heart thuds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Then, slowly, gently, you reach over and cover his hand with yours. Neither of you speaks. He doesn't pull away, and you can feel the exact second he stops resisting the pull between you.

He turns his hand over and threads his fingers through yours.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The green room is buzzing with the usual pre-show energy, laughter, final stretches, a couple dancers running counts in the mirror. You’re finishing your warmup near the benches, tying the last lace on your sneakers when it happens.

Mina walks by, just close enough to catch your foot with hers. You stumble forward with a sharp gasp and catch yourself on your hands, the thud of your body hitting the floor cutting through the noise in the room.

Everything goes quiet for a beat. People freeze mid-stretch, mid-laugh.

Then Mina has the audacity to scoff. “God, you’re such a klutz,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Still not sure how you ended up on this team.”

You push yourself up slowly, heart pounding. Not from the fall, but from the humiliation blooming hot and fast under your skin, but before you can say anything, a low voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Mina,” Hoseok says.

Everyone turns.

He’s standing by the door with a water bottle in one hand, his jaw locked tight, eyes burning. There’s a tense silence as he walks into the room, the shift in energy is immediately charged.

“I’ve overlooked your attitude for weeks because I wanted to believe you could rise to the occasion,” he says, his tone cool, measured, but unmistakably angry. “But this?” He gestures slightly toward where you’re still crouched on the floor. “I saw you. You tripped her on purpose. Just like I know you’re the one who dug your nails into her during the Mexico City show.”

Mina opens her mouth, probably to deny it, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he says, now fully standing between the two of you, shielding you without even touching you. “This isn’t just unprofessional. It’s dangerous. You could’ve seriously injured another member of this team.”

There’s a sharp inhale from someone nearby, and Mina’s face drains of color.

“If you think getting her out of the way would earn you the duet, you’re wrong,” Hoseok continues, voice hard. “Even if she were gone, you wouldn’t be next. You are not talented enough to be acting like this.”

The silence is deafening.

“Please leave,” he says. “And pack your things.”

Mina stares at him, stunned, her face flashing through disbelief, anger, then something that almost looks like embarrassment. She waits for someone, anyone, to step in on her behalf.

No one does. Finally, she huffs and storms out, slamming the door behind her. The green room stays quiet for a long beat. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Hoseok looks down at you, expression softening instantly. He crouches beside you, voice much quieter now.

“You okay?” he asks, gently.

You nod, slowly. Still stunned. Still reeling. But okay.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

The show that night feels like flight.

From the second the lights dim and the roar of the crowd rolls through the arena like a wave, something inside you unknots. You aren’t looking over your shoulder. You’re not bracing yourself for a stray elbow or a bruising grip disguised as part of the routine. You don’t have to shrink yourself to avoid drama, you just get to dance.

The stage is yours.

Every movement flows smoother than it ever has, like your body finally trusts the space it occupies. The dancers move together in tight synchronicity, and for once, no one’s energy is off. No side-eyes. No petty tension dragging things down. Just pure rhythm and trust.

When the crowd screams during your first formation, your pulse spikes with something electric, not anxiety, not dread, joy. You smile without thinking, and when you glance at Yunjin, she grins back like hell yeah. You feed off that, let it power you.

By the time you hit the duet, you're flying.

The opening notes cue in, and Hoseok appears beside you in the wings. Just his presence is enough to ground you and set your blood humming. He gives you the briefest glance, not quite a smile, but something almost more intimate. Like a promise.

You take the stage together, and it’s magic.

No missed beats. No second-guessing. Every touch, every shift in weight, every perfectly-timed breath is effortless. When he spins you and catches you again, his hand rests just below your ribs, close to where the wounds once were but not close enough to hurt. Just enough to feel. The crowd eats it up. The screams swell louder with every pass and lift, the flashing lights painting the moment in glittering gold. It’s not just that the show is good, it’s that you feel alive. Untethered and whole.

When the final pose hits and the lights cut to black, you’re breathing hard, grinning through the sweat, your chest heaving. Hoseok’s palm is still pressed against your back, steadying you. You don’t even look at him, but the warmth of his hand is enough.

The crowd roars.

And for the first time since the tour began, you know exactly who you are up there, you, not someone tiptoeing around someone else’s bitterness. Just a dancer. Just you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The hotel room is quiet except for the soft shuffle of Yunjin rifling through her suitcase. She’s dressed to the nines in heels, leather pants, glitter along her cheekbones. She looks incredible and she knows it.

"You’re seriously not coming?" she asks, turning to face you with one hand on her hip. "We just got rid of the drama queen. You’re telling me you don’t want to celebrate a little?”

You laugh, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. “Yunjin, my feet are screaming. I just want to sit in silence, drink water, and maybe cry about how good that show felt.”

She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me tomorrow night. I expect glitter, heels, and tequila.”

“I promise,” you say, holding up a tired pinky. “Have fun tonight, though. Be chaotic in my honor.”

She grabs her purse, gives you an air kiss, and heads out the door, calling, “Don’t fall asleep in your makeup again!”

You're halfway through digging through your bag, looking for your charger, maybe a snack, who knows, when you see it: a folded square of paper tucked between your spare hair ties and a travel-sized lint roller.

It’s his handwriting. You’d recognize it anywhere after seeing him scribble choreography notes a hundred times.

Text me sometime. - H. xxx-xxx-xxxx

Your heart skips like a scratched CD.

For a few seconds, you just stare at it. Then, with a deep breath and fingers that don't feel entirely your own, you type out a message.

you: hey. it’s me, yn.

The read receipt pops up immediately. Then the typing bubble. Then—

hoseok: hey you wanna come over?

You blink. Your stomach flips.

Your thumbs hover over your screen as you glance toward the door, waiting to make sure Yunjin is really gone. You give it a few minutes just in case she forgot something.

Only after the silence stretches long and certain do you type out:

you: yeah. give me 15

Fifteen minutes of chaos ensue. You brush your hair, freshen up your face, change into something casual but…strategic. A thin tank top that hugs your curves and soft short shorts that ride just a little higher than necessary. You swap out your regular underwear for the nice pair. Not lingerie, but close enough. You glance in the mirror. Presentable. Chill. Not trying too hard.

Totally trying hard.

Your heart pounds the entire walk to his room. When you knock, there’s a beat of silence, and then the door swings open. Hoseok stands there in nothing but a hotel robe, collarbone still glistening. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, flicking down your frame and back up again.

"Hey," he says, soft and slightly breathless, like maybe he wasn’t expecting you to actually show.

Your breath catches.

“Hey,” you say back, trying not to stare.

Then he steps aside, holding the door open a little wider. “Come in.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

You step inside and let the door shut softly behind you, the click oddly loud in the quiet. Hoseok’s room is warm, quiet, and carries the faint scent of his cologne and whatever fabric softener the hotel uses. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

“I wasn’t sure you’d find the note,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, like he's not sure if this moment is real. “I felt silly writing it. Kept rewriting the same line, over and over.”

You smile, stepping forward with the easy confidence of someone who’s nervous but determined not to show it. “Of course I found it. You have very recognizable handwriting.” You pause, giving him a once-over, your gaze deliberately slow and teasing. “And I mean…I couldn’t just ignore a personal invitation from someone who looks this good in a bathrobe.”

That earns a soft laugh from him, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. But then his expression softens, the amusement fading into something a little more vulnerable. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and it feels like more than just a compliment. It lands somewhere deeper. “I’ve been trying not to say that all tour.”

He reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers warm against yours. When you let him guide you, he pulls you gently between his legs, his knees parting so you’re standing right in front of him. The height difference is stark like this, and he tilts his head slightly to look up at you, his eyes tracing your face, your lips, the line of your neck.

For a moment, he just rests his hands on your waist, thumbs brushing along the hem of your tank top, like he’s grounding himself. Then slowly, with almost reverent intent, he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft at first, exploratory. His mouth moves against yours like a question, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t. Instead, your hands settle on his shoulders, and you press in closer.

He exhales through his nose, deepening the kiss, one of his hands sliding up your spine and the other resting at the small of your back, fingers splayed wide. He pulls you in until your hips are flush against his legs, and the robe parts slightly where your thighs meet his knees. His hand trails down from your spine, skimming the soft fabric of your shorts before curving around to rest again at your waist.

Your body responds instinctively. Melting into him, craving the warmth of his skin, the way his lips shift between gentle and hungry. His other hand leaves your back to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

He breaks the kiss only to mouth along your jaw, then down to your neck, and the soft sounds you let out seem to spur him on. But still, it’s unhurried like he’s taking his time, like he wants to memorize you.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes against your collarbone, his voice hoarse and low. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit.”

Your fingers curl into the loose fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, and he responds immediately, one arm wrapping firmly around your waist, the other sliding under your tank top, his hand warm against your skin, splayed out over your back like he’s trying to hold you in place. You feel him press a kiss just below your ear, then rests his forehead against yours.

When he kisses you again his lips move against yours with slow, deliberate care, but there's a quiet urgency beneath it, too like he’s been holding back for too long and now that he has you here, he doesn’t want to waste a second. You melt into the kiss, fingers curling loosely around the collar of his robe, and when your bodies touch more fully, there’s an electric awareness that crackles just beneath your skin.

His hands trace the curve of your waist, a path he’s followed before on stage, adjusting you during a lift, steadying you mid-turn. But here in the hush of the room, without choreography or lights or a thousand watching eyes, the same touch feels charged. Possessive, even. There’s no need to act like it means nothing anymore.

You gasp softly when his thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, his hand skimming the bare skin of your hip. That’s where he’s held you in rehearsals before, fingers firm, guiding your body into alignment. But this? This is slower. Softer. His fingertips dip beneath the fabric like he’s searching for something sacred there. “Familiar,” he murmurs against your jaw, his lips grazing your skin with each word, “but…different.”

You nod without thinking, breath stuttering as he kisses a line down your throat. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums against your skin, his mouth curving into a smile. “Of course you were. We’re always in sync, huh?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless and unsteady because his hands are already moving again, sliding up your sides, fingers brushing the swell of your chest through the thin fabric of your tank top. He’s careful, almost reverent, but every touch burns. Your whole body aches with the difference between the person who’s caught you mid-air, who’s held you through complex choreography, and the man touching you now with such quiet desire.

“You’ve had your hands on me a hundred times,” you whisper, eyes locking with his, “but it’s never felt like this.”

His lips return to yours, firmer now, more certain. You can feel the moment something shifts in him. The way he deepens the kiss, the way his fingers tighten just a little on your waist, pulling you closer so you’re flush against him. The fabric of his robe parts slightly, and your hands slide beneath it, finding the bare skin of his chest.

You trace the lines of muscle you’ve seen only in glimpses before, during rehearsals, and backstage costume changes, but now, you touch without hesitation, without boundaries. His breath hitches at your touch, and when you glance up at him, his pupils are blown wide, dark and wanting.

He leans his forehead against yours, voice husky. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smile, fingers drifting lower down his stomach. “Good.”

He laughs, a soft, husky sound, and kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands wandering, retracing the paths of muscle and memory. The tension between you winds tighter with every slow, deliberate brush of skin. It’s not hurried. It’s not messy. It’s two people who’ve touched a thousand times under the guise of professionalism, finally learning what it means to really touch.

And it’s the most alive you’ve ever felt.

His robe slips lower on his shoulders as you tug gently, palms flat against the warm, bare skin of his chest. The tension hums low and hot between you, and Hoseok’s breath brushes your lips as he breaks the kiss just enough to look at you.

“Still feels a little like a dream,” he murmurs, fingertips ghosting along your spine beneath your tank top, sending shivers through you.

You smile, a little breathless, running your hand slowly down his arm. “Then don’t wake up yet.”

That earns you a crooked smile, boyish and beautiful in a way that makes your stomach flutter. He kisses you again, slow and deep, but his hands move with more confidence now, like he’s no longer asking permission with every pass of his fingers, just learning and memorizing. When he skims the edge of your shorts again, this time it’s with the intention of pulling you closer, pressing you fully between his knees. Your thighs bracket his as his hands slip under your top, feeling the skin he’s only ever glimpsed when costuming ran late or rehearsal left you in a sweat.

He exhales softly, forehead resting against your chest for a moment, his voice muffled as he says, “You’re so soft. So warm. I don’t know how I kept my hands to myself for this long.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You were professional,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “But you don’t have to be right now.”

His gaze darkens, hands tightening slightly on your waist. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I think I already have.”

He kisses you again, more eagerly this time, like your words gave him permission to let go, just a little. His hands explore with purpose now, sliding under your top fully, dragging upward along your ribs. The sensation is dizzying. His palms rough from years of dancing, his touch familiar and brand new all at once.

You gasp softly when his thumbs skim just under the swell of your breasts, not quite touching , just teasing. “Hobi,” you breathe, and he lets out a shaky exhale like the sound of his name from your lips does something to him he wasn’t ready for.

“This okay?” he asks, voice thick, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You nod, fingers tangling in the open edges of his robe. “Yes. Please.”

That’s all it takes and his mouth is back on yours, hungry now, and you match his pace, letting him tip you back slightly as he shifts higher on the bed, your bodies aligned and pressed close in all the right places. His hands finally cup your chest, drawing a soft whimper from you, and he kisses the sound from your lips, swallowing every sigh like a promise.

Every touch is a contrast. Where he used to be precise and calculated, here he’s bold and greedy. Where his hands used to steady your center of gravity in a spin, now they explore like he wants to find your edges, and where his body used to move with yours in perfect timing for the audience, now it moves for you and only you.

It’s messy. It’s sweet. It’s slow but burning.

And when he finally pulls back for air, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from kissing, he whispers, “You’ve always been art. I just never thought I’d get to trace the lines this way.”

Your heart stutters. You press your forehead to his and whisper back, “Then don’t stop.”

His breath hitches at your words, not just from the way you say them, soft and sure, but from the way your hands frame his face like he’s something precious. He swallows hard, his eyes flickering over yours like he’s searching for doubt and finding none.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, and then he kisses you again. Deeper this time, not in a rush, but with that same aching certainty that you both feel thrumming beneath your skin.

The kiss grows, building slowly, like a rhythm only the two of you know. His hands trace every dip and curve of your body, familiar landmarks from choreography but now explored with reverence and curiosity. Where his grip once corrected your alignment or steadied your turns, now it’s a slow slide down your back, the press of his palm on the small of your waist drawing you in closer, until there’s no space left at all.

You shift slightly, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his legs, straddling him with ease, your fingers slipping beneath the robe to rest on his bare shoulders. He’s warm beneath your touch, and you lean into it, noses brushing, foreheads nearly touching again.

“This feels… different,” you say quietly, heart pounding.

His thumb brushes over the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. “Because it is.”

He doesn’t say more, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel it in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this might slip through his fingers if he rushes it. You tilt his face up again, kissing the corner of his mouth, then just below his jaw, and when he exhales, it comes out shaky, his hands fisting lightly in the fabric of your tank top like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

Your lips find him again, slower this time, testing, tasting, and he responds with equal care. Like he’s learning you, not just touching you. His hands roam again, but never in a way that feels rushed or impatient. They settle on your hips, tugging you gently into a deeper kiss that leaves you gasping, flush with want and warmth.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs into your mouth, words barely there. Are you leaving him so speechless that’s all he can say? Hoseok the incredible lyricist?

You smile against his lips, catching his bottom one gently between your teeth before letting go. “Good.”

He laughs under his breath, soft, breathy, a little disbelieving. “You’ve been driving me crazy since rehearsal one.”

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Since the first rehearsal, huh?”

He nods, eyes dropping to your lips again. “You walked in like you weren’t even trying to impress anyone. And then you danced like you had nothing to prove. That confidence?” He presses a kiss just beneath your ear. “It wrecked me.”

Your breath catches, and you lean into him, fingers threading through his hair. “You hid it really well.”

He chuckles, hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Did I? Because I was struggling.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, full and warm and he kisses you again like he wants to capture that sound, that spark between you. It's intimate in a way that makes your pulse race, not just because of the nearness or the tension. But because for the first time, you're seeing Hoseok not just as the dancer, the choreographer, the professional, but as a man who wants you. Who sees you.

Your fingers drift down, slipping beneath the edge of his robe as your mouth trails after them. You press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then another just above his collarbone. His breathing deepens, one hand sliding to your thigh, the other threading lightly into your hair.

You pull the robe apart a little more, exposing the smooth plane of his chest, the curve of muscle beneath warm, flushed skin. You kiss along his collar, slow and teasing, until you reach the center of his chest. You feel his heart racing beneath your lips.

His hand tightens gently in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as your mouth moves lower. You shift slightly in his lap, your tongue flicking against the skin just below his sternum. His head tips back a little, jaw tense, a low sound catching in his throat.

“This okay?” you murmur against his skin, voice breathy but sure.

He nods without hesitation, his voice rough when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s more than okay.”

You continue, slow and unhurried, kissing your way down the defined lines of his torso. Your lips trail lower, slow and deliberate. His skin is warm beneath your mouth, smooth and slightly tense like he’s holding himself back. You smile against him, exhaling softly as you kiss just above the line where his robe parts.

He shifts beneath you, his breath hitching when your fingers ghost along the edges of the fabric, following the trail of faint hair that disappears beneath the soft tie at his waist. Your lips press to that line, just below his navel, feeling the way he twitches at the contact, the way his hand tightens lightly in the bedsheets beside him.

You glance up, catching the dazed look in his eyes. “Still okay?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

He nods, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. You’re…driving me crazy.”

With slow fingers, you untie the knot of his robe, easing it open. He lets you, lifting slightly so you can slip it off completely. Beneath it he is wearing…nothing.

The robe pools at his sides and your eyes take him in, heart hammering at the sight of him laid out for you like this so open, so bare. You kiss along the line of his happy trail, teasing, not rushing, letting him feel the heat of your breath and the care in your touch.

You let your hands explore him with slow confidence, tracing the lines of his hips and the curve of his thighs as if you’re memorizing him by touch alone. He leans back on his elbows, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you with a look that’s equal parts wonder and heat. You’ve danced with him, felt his body move against yours night after night, but this is different. This isn’t choreography, it’s instinct. It’s want.

The gasp that leaves his mouth when you finally wrap your fingers around his cock is truly music to your ears. Your lips follow your hands, pressing soft kisses across his skin, taking your time. The way he breathes, shallow, and uneven, lets you know just how much he’s feeling every light stroke. You test the waters trailing your fingers across his thigh while you add slight pressure to your grip on his girthy length. You’re attentive, learning what makes him gasp, and what makes him whisper your name like it’s a secret too sacred to speak too loud.

You sink to your knees between his legs. He is beautiful like this, unguarded and flushed, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes burning with something that feels like awe. You meet his gaze as you lean in, letting your lips ghost over the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, closer, lower, until you hear the smallest hitch in his breath.

When your mouth finally wraps around him, his whole body jerks despite his effort to relax. His hands fly out gripping the sheets. You take your time, slow and attentive, letting every flick of your tongue, every hollow of your cheeks, every soft hum say what you can’t out loud: that you want him to feel good, to feel cared for, to feel wanted.

One of his hands finds your hair and he doesn’t push, just holds on grounding himself. With ease, despite his size, you take his entire length in your mouth. Hoseok throws his head back against the bed when his tip touches the back of your throat. You sink down further swallowing around his tip until you can feel he’s nearing his peak.

With quick movements you work your mouth up and down his length, his fingers tightening in your hair. His hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a slew of grunts and breathy moans.

“YN, I’m so close. Suck it, please!” He whines, as you continue sucking his cock.

Hoseok tenses as his high approaches and it only takes one more expert hollow of your cheeks before he’s spilling into your mouth. You swallow every drop without a thought making sure he’s looking into your eyes as you do so.

After everything settles, the room feels warmer, quieter. The hum of the city outside is muffled, and the only sounds are the soft breaths you both take. Hoseok’s hand is resting gently on your side, his fingers tracing light, absent patterns on your skin. You both lie there, side by side, the weight of everything that’s passed hanging in the air but not needing to be said.

You feel the heat of his body beside yours, the closeness, the tenderness of the moment. Hoseok shifts a little, pulling you closer, his arm wrapping around you protectively as he tucks you against his chest. It feels easy, natural, like this is where you both are meant to be, even if the world outside might be a little more complicated.

“I wasn’t sure how to do this,” he admits softly, his voice still thick with emotion. “I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, or if you’d even want to...but I couldn’t help it. Being around you, it just feels different.”

You smile gently, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart against your ear making everything feel so much more real. “I get it,” you whisper back, your fingers lightly tracing the outline of his hand on your skin. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know when the right moment is. But this…this feels right.”

His breath hitches slightly, and he squeezes you just a little tighter. The way he holds you, it’s not just out of physical desire. It’s soft, like he wants to protect you, keep you safe in this quiet bubble of understanding.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

“You haven’t,” you say quickly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in them makes your heart flutter. “We’re good, Hobi. Whatever this is, it’s good.”

His lips curl into a smile, the relief obvious in his eyes. “You’re something else, you know that?” His voice is light now, teasing but with an underlying affection that’s impossible to ignore.

You chuckle softly, resting your hand on his chest. “I’m just being honest,” you reply with a playful smile, tracing a small patch of skin near his collarbone. “But...I’m glad you feel the same way. We don’t have to rush anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his thumb brushing gently over your arm. “No rush.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, the intimacy between you speaking volumes in the silence. There’s no pressure, no expectation, just the warmth of the moment and the comfort of being together.

Hoseok tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m happy you’re here,” he whispers.

You smile, your heart feeling fuller than it has in a long time. “Me too, Hobi. Me too.”

The quiet stretches on, peaceful and warm, until the soft glow of the TV catches your eye.

“Is that…Run BTS?” you ask with a laugh, glancing at the paused screen. Hoseok grins sheepishly.

“I was watching it before you came over. Helps me unwind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Watching yourself unwind helps you unwind?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching for the remote. “It’s not like that. I like the chaos, and the editing always surprises me. Want to watch?”

You nod, shifting so your head rests more comfortably on his chest, legs tangled beneath the blankets. He presses play, and the familiar jingle rings out, drawing an immediate smile from both of you. It’s one of the older episodes—something chaotic involving fruit, blindfolds, and Seokjin’s scream echoing in the background.

You’re both laughing within minutes.

Hoseok pauses the show every so often to add commentary, who was actually terrified, what didn’t make the cut, the ridiculous inside jokes that carried on for weeks afterward. You soak up each detail, loving the way he lights up with every memory.

At one point, you’re laughing so hard you have to cover your face with the blanket, and Hoseok just watches you, totally enchanted. He doesn’t even try to hide it. When the episode ends and the screen fades to black, the room softens again, quiet and intimate.

You’re lying face-to-face now, close enough to share breath. The way he looks at you, soft, unguarded, pulls the air from your lungs.

“I was thinking…” he begins, voice quiet. He hesitates, then exhales, brushing his fingers along your wrist.

“What?”

“Come to Oakland early. With me.”

You blink. “Early?”

“Yeah. The others aren’t flying in for a few days, but I have a window. I know a house we can rent, somewhere quiet. Just us. We don’t have to hide or explain anything to anyone for a little while.”

You stare at him, stunned, but not in a bad way. Just trying to catch up with how fast your heart is racing.

“Just us?” you ask softly.

He nods, the corner of his mouth pulling into a hopeful smile. “Just us.”

The idea settles in your chest like sunlight through a window, warm, daring, and unfamiliar in the best kind of way.

You nod. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and threads your fingers together. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, over and over again, like he can’t believe you’re really saying yes.

“Okay,” he echoes, quieter this time. “Then it’s a plan.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other and something that feels dangerously close to hope. The TV glows quietly in the background, but you’re already dreaming of something more.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You slip quietly into your hotel room in San Antonio, trying not to make any noise, but Yunjin’s already wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pajamas, arms crossed.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, her tone a perfect mix of concern and suspicion.

You freeze, a bit caught off guard, but keep your cool. “I ran into an old friend,” you lie smoothly, setting your bag down by your suitcase. “They realized I was in San Antonio, so we met up.”

Yunjin narrows her eyes, skeptical. “An old friend?”

You nod too quickly. “Yep.”

She stares at you, her brow arching higher when she spots you opening your suitcase and starting to pack. “Okay, and why are you packing? We’re not leaving for like, three more days.”

“I am,” you say, tossing a few shirts in. “I’m flying out early. Gonna spend a couple days with my cousin Soobin in the Bay before we hit Oakland.”

Yunjin’s eyes light up. “Wait—hot cousin Soobin?”

You groan out loud. “Why does everyone call him that?”

“Because he’s hot,” she says plainly, flopping back into the pillows. “Also tall. Didn’t he model for that skincare brand one time?”

“Briefly,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face while stuffing a pair of jeans into your duffel.

She props herself up on one elbow and watches you for a beat. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you didn’t answer any of my texts last night.”

“I was catching up. Lost track of time.”

Yunjin doesn’t press, but her knowing smile lingers. “Fine. Go see Hot Soobin, but if you fall in love with your cousin, I’m not helping you sort through that emotional damage.”

You throw a sock at her.

She cackles and waves you off. “Have fun, don’t get sunburned, and text me if you’re coming back with a whole secret boyfriend.”

You just smile, a little too tight, and zip up your bag. “I’ll let you know.”

As you walk out the door, heart hammering, all you can think about is Hoseok, Oakland, and how you’re suddenly living a secret in plain sight.

You take separate cars to the airport, just like he asked, low-key, no attention, no reason for anyone to suspect anything. The sun is barely up, the horizon still soft with the color of sleep as your rides pull up on opposite ends of a small private terminal just outside of San Antonio.

You clutch your overnight bag a little tighter as you step onto the tarmac. Then you see him. Hoseok, standing just outside the sleek jet with sunglasses on and a coffee in hand, looking like he’s walked straight out of a daydream. The wind tousles his hair a little, and he grins when he sees you, flashing a dimple like a secret meant just for you.

Your steps slow as you take it all in, the shine of the jet, the gentle hum of the engines, the flight crew giving polite nods and treating you like you belong here. You’ve never flown like this before. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it.

Hoseok meets you halfway, offering his hand to help you up the stairs. “Good timing,” he says. “We’ll be in the air before the rest of the city’s even awake.”

You glance back over your shoulder at the runway stretching out behind you, still trying to ground yourself in the moment. “This is...wow.”

He squeezes your fingers. “It’s just a plane.”

You shoot him a look. “You say that like it’s a taxi.”

He chuckles and leads you up into the jet, stepping aside so you can get the full view.

It’s pristine. Minimalist luxury. Soft cream leather seats, dark wood paneling, warm lights dimmed to a golden glow. Everything feels quiet. Private. Safe.

There’s no one else aboard, just you, Hoseok, and the pilots, tucked away behind a closed door with frosted windows. It hits you then: this is intentional. This is his way of giving you space, time, and privacy.

You turn slowly, drinking it all in, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s watching you like he’s trying to memorize this moment too.

“Just us?” you ask.

“Just us,” he confirms softly, voice low, warm.

You walk to the plush bench-style seating along the side, setting your bag down and sitting. He follows, sliding in beside you, his knee brushing yours. There’s no press, no rush, just the slow awareness settling in your chest that for the next few hours, it’s only you and him in the sky.

You look out the small oval window, then back at him. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Not always,” he says. “But I wanted this one to be.”

You smile, heart thudding in your throat. “I like it.”

His fingers brush over yours again, gentle, unspoken, and your pulse spikes all over again.

The plane begins to taxi, a soft rumble underfoot as the engines build to a quiet roar. You feel the subtle shift of momentum as it lifts off the runway, climbing into the sky. Hoseok reaches for your hand as the pressure kicks in, fingers intertwining with yours naturally, like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

You glance over and catch him looking at you, his eyes dipping briefly to your neckline before flicking up again with a soft, guilty smile. The air between you grows warmer despite the cool hum of the cabin’s climate control. You settle in beside him on the wide bench, legs curling beneath you slightly, and his arm comes to rest along the back, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder.

“Comfy?” he asks, voice low and full of a private sort of amusement.

You smirk. “Very.”

It’s quiet for a beat. The low hum of the jet, the occasional ding from the cockpit, the softest sound of your breathing.

Then Hoseok shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed to yours now, warm and solid through your skirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed on a flight,” he murmurs, turning toward you more fully. His fingers move to your shoulder, tracing down your arm in a light touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitches slightly. “Guess I have that effect.”

He laughs quietly, a rich sound, and then his hand stills just above your knee. “You really do.”

The touch is familiar and new all at once, like the memory of his hands on your waist during rehearsals, guiding your movements with careful precision, except now it’s different. Now there’s no audience. No choreography. Just curiosity and want.

You look at him, caught in the warmth of his gaze and the gentle pull between you. “This isn’t like rehearsal,” you say, voice soft.

“No,” he agrees, his thumb brushing slow circles against your bare thigh. “It’s not.”

He leans in, just slightly, close enough for you to feel the breath of his words on your skin. You tilt your head and your noses nearly brush, the tension stretching and coiling sweetly between you. When his lips finally touch yours, it’s soft and lingering, a slow exploration that deepens by degrees.

The kiss is unhurried but full of promise. His hand slips behind your neck, anchoring you gently as your fingers slide up the front of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath. Every inch you touch earns you a quiet, contented sigh that rumbles low in his throat.

You shift a little closer, fitting against him as his other hand traces the outside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he’s still memorizing the shape of you. When you part again, barely, your foreheads rest together as you catch your breath.

“I could get used to this,” he whispers.

You smile. “We’ve got a few hours.”

You curl in a bit closer to him, your legs draped gently across his lap now, and his arm loops behind your waist like it’s meant to be there. The plane hums steadily around you, but up here, everything feels suspended, like time has slowed just for the two of you.

Hoseok brushes his lips against your forehead and then rests his chin atop your head for a beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like this before,” he admits quietly.

You glance up at him, curious. “You mean flying a girl out?”

He chuckles softly. “I mean…this. Being this impulsive. Letting myself have something I want.”

Your heart trips a little. “Sooo you wanted this?”

He turns his head slightly so your eyes meet again, and the answer is all over his face before he even speaks. “I’ve wanted you for a while,” he says, voice low and sincere. “But I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

There’s a slight ache in your chest, something tender and fluttery. You lift a hand to brush your fingers through the hair at his temple. “And now?”

His smile is slow, but sure. “Now I’m trying not to think about rules. Just…what feels right.”

You nod, letting his words settle between you, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his collarbone. “I’ve never done anything like this either,” you admit softly. “Running off with someone. Especially someone like you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

You smirk. “Charming. Famous. A little too good at body rolls.”

That earns a bright laugh from him, full and warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I swear I wasn’t body rolling to seduce you.”

“Mmm, I beg to differ.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “You’re dangerous.”

You lean up, brushing your lips against his again, slow and teasing. “Takes one to know one.”

His hand tightens a little at your hip, grounding you. There’s something unspoken in the air, something bigger than desire. You both feel it. For a long moment, you just sit there like that, tangled up in each other, the outside world forgotten. No stylists. No tour. No rehearsals. Just skin and breath and softness.

Then he murmurs, almost absently, “What do you want this to be?”

You pull back just enough to really look at him, surprised by the question.

“I mean,” he continues, his thumb brushing soothingly against your side, “we don’t have to define it now. I just..want to know how to show up for you.”

Your chest feels tight again, but in a good way this time. Full. Warm.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit honestly. “But I want to find out.”

His smile is quiet but bright. “Yeah. Me too.”

And with that, he pulls you in again, your laughter muffled by another kiss, his hands skimming your back like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every breath. His other hand moves to your thigh, tracing slowly, reverently, until he reaches the edge of your skirt.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your own gaze, a quiet answer, a soft yes. You take his hand and guide it gently beneath the hem of your skirt, skin warming everywhere he touches. Then, with a whisper of a smile, you kiss him again. Deeper this time, needier.

His fingers slide higher, finding the lacy edge of your panties. A sharp exhale leaves his lips against yours when he feels how soft you are. He squeezes the curve of your hip, then your ass, drawing you forward until your chest is flush against his, the heat between you undeniable.

You gasp softly at the pressure, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck, your lips never quite leaving his. Hoseok slips a hand between you quickly dipping his hand into your panties. You grasp his shoulder, sighing against his neck, as his fingers find where you so desperately want him to touch.

He takes his time shifting his touch, not rushed, but exploratory, learning you by feeling alone. Every breath you take turns heavier, every quiet sound you make draws him in further, like he’s intoxicated by the way your body responds to him. Hoseok’s name escapes your lips in a whisper, as he slips long fingers inside of you. His free hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair, all while continuing to kiss you.

Your breath stutters when at the same moment his lips trail down your jaw, his thumb finds your clit drawing soft, slow circles. You bury your face in his shoulder, and he leans in closer, his hot breath against your ear.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough. “You feel like a dream.”

His fingers continue to trace delicate circles that make your body arch instinctively toward him, and his hand slides down to your shoulder blade gripping you just slightly tighter.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs between soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your neck. “Every time you look at me like that, every time you move with me onstage, I swear I almost forget the choreography.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, your heart clenching at the mix of heat and sweetness in his voice. He grips your hip encouraging you to ride his fingers. Of course, you would do anything for him. You roll your hips forward and he makes an appreciative sound.

“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, almost like a confession. “You. Just like this. For longer than I’ll ever admit out loud.”

Your eyes meet, breathless and warm. You lean in to kiss him again and he hums against your lips, deep and content. Losing yourself in the feeling of his fingers deep inside you is easy. You can’t help the soft noises that fall from your lips encouraging him to keep going. The pleasure is building much quicker than you thought it would. It usually takes your partners quiet some time but with him even looking in his direction makes you feel as if you could—

“God, you’re incredible,” he breathes.

Hoseok lifts your shirt exposing your breasts so he can lay soft kisses on them. He continues this in tandem with his never relenting fingers building and building and building your pleasure. After several minutes he sucks a dark purple mark low on your breast and the absolutely delicious feeling sends you over the edge. Shaking, and whimpering from just how good he feels, Hoseok holds you against his chest. He pats your head and whispers how beautiful you are and that you are so good.

The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the plane and the muffled sound of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. You press one last kiss to Hoseok’s jaw before slipping off his lap, smoothing your skirt down with shaky hands. He watches you with a soft, contented smile, one that lingers even as you murmur something about needing the bathroom and disappear behind the narrow door.

Inside, the overhead light is too bright. You stare at your reflection for a long moment, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten. You look…different. Like you’ve crossed some invisible line you can’t uncross. You turn on the faucet, cupping cool water in your palms, pressing it gently to your face. The cold sting helps, but only a little. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

Why you?

It’s not the first time you’ve wondered. Hoseok is well, Hoseok. World-famous. Charismatic. Effortlessly talented. Gorgeous in that infuriating, unfair way. Yet he kisses you like you are the only person who has ever mattered. Touches you like you are something rare.

But the doubt digs in anyway.

Maybe it is just a moment. Maybe it didn’t mean what you want it to mean. Maybe he is just caught up in the tension of the tour, the thrill of secrecy. Maybe this is just another city, another stop—and you’re just part of the scenery.

You grip the edge of the small sink tighter.

No, you think, forcing yourself to breathe. He looked at you like he meant it. He asked what you wanted this to be. He brought you here.

But still…the questions simmer beneath the surface.

What if you get hurt? What if this is temporary for him? What if you're just the distraction?

You dry your hands slowly, your heartbeat steadier now but your chest still heavy. When you finally open the bathroom door, you find Hoseok waiting, already looking up.

“Hey,” he says softly, and there’s something in his voice that makes your pulse trip again. “You okay?”

You nod, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just…needed a second.”

His brow furrows, just slightly. “You sure?”

You hesitate.

Do you tell him? Or do you keep pretending it’s nothing?

You manage a small smile and nod again, this time more gently. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hoseok doesn’t press. He just reaches out a hand and tugs you back toward the plush couch, guiding you to sit beside him again. You curl into his side, your cheek resting against the familiar warmth of his chest. His arm wraps around your shoulders, easy and natural, like he was always meant to hold you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The low rumble of the plane is steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat in the background. You feel his fingers stroke absently along your arm, tracing lazy shapes that make your skin hum. He smells like something faintly spicy and clean, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to smell it again without thinking of this exact moment.

Still, your thoughts won’t quiet down.

His thumb grazes your shoulder, and you think, Why me?

You’ve been asking yourself since the moment his mouth first met yours. Since the moment he looked at you like he was seeing something precious.

He could have anyone. Absolutely anyone. People throw themselves at him. Beautiful, glamorous, famous people. And yet…here you are. On his private plane. Wrapped in his arms. Feeling like the luckiest person in the world and the most uncertain one at the same time.

You close your eyes, trying to memorize the weight of his arm around you, the steadiness of his breath against your temple. Part of you wants to sink into it completely, to let yourself believe this could be real, that it could mean something. But another part stays curled up inside your chest, tight with the fear that maybe you’re just temporary.

He doesn’t say anything and just holds you closer, brushing his lips against the top of your head so softly it feels like a question. You don’t answer. Not yet. You just breathe him in and try not to get too lost in what it feels like to be chosen…and wonder why it’s so hard to believe you deserve it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The car pulls up to a small house nestled in a quiet neighborhood just outside Oakland, the kind of place with winding roads and wildflowers sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. It’s unassuming, painted in soft earth tones with a wide front porch and ivy curling along the railings, but there’s something comforting about it. Hidden. Safe. Like the world can’t touch you here.

As soon as the driver opens the trunk, you’re reaching for your suitcase when suddenly—

“Hey!” you squeal, laughing as Hoseok sweeps you into his arms.

He’s already halfway up the steps by the time you protest. “Hobi, seriously! Put me down.”

“Nope,” he grins. “I’m making a memory.”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being romantic,” he corrects with a wink, nudging open the front door with his hip before stepping inside. “There’s a difference.”

The inside is just as cozy as the outside promised, light wood floors, soft neutral walls, and wide windows that let the golden late-afternoon light spill through. The air smells faintly like lavender and something clean, like freshly laundered sheets.

Hoseok carries you straight to the couch and lowers you gently onto the cushions with a little flourish. “Your chariot has arrived, my lady.”

You laugh again, breathless, as he dashes back out to grab your bags. While he’s gone, you kick off your shoes, pull a throw blanket over your lap, and flip through the streaming options until you land on a movie that’s easy and warm, something nostalgic. By the time he returns, lugging both your suitcase and his into the primary bedroom, you’ve already curled up with a pillow and settled in.

He reappears a few minutes later, a little tousled from the effort, his hoodie slouchy and his hair flopping into his eyes. There’s no makeup, no stylist, no flash or stage lighting—just him. And somehow, it makes your breath catch a little. This is a version of Hoseok the world rarely gets to see. Softer. Gentler.

He drops onto the couch beside you, then shifts so his head lands easily in your lap, one hand reaching for the blanket to tug it over both of you.

“Comfy?” you ask, threading your fingers through his hair.

He hums, low and content. “Mmhmm. You make it comfy.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches the screen, but every now and then, you catch him glancing up at you instead. Just watching. Like he still can’t believe you’re really here.

And even with all the noise still stirring in the back of your mind, wondering what this means, you let yourself smile and run your fingers gently through his hair again.

Later you are in the kitchen, which is small but charming, with terracotta tile floors and wooden shelves lined with mismatched mugs and little jar of herbs. You both settle easily into the rhythm of cooking, moving around each other, bumping hips in the narrow space, laughing when Hoseok fumbles with the garlic press like it’s a foreign object.

“You don’t cook much, do you?” you tease, nudging his elbow as he squints down at a recipe on his phone.

“I cook!” he defends, brandishing a wooden spoon. “I just…delegate garlic duty.”

You giggle and reach for the cloves, brushing your fingers against his in the process. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his hand linger just a second too long. You feel the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth again. He’s not subtle about the way his eyes slide down your neck when you lean forward to stir the pasta, or how he rests a hand on your waist as he steps around you to reach for the olive oil.

It’s warm. Easy. Intimate.

Dinner turns out surprisingly good, cacio e pepe with a simple salad, and you carry your plates to the small round table by the window. There’s soft music playing from his phone, and the sky outside has dimmed into that dusky shade of blue that always feels a little like magic.

You’re halfway through your plate when the lightness starts to unravel inside you. That nagging thread of doubt that’s been tugging at your chest ever since the plane.

Hoseok looks up when you go quiet, chewing slowly. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Hey,” he says gently, setting his fork down. “You’re not fine.”

You sit there a moment, twisting your napkin in your lap. Then, before you can stop yourself—

“I just…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I am to you. I know you said we’d figure it out but…”

He doesn’t speak right away, and that makes your stomach twist harder.

You press on, needing to let it out. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s perfect when part of me is scared you’re just…using me. That I’m some tour fling. That you’ve done this a million times before and I’m just…convenient.”

Silence.

Then, softly, he stands and moves around the table, pulling his chair closer until his knees touch yours. He takes your hands in his, eyes steady and open.

“If all I wanted was sex,” he says slowly, “I could’ve had that in Mexico City. You were right there. We were alone. No one would’ve known.”

Your breath catches, but he squeezes your fingers gently.

“But when I kissed you that night…” He exhales a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “I swear to god, it took my breath away. I didn’t expect it to feel like that. And right after I knew, one kiss wasn’t going to be enough. Not with you.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I didn’t fly you out here so we could hook up in a rental house. I did it because I wanted time with you. Away from everything. I care about you. Really care about you. I admire how passionate you are, how hard you work, how you move when you dance. I see how everyone on tour looks at you, how they light up because you’re around.”

You blink fast, trying not to cry.

“I haven’t done this a million times,” he adds, voice softer now. “I’ve never done this before.”

The words hit you like a weight and a balm all at once. He could’ve gotten upset at what you suggested but instead he wiped away any worry plaguing your brain.

Slowly, you reach for his face, cradling his jaw as you lean in. He closes his eyes at your touch, like he’s savoring it.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He pulls you into a hug. It’s tight, grounding, real, and in his arms, the knot in your chest finally begins to loosen.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

After dinner, the kitchen is left in a charming disarray, plates in the sink, a few pasta shells on the counter, and a bottle of wine half-finished beside the stove. You both say you’ll clean up later, but neither of you moves.

Instead, you wander into the living room together, where the couch is still warm from earlier and the movie you put on before dinner is paused on the title screen. Hoseok grabs a blanket from the back of the couch, tossing it over the two of you as you settle in.

He lets you curl up beside him first, and then gently shifts so his head rests in your lap again, just like before. You run your fingers lightly through his hair as the movie begins to play, but your attention never really settles on the screen.

It’s on him. On the way his lashes fan against his cheeks. On the way he hums in contentment when you scratch lightly behind his ear. On the way he looks up at you like you’ve hung the stars.

“You’re staring,” he says eventually, cracking one eye open with a teasing smile.

You smile back. “So are you.”

He grins, then shifts to sit upright, sliding an arm around your waist to bring you closer. You both sit there, curled into each other, the quiet hum of the film in the background and the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing up.

You talk about small things. Favorite comfort foods. Embarrassing stories from rehearsals. The time he almost face-planted during a dance break and saved it with a dramatic spin. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

Later now tangled up on the couch, legs across his lap, your fingers absentmindedly thread through his hair as a soft song plays low from his phone speaker. The world feels far away.

He shifts beneath you, one hand gliding along the bare skin of your thigh, just beneath the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His thumb moves in slow, teasing circles.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, voice low, gaze on your face like he’s reading every thought.

You hesitate. “Just thinking.”

He waits. Doesn’t press. Just touches you, light as air, patient.

“I guess…” You draw in a breath. “I’m wondering, why me? I mean—” your voice falters as his fingers skim a little higher, “—you could have anyone.”

Hoseok's brows knit together. He shifts so you’re facing him more directly, his hand settling at your waist. “Don’t say that.”

“No,” he says firmly, leaning in, his nose brushing yours. “If I just wanted sex, I wouldn’t have waited. I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

His hand slips under your shirt, splaying warm over your lower back.

“When I kissed you in Mexico City…” His voice drops, almost reverent. “It did something to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your breath catches, your body already reacting to his words, to the heat in his eyes.

“I flew you here because I wanted you, not a moment. Not a fling. Just…you.” he reassures you.

He kisses you then. It is slow, deliberate, claiming. His mouth moves with aching sweetness against yours, and it makes you dizzy. You shift in his lap instinctively, needing more of him, and his hands tighten on your hips.

Your shirt rides up as he pulls you closer, his lips finding the curve of your jaw, then down your neck. He murmurs against your skin, “You’re beautiful. You’re everything.”

You whimper as he mouths over your collarbone, one of his hands sliding higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your bra, teasing but not rushing.

“You’re not just anyone,” he says, voice rough. “You’re the one I can’t stop wanting.”

And in the way he touches you, slow and reverent, in the way his breath hitches when your hips roll into his, it feels true. Real. Like something neither of you expected but are both terrified to lose.

Your fingers curl into Hoseok’s shirt as his mouth returns to yours, this time more urgent, more intent. The kind of kiss that says I’ve wanted this all day. His hands roam with purpose now, one tracing your thigh while the other cradles the back of your neck, pulling you even closer.

He stands, lifting you with him like it’s nothing, and you gasp against his lips. “Hobi—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Come here.”

You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him as he carries you toward the bedroom. You’re breathless, laughing softly against his neck until—

You both freeze in the doorway.

Dangling from one side of the headboard are fuzzy pink handcuffs.

You blink. “Um…do your rental people always provide accessories?”

Hoseok sets you down gently on your feet, eyes wide with mock offense. “Absolutely not. I did not tell them to put those there.”

You smirk, reaching out to give one a little tug. “Mmhmm. Sure you didn’t.”

His hands find your waist again. “I didn’t!”

You glance over your shoulder, giving him a playful smile. “Well…I wouldn’t mind using them.”

His eyes darken instantly, hands tightening on your hips. “Is that so?”

You turn back, wiggling your brows, but before you can say another word, he smacks your ass, firm, fast, and just sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Hey!” you laugh, spinning to face him again.

He just grins. “Keep teasing me like that and you’ll find out exactly how serious I am.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air between you goes molten.

You back toward the bed slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Then maybe you should come show me.”

His mouth twitches, trying not to smile, but it’s hopeless. He steps closer, backing you until your knees hit the mattress and you fall back onto it with a little bounce. You pull him down with you, and the next kiss is nothing like the ones before.

It’s heat and hunger and hands everywhere, his fingers tugging your shirt over your head, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his. You’re both stripping off layers, skin meeting skin, the weight of him pressing into you as he settles between your legs. He leaves momentarily to put on protection then returns.

You gasp into his mouth as his hips settle fully between yours, the heat of him radiating through every place your bodies touch. Seeing him before is nothing compared to the feeling of him against you. His hand slips under the curve of your back, pulling you even closer until there’s not an inch of space left. Kissing him alone has turned you on so much that he slips inside of you easily.

“You feel so good,” he groans against your neck. “So perfect.”

You arch into him, nails dragging along his back. “Don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he promises, kissing you again—slow and deep, like he’s trying to write it into your bones. “Not tonight.”

The world has narrowed to this bed, this moment and his breath hot against your neck, the rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone. The motion of his hips is slow, he is letting you feel every inch without needing to rush. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been thinking about this? About you?”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down your chest, pausing to look up at you, his eyes darker now, pupils blown wide with heat. He looks down watching himself push in and out of you before he tilts his head back closing his eyes as he relishes in the feel of you. You bite your bottom lip, already hot from the tension strung tight between you.

“I think about you all the time,” he says, voice low and rough. “The way you laugh. The way you move. That little smirk when you know you’re getting under my skin…”

He thrusts harder and you arch against him involuntarily, and he groans, mouth dragging back up to yours like he can’t stand to be apart for even a second. He feels so good.

“Hobi,” you whisper, trembling under the weight of everything he’s making you feel. “I want this. I want you.”

His hand slides up your thigh again, slowly, memorizing the way your skin feels under his touch.

“You have me,” he says simply. “You’ve had me since the first time you looked at me like you saw something more.”

Hoseok sits up gripping your thighs as he quickens the pace of his strokes pulling sweet moans from your lips. His face is full of expressions you’ve never seen before. Facial expressions that are just for you. His hands wander exploring the beautiful curves of your body.

After several minutes you speak up knowing if you don’t you might not get all that you want. You grip his biceps until he looks into your eyes, halting his motion.

“Please handcuff me to the bed.”

His expression shifts in an instant. His eyes lock on yours, his jaw tightening a bit.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, squeezing your thigh absentmindedly.

You nod, your voice steady. “Please. I trust you.”

His lips curve into something wicked and sweet all at once. Hoseok slips out of you, leaving you with an empty feeling. “Lie back, baby.”

You lie back slowly, heart pounding with anticipation as Hoseok rises from the bed to unclip the handcuffs from the bedpost. The sound of the metal clinking lightly in his hands sends a thrill through your chest. He arranges the pillow around you for support.

He returns to your side, eyes locked on yours with a seriousness that makes your breath catch.

“If anything feels off, you tell me. Right away,” he says, voice low but firm, his fingers brushing your cheek in a way that makes you melt.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, so overwhelmed by the moment, by him. “I will.”

His expression softens just a little. “Good.”

Then his hands are guiding your wrists above your head, the fur-lined cuffs cool against your skin. He fastens them with care, double-checking the fit, and kisses the inside of each wrist as he does.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs, running a hand down your side, slow and deliberate. “Completely mine.”

You gasp softly, your body arching toward him on instinct, craving more of his touch, his weight, his warmth.

His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, teeth grazing lightly, followed by a trail of kisses. One hand strokes your hip, the other braced near your shoulder like he’s anchoring you both.

Every look, every movement, is full of reverence but there’s fire in it too, restrained only by his iron self-control. And even though you’re the one restrained, you don’t feel powerless. You feel wanted and craved, adored, devoured by his gaze alone. He ducks between your thighs pushing them against the side of his head for a moment before he licks a bold strip along your folds. Your thighs involuntarily squeeze and he moans against your pussy.

His tongue flicks your most sensitive area and he holds you down, stopping you from arching off the bed. You tug against the cuff wanting to pull his hair but having no way to do so. Being completely at his will is lighting a fire deep inside you. Hoseok licks, kisses and sucks you like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever done.

You shift beneath him, trying to get closer, but your arms don’t budge, caught in the gentle hold of the cuffs. The sensation only heightens your need, every touch, every breath shared between you feeling more intense, more intimate.

He slides back up, settling his weight over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. His nose brushes yours as he whispers, “Tell me what you want.”

You part your lips to answer, but he steals the breath from you with another kiss, deep and slow and consuming, leaving you gasping when he finally pulls back.

“Say it,” he urges, voice rough, “and it’s yours.”

“Make me cum with your mouth, please.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before doing as you so nicely asked. He comes back with a new vigor, letting you arch off the bed into his face. Hoseok lets you rub your pussy across his tongue bringing you to new levels of pleasure that sends a shiver up your spine. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezing your soft ass as he brings you to the brink of an orgasm. Then he chuckles looking up at you.

“Hoseok! Please, don’t stop!” You beg, batting your eyelashes at him as you struggle against your restraint. Somehow not being able to touch him is making this far more exhilarating.

He dives back in, lapping his tongue across you until you are shaking and overwhelmed. Once again, he laughs, kissing your thighs before moving beside you. His fingers graze your breasts playing with your nipple for a moment before he sits back against the headboard and unlocks your hands.

Immediately you grab his face pulling him in for a heated kiss as you straddle him, sinking down onto his waiting cock. You don’t give him a second to get acclimated rolling your hips until you earn the sounds you are so desperate to hear. Hoseok grabs your ass after a few seconds holding on while he finds the right rhythm to fuck into you.

“You feel so good.” Hoseok mumbles against your chest.

His lips skim over your chest, slow and deliberate, every kiss sending a jolt of heat spiraling through your core. The steady rhythm of your bodies moving together has you spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher than you ever expected. You’d imagined what it would feel like to be with him, late at night, alone, tangled in sheets, but nothing prepared you for this.

Every movement is purposeful. He reads your body like a language only he understands, every roll of your hips met with a low groan that rumbles in his throat. You use his shoulders for balance, adjusting your angle until you hit that perfect spot that makes your whole body hum. He notices immediately and his breath stutters, his hands tightening on your waist as he murmurs a quiet, “That’s it, just like that.”

Hoseok buries his face against your chest, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. You feel the full strength of him in every motion, every flex of muscle as he drives into you, deep and slow at first, then faster, more urgent. Your hands slide into his hair, desperate to anchor yourself to something, someone, as your breath quickens and your moans fill the air.

“That’s right, baby,” he says between heavy breaths. “You can be as loud as you want here. No one’s around. Just me. Just us.”

When he lifts you slightly, you whimper at the loss, but his eyes are locked on yours, dark and serious in a way that sends your pulse racing. “Turn around.”

You do, your body moving on instinct. Knees sinking into the mattress, you rest your head against the sheets and arch your back, presenting yourself for him without hesitation. It’s bold, it’s vulnerable, but it feels right.

His hands trail down your spine, a gentle graze that makes your breath hitch. Then his fingers slide inside you again, slow, rhythmic strokes that draw soft gasps from your lips, building you up all over again. When he finally presses into you, deeper than before, a shiver runs through your entire body.

The sensation is overwhelming in the best way. This angle hits different. Fuller. More consuming.

“God, you feel…” he doesn’t even finish the sentence, just lets out a deep, unrestrained groan that sets you alight.

“Hoseok,” you moan into the blankets, unable to hold it in. “You feel so good.”

He grips your hips tighter, his rhythm picking up, bodies crashing together in a storm of need and connection. Your breath stutters, your thoughts scatter and in that moment, there’s only this. The heat. The rhythm. The overwhelming sense that something inside you is coming undone, only to be rebuilt by his hands.

The rhythm builds, fast and relentless, until every part of you is burning. Hoseok’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you back into every deep thrust, your bodies colliding in perfect sync. Your moans mix with his ragged breathing, the sounds echoing in the room like a shared song, raw and unfiltered.

He groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. His hand slides up your spine, slow and possessive, until he’s got a firm grip in your hair. Not pulling, just holding, grounding you both.

You arch back into him, chasing every spark he’s setting off inside you. “Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He buries himself deeper, hips snapping against yours, his mouth finding your shoulder to press kisses between quiet curses.

Then his hand slides down your stomach, between your thighs, and the way he touches you there, gentle but purposeful, pulls a strangled cry from your lips. “That’s it,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Just like that. Let me take care of you.”

The heat coils tighter, pleasure building at a blinding pace. Your whole body trembles as you near the edge, and Hoseok knows, of course he does. He can feel it in the way you tighten around him, in the way your cries get sharper, breathless.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

That’s all it takes.

Your whole body seizes with pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming. You fall apart around him, and he follows, hips faltering as he groans your name against your shoulder, holding you like he never wants to let go.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, both of you still breathless, skin slick with sweat, hearts racing in unison.

Neither of you speaks at first. There’s no need. The silence between you is soft, full, peaceful in a way that makes your chest ache.

Eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, “Still think this is just about sex?”

You laugh, quiet and warm, and turn your head to look at him. “Maybe just really amazing sex.”

He grins. “I’ll take it.”

You rest your forehead against his. “And maybe…something more.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and the way he looks at you then—like you’re the only thing he wants to see—says it all.

The world feels quieter now.

Your bodies are still tangled together, limbs draped without care, his arm a heavy and comforting weight across your waist. Hoseok’s breathing evens out slowly, his chest rising and falling against your back as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then nestles in closer, like he can’t quite get enough.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and a little hoarse.

You nod, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He hums, pleased, and nudges his nose into the curve of your neck. “Good.”

You lie there like that for a while, just existing in the same space, letting the buzz in your veins quiet into something calm. Your fingers trace idle patterns along his forearm, and his thumb strokes your hip under the sheet in a lazy rhythm, like he’s drawing invisible circles of reassurance.

Eventually, you roll onto your side to face him, and he shifts to accommodate you, tucking a hand beneath your cheek and brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. He looks different like this, softer in the warm lamplight, eyes heavy-lidded but shining, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“You always this cuddly after?” you tease, voice light.

He chuckles, nudging your nose with his. “Only with you.”

That makes your heart flutter. You glance down at your fingers curled against his chest, at the way his hand rests so easily on your hip. It feels like something sacred, like maybe this isn’t just a fling or a few stolen nights. It feels like something you might be able to hold onto.

“I like this,” you say quietly. “Just…us.”

His smile grows, slow and tender. “Me too.”

You nuzzle into his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He pulls the blanket up around you both and hooks a leg around yours like he’s trying to cocoon you in. It’s safe here. It’s simple.

And as your eyes begin to flutter shut, you feel his lips press one last kiss to your temple. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You wake slowly, the golden morning light spilling in through the curtains. Everything smells faintly of sunshine and sleep, warm skin, fresh sheets, and something delicious drifting in from the kitchen.

You stretch, a little sore in the best way, and sit up just as the bedroom door nudges open. Hoseok walks in with a tray balanced in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of soft grey sweats that hang low on his hips and a boyish grin.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says, setting the tray on the bed. “I didn’t know your exact coffee order, so I made three different kinds just in case.”

You blink at the mugs, the little stack of pancakes, and the cut-up fruit that looks suspiciously like he arranged it by color. “You’re insane.”

He just laughs and leans over to kiss your forehead. “I’m thorough.”

You giggle and pull him onto the bed beside you, letting your legs tangle beneath the sheets again. He feeds you a strawberry with a dramatic flourish, and you nearly snort your coffee laughing when he pretends to swoon from how cute you are.

“Berry, berry, strawberry.”

You shift the tray so it’s balanced more securely between you and Hoseok, legs tucked beneath the blankets, his thigh pressed warm against yours. He hands you a fork with a little flourish and a wink, like he's your personal chef instead of the global superstar you watched dance under stadium lights just days ago.

“Try that one,” he says, gesturing to the fluffiest stack of pancakes you’ve ever seen. “I added cinnamon and a little nutmeg. Might’ve gone a bit wild.”

You take a bite, still a little dazed by how natural this all feels. “It’s actually insane how good you are at this.”

He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Cooking?”

“Being perfect,” you mutter around a mouthful of syrupy heaven, cheeks heating slightly.

That makes him laugh, low and warm, and he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, syrup and all. It’s sweet in every sense. You melt into him a little, like butter under sunlight, your body still buzzing from last night but your heart stealing the show.

Hoseok’s hand slides under the blanket to find your thigh, fingers drawing gentle circles as he rests his head back against the headboard. He closes his eyes, smiling like he’s finally at peace.

“This,” he murmurs, “feels dangerous.”

You glance at him, startled. “Dangerous?”

He opens one eye and looks at you. “Yeah. Like...if I let myself want this too much, I won’t ever want to let it go.”

Your breath catches. The fork stills in your hand.

“Hobi…”

He turns toward you fully now, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The tray gets pushed aside, forgotten for the moment. His eyes are soft but steady, locked on yours.

“I know this started fast. Intense,” he says. “But I don’t want it to be temporary. Not if you don’t.”

The room goes still except for the birds outside and the hum of your own heartbeat.

“I don’t either,” you admit, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what it looks like, but…I want more mornings like this. More of you.”

Hoseok reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the backs of his fingers brushing your cheek. “Then we’ll make it happen. One quiet, messy, beautiful morning at a time.”

Later you're curled into Hoseok’s side on the couch, your legs tangled together beneath the throw blanket, the quiet hum of the movie long forgotten. At some point, you remember your phone’s been face-down on the coffee table since you arrived and curiosity wins. You reach for it and unlock the screen.

Three missed messages from Yunjin.

Yunjin: how’s everything with your “cousin” soobin 👀 did you guys go hiking? or were you too “tired” from traveling 🤭 also, me rn (attached is a selfie—she’s glowing, with a flirty pout and a peace sign, captioned: “bored and pretty”)

You stifle a laugh, nudging your phone closer to your chest so Hoseok can’t see. “Yunjin thinks I’m visiting my cousin Soobin.”

Hoseok smirks. “Oh, right. Soobin. What a cool guy. Bet he doesn't kiss you like I do.”

You elbow him lightly, trying not to smile too wide. “Gross.”

“I’m just saying.” He leans in to press a kiss just below your ear. “You’re not fooling anyone. You look way too happy to be hanging with your cousin.”

Before you can tease him back, his phone buzzes on the table. It’s lighting up with an incoming video call: Jungkook.

Hoseok’s whole face brightens as he reaches for it. “Jungkookie!”

He answers immediately, barely giving you time to sit up a little straighter.

Jungkook’s face fills the screen with short hair, a bit flushed, military uniform visible. “HYUNG!” he yells. “Did you tell that dancer you have a crush on that you like her?”

The sound is loud enough for you to hear it crystal clear.

You freeze, mouth slightly open, and slowly turn to look at Hoseok.

He pauses for a beat, then, very calmly, tips the phone so Jungkook can see you sitting beside him.

Jungkook blinks.

Then he grins. “OOOOOH. NO WAY.”

Hoseok groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jungkook, why are you like this?”

“I’m just saying!” Jungkook’s practically bouncing in the frame. “You wouldn’t shut up about her after Mexico City. I was starting to think you were gonna write a love letter like it’s 2010 or something.”

You cover your mouth, giggling behind your hand. “This is kind of adorable.”

Jungkook gasps, beaming. “SHE’S COOL TOO?! Hyung, marry her.”

“Bye,” Hoseok says flatly, and hangs up with one dramatic tap.

You both burst out laughing, the tension melting away in an instant.

“So,” you say, poking at him with a smirk. “You have a crush on me?”

He turns to you, eyes soft but playful. “I think that part’s pretty obvious now.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The rest of your time at the rental house slips by like a dream, lazy mornings tangled in warm sheets, late nights filled with laughter, movies you barely finish, and takeout eaten cross-legged on the couch. You cook a few meals together, make a mess in the kitchen, steal kisses between stirring and seasoning, and somehow everything tastes better just because it’s shared.

There are countless kisses, some slow and sleepy, others heated and desperate, and sex that leaves you both breathless and grinning, limbs aching in the best way. But it’s not just the physical closeness. It’s the way Hoseok watches you when you talk, the way he pulls you into his chest during quiet moments, the way you catch yourselves smiling for no reason.

It’s comfort. It’s connection. It’s something neither of you say aloud, but it pulses between you like a secret song.

When it’s finally time to pack up and head to the hotel in Oakland, the mood shifts. You don’t want to let go of this version of yourselves. The one that exists only here, in this quiet, hidden place.

As the car pulls away, Hoseok reaches for your hand and holds it tightly, even though you both know that once you step into the hotel, the rest of the world comes rushing back in. And for now, neither of you says a word about it. You just sit there, fingers intertwined, pretending you can stretch the moment a little longer.

By the time the car pulls up to the hotel, the weight of reality settles in. Hoseok gives your hand one final squeeze before letting go, and you both wordlessly fall into your roles again.

To avoid suspicion, you head out first, slipping through the lobby with your hoodie up and sunglasses on, acting like you just got back from a walk or an errand. Hoseok stays behind to give it some time, knowing he’ll follow later through a different entrance. The shift back into secrecy is jarring. It feels colder somehow, even though the air hasn’t changed.

When you reach your room and push open the door, Yunjin is already inside, sprawled across your bed with a big bottle of iced tea and her phone in hand. The second she sees you, she bolts upright.

“There you are! Oh my god, I’ve been texting you! I thought you got kidnapped or something,” she blurts. “So? How’s Soobin?” She puts extra emphasis on the name, waggling her brows. “And what do you mean you ‘might be off-grid for a bit’? Spill!”

You force a laugh, heading toward your suitcase like you’re just tired. “It was fine,” you say casually. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all.”

But Yunjin is sharp, and you know she won’t be satisfied with vague answers for long.

You start changing into something more comfortable, peeling off your top facing her, and that’s when it happens.

“Hold up.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “What is that?”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, like you don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.

“That,” she repeats, hopping off the bed and pointing toward your chest. “On your boob! Is that a—ew, is that a hickey?!”

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively cover the mark with your hand, spinning back around. “Yunjin—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, holding up her hands dramatically. “You said you were with Soobin. Your cousin. So how the hell did you end up with a love bite there?!” She squints, then fake-gags. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re not—”

“I wasn’t with Soobin,” you cut in, laughing awkwardly. “Okay? I wasn’t.”

She pauses, staring at you like she’s trying to read the truth straight off your skin. “Then where were you? And who the hell gave you that?”

You hesitate, mouth opening, then closing again.

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Oh my god, this is so juicy and you’re not telling me anything! You’re killing me!”

You flop onto the bed with a groan, covering your face with a pillow. “I can’t tell you right now.”

She flops beside you, grinning like a cat who just caught a bird. “So you are going to tell me. Just not now.”

“Maybe.” You peek at her from under the pillow, giving her a weak smile. “I’ll let you know when I can.”

She squeals, kicking her feet. “This is so much better than your cousin. I knew something was up. I can’t believe I missed it. But whoever it is…that hickey? Respect.”

You groan again, but you're smiling. Just a little.

Because even with all the chaos, it feels good to be back and to know someone’s still in your corner, even if she doesn’t know the whole truth yet.

Rehearsal at Oakland Arena is intense, but in a good way.

The crew is buzzing with energy, eager to polish every step before showtime. Everyone’s focused, and for the first time in a while, it feels like the entire cast is moving in sync. No drama. No tension. Just the music and the movement.

Well…mostly.

Because Hoseok is different.

Not just in his dancing, which is, as always, razor-sharp and fluid, but in the way he carries himself. There’s a new lightness in him, a softened edge, as though something inside has clicked into place. He’s smiling more. Laughing more. Cracking inside jokes with backup dancers and playfully ribbing the choreographer like he’s got a secret no one else knows.

Everyone notices. You notice most of all.

And it’s torture.

You’re back to being professional, back to pretending your skin doesn’t burn every time he brushes past you. There’s no more lounging on couches or sneaking kisses in the kitchen. You can’t reach for his hand or fall asleep tangled together anymore. Now it’s just side glances and stolen seconds.

During your duet, his hand lingers at your waist just a heartbeat longer than necessary, just long enough to make your breath catch. No one comments on it, but you swear the moment is loaded with all the things you’re not allowed to say anymore.

You catch Hoseok watching you a few times throughout the run-through, his eyes soft and full of something that looks an awful lot like longing. But every time, he looks away before it becomes too obvious.

It doesn’t help that Yunjin’s watching you like a hawk either.

You don’t think she suspects the full truth, but she’s putting pieces together, closer with each passing hour.

Still, not everything is hard. Surprisingly, the mood backstage has shifted since Mina’s departure. There’s a lot less walking on eggshells, and the clique that used to trail after her now floats around with a different energy. It’s more open. Warmer.

After a water break, two of the girls, Eunchae and Yoonchae, pull you aside near the back hallway.

“Hey,” Eunchae says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We, uh…wanted to say something.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure where this is going.

“We were kind of—” Yoonchae starts, then sighs. “No, we were total jerks before and it wasn’t cool.”

Eunchae nods. “Mina had a way of…influencing people. But that’s not an excuse.”

You’re too stunned to speak at first.

“We just wanted to say sorry,” Yoonchae finishes. “You didn’t deserve that. And honestly…we’re glad you stayed. You’re killing it out there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in their voices. “Thanks,” you say slowly. “That means a lot.”

The two girls smile and retreat back to their spots, leaving you standing there with a mix of surprise and cautious relief blooming in your chest.

You glance across the stage where Hoseok’s already looking at you. He smiles softly, and for just a second, it feels like you’re both back in that rental house again. Untouched by the outside world.

After the rehearsal wraps up, Hoseok pulls you aside, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leans in with a quiet urgency. "Meet me in my room after Yunjin falls asleep," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. There's an unmistakable intensity in his eyes, a silent promise that makes your pulse quicken. "I’ll wait for you."

You nod, your mind racing as you try to focus on the rest of the night. You’ve always had a knack for keeping things under control, but right now, everything feels a little more thrilling. The quiet anticipation in the air is enough to make your heart race in your chest. You can’t deny the pull between you two, even if it’s something neither of you has fully explored yet.

Once rehearsal is over, you head out with the rest of the dancers, keeping it casual as you chat and laugh with them. Dinner is fun, the laughter light, but your thoughts are always drifting back to Hoseok. You eat your fill, savoring the food, but it’s hard to ignore the excitement bubbling under your skin.

Later, after you've said your goodbyes and made your way back to the hotel, you slip into the bathroom for a long, calming shower. The warm water helps soothe the tension that’s built up in your muscles, but it’s not enough to wash away the anticipation. As the steam fills the bathroom, you quickly dry off, then slip into your cutest pajamas, something comfy but still just a little bit sexy.

Feeling a playful thrill, you send Hoseok a cheeky picture of yourself in your pajamas, sending a playful wink his way. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a promise, a silent communication between the two of you.

His reply comes quickly: "Can't wait to see you."

Hoseok answers the door in a plush white robe, the soft fabric framing his collarbones and falling open just enough to tease bare skin underneath. His eyes light up the second he sees you, and before you can say a word, he pulls you inside, shutting and locking the door behind you in one swift motion.

The second the latch clicks into place, you’re against the door with his hands on your waist, his mouth finding yours like he’s been holding his breath all day just waiting for this moment. The kiss is hungry, messy, full of days of restraint unraveling all at once. His hands slide under your shirt as his lips move with purpose, like he’s trying to make up for every second he has to pretend like you are just another dancer on stage.

“I missed you,” he whispers when he finally pulls back for air, his voice husky and low against your lips.

Your breath catches, heart thudding in your chest. “We were just together this morning,” you say with a laugh, fingers curling into the collar of his robe.

He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. “Doesn’t matter. The second you walked away, I missed you. It’s pathetic.”

You’re about to tell him it’s not that you feel the same way, but he keeps going, his words tumbling out like he can’t stop them now.

“You have no idea how hard it was, watching you today and not being able to touch you. Not being able to kiss you or pull you into my lap between rehearsals. I can be professional, yeah,” he says, sliding a hand up your spine, “but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you the entire time.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your knees weak. “What were you thinking about?” you ask, voice quiet, teasing.

A groan rumbles in his chest as he presses you harder into the door. “The way you looked in rehearsal. The way you moved with me. That moment during the duet when you smiled at me like you forgot the whole world existed. I wanted to kiss you right then and there.”

His hands grip your hips, guiding you back toward the bed, step by step, never breaking eye contact. “But I didn’t. Because I know how to behave,” he adds with a grin, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “Even if every part of me was screaming not to.”

Your heart races as you reach for the belt of his robe, tugging gently. “What about now?”

“Now?” he repeats, voice low and rough. “Now, I don’t have to behave at all.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Every night, without fail, the two of you find your way back to each other. Whether it's slipping out after lights-out or sneaking past quiet hallways, you always end up wrapped in one another—sharing beautiful, sensual moments that leave you breathless. But it's not just physical. You talk for hours, learning the little things that make each other tick, the stories that shaped you, the hopes you’re almost too shy to say out loud.

During the day, it’s all professionalism and poise, but backstage and in quiet corners, you find ways to talk more, flirty words exchanged in passing, small touches behind curtains, kisses stolen in locked rooms when no one’s looking. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, and it’s yours. And through it all, you and Hoseok are happier than you’ve been in a long time.

After the final tour stop in LA, everyone celebrates together, the energy electric and hearts full. The night stretches into the early hours of the morning, laughter spilling out of rooms and echoing down hallways. When it’s finally just the two of you again, you end up in his hotel room, tipsy and glowing.

You dance around the room, music low and lights soft, your movements loose and joyful. Hoseok twirls you clumsily, both of you laughing until you fall into each other’s arms, dizzy with wine and everything you feel.

His arms wrap tightly around you as you stumble into him, your laughter caught between your lips as Hoseok’s mouth finds yours. The kiss is deep and unhurried, a slow burn that says everything words can’t. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, like he doesn’t want the night to end.

Your hands wander instinctively, fingers weaving into his hair, tugging him even closer. The music hums in the background, something mellow and dreamy, but all you can hear is the sound of your breath mingling with his, the low rumble of his voice when he whispers your name between kisses.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs against your lips. “Even when you’re right there…I miss having you like this.”

Your heart flips at the confession, raw and real. You press your forehead to his, nodding, too caught up in the heat between you to form a proper reply. Your hands slide beneath the hem of his shirt, warm skin meeting yours. He helps you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before lifting you off the floor, carrying you toward the bed with ease.

You giggle against his neck, pressing playful kisses along his jaw until he lays you down gently, hovering above you, eyes dark with adoration. His fingers trace slow patterns down your sides, lingering where your skin is most sensitive. Every touch is intentional, teasing, like he’s savoring every second.

“I really care about you,” he says softly, cupping your cheek. “So much.”

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest as you look up at him. “I care about you too,” you whisper back, letting your hands roam down his back, grounding yourself in the moment.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like the words you just exchanged have shifted something between you. There's nothing rushed about the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand cradles your face like you're something precious.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your bodies aligning with practiced ease. The air between you thickens, charged with everything you’ve both been holding back in public, all those moments stolen behind locked doors. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his breath hitching when your nails lightly trail along his spine.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked, brushing his nose against yours. “In rehearsals, on stage, backstage, every time I see you and can’t touch you, it makes me want you even more.”

His words light you up from the inside out. You arch up to meet him, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Then touch me now.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hands move over you slowly, like he’s trying to map every curve, every sigh. He slips your pajama top over your head, tossing it aside before pausing, eyes roving over you with quiet reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and it sends a rush of heat straight through you.

The next kiss is all heat, more urgent, more needy, teeth grazing lips and breath mingling in shared gasps. You lose yourselves in each other, in the slow grind of hips and the friction that makes you both tremble. Every touch stokes the fire between you, building the tension higher and higher.

But even in the heat of it all, there’s a tenderness underneath, fingers tangled, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked as though nothing else exists. He slows, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then to your collarbone, then your shoulder. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The world quiets.

You blink up at him, heart thudding. Your hand finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you whisper, “I think I already have.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, full of disbelief and something like wonder. And then he kisses you like he’s saying it again with his mouth, his hands, his whole body.

For a long moment, the only sound is the soft flutter of your combined breaths, as if the world outside has faded into a distant memory. Then, as if drawn by an unspoken promise, you both smile a soft, soulful smile filled with the secret of this precious night.

Slowly, you shift closer, your arms wrapping around him as he holds you even tighter. The heat between you transforms into a quiet, radiant glow that neither time nor distance can dim. There are no promises made aloud, no declarations to the rest of the world just the two of you, sharing a sacred space where passion meets tenderness.

In that moment, everything becomes clear: despite the miles, the rehearsals, and even the challenges of living two lives on stage and off, this connection is real. Unspoken yet undeniable, it’s the start of a love that feels both unexpected and perfectly meant to be.

#suck it #bts fanfic #jung hoseok #jung hoseok fanfic #jung hoseok fic #hoseok fic #hoseok smut #jhope fic #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jhope x you #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #bts fic #kpop fic #kpop smut

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 14 days ago

Text

Late Night Talking.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - realised ive not wrote anything angsty in a little while, so here’s this. enjoy huns x

word count - 1.3k

in which, it’s a thursday night, your sat up, waiting for your husband to return home, after he promised he’d be home hours ago, your sat on the sofa on the verge of tears, and when he walks through the door, all the tensions rise.

It’s a Thursday night. The clock ticks past 1:14am.

You’re still on the couch. Still waiting. Still holding your phone like it might finally buzz, light up, and tell you this has all been some stupid mistake.

But it doesn’t.

Your last message to Harry has gone unanswered for hours.

So have the others. So have your calls.

He promised he’d be home before ten.

Then the door opens. Quiet. Slow.

You hear the keys drop on the table.

And suddenly it’s real.

He’s home.

And everything in you twists.

You stand up as he enters the room, hair messy, eyes tired, jacket draped over one arm like he’s only slightly late. Like he didn’t leave you drowning in silence for hours.

He sees you and pauses mid-step. “Hey—”

“Where the hell have you been?” you cut in, voice low and cold, sharp enough to slice air.

Harry blinks. “The studio. I told you—”

“You told me you’d be home before ten.” You cross your arms. “It’s almost two, Harry.”

He exhales through his nose, rubs his jaw. “We were in the middle of something. I lost track of time.”

“You lost track of five goddamn hours?” Your voice cracks like glass. “Are you serious right now?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t even check your phone. Not once?” You step forward, heart hammering. “You couldn’t take ten seconds to say, ‘Hey, I’m alive. I’ll be later than I said.’ That’s all it would’ve taken, Harry. Ten seconds.”

“I left it in my bag, I wasn’t checking—”

“Right. Of course,” you scoff, hands trembling now. “Because the bridge of a song was more important than me sitting here thinking you were dead somewhere on the side of the fucking road stop being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” you snap, voice shaking. “You disappeared, Harry. You didn’t come home. You didn’t call. I sat here imagining the worst. Every single car crash, every terrible headline—do you know what that does to a person?”

“I’m not a child, I can take care of myself—”

“Oh, congratulations,” you bite. “But maybe try taking care of the people who wait for you. Maybe try being here for the people you promised to come home to.”

He throws his jacket down. “You think I don’t care? I’m killing myself in that studio trying to make this work and all I get when I walk in the door is this—what, a guilt trip?”

Your hands clench at your sides. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare throw that in my face.”

He steps closer. “Then what do you want me to say?!”

You don’t even blink. “That you’re sorry. That you get it. That you see me.”

He doesn’t speak. You keep going.

“You missed bedtime,” you say, voice cracking again. “You missed him.”

He looks away, jaw tight. You don’t stop.

“He waited for you, Harry. He asked about you every twenty minutes, then he started crying because he thought he did something wrong. He kept saying, ‘Daddy always says goodnight.’ You didn’t show up.”

Harry’s face shifts — finally, a crack in the wall. “I didn’t mean to miss that. I—shit. I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” you say. “Because you forgot. Not just about me. About him. About both of them.”

And just as the words leave your mouth, a sound cuts through the hallway. Small. Wet. Fragile.

Suddenly—

A soft sound.

A sob.

You both freeze.

Then you hear it again. Louder. Fragile. Heartbreaking.

Your heads snap toward the hallway.

He’s there.

Your son.

Six years old, standing barefoot in his Star Wars pajamas, eyes full of tears, his little chest rising and falling in fast, panicked hiccups.

You don’t know how long he’s been there. Long enough.

“He baby…” you whisper, instantly walking toward him, but he recoils, crying harder, hands rubbing his eyes furiously like he doesn’t want to be seen like this.

Neither of you saw him come down the hall.

But he saw you both.

He heard you.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Harry says, rushing over, but your son shakes his head, little voice breaking:

“You were yelling…”

“I know,” Harry murmurs, kneeling down. “I know, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he says, the sentence fractured by sobs. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood. Harry’s head dips, his shoulders crumpling.

Your son wipes his face again, still crying. “I waited…”

Harry reaches out, hand gentle, voice quiet now — too quiet, like he’s trying to stitch something broken. “Go back to bed, buddy. I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in, yeah?”

Your son nods, hesitant, still hiccuping. But he turns, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

Harry adds, softly, “Be careful walking past your sister’s room, yeah? Don’t wake her up.”

Your freshly turned one year old.

The little boy nods again, too tired to speak, padding back down the hallway with the weight of what he overheard still thick in the air.

The silence that returns is devastating.

Harry’s still kneeling, hand resting on the floor like he’s trying to hold up the house with just his fingers.

His head drops.

“That’s what we did,” you murmur after a long pause. “That’s what we gave him tonight.”

Harry doesn’t speak. His breath is unsteady, barely there.

You glance at him. “You’re his hero, Harry. Every night, you’re the one he waits for. And tonight, you weren’t there.”

“I know,” he whispers. His voice breaks on it. “I know.”

Silence falls between you like a curtain. Heavy. Suffocating.

You sit back down, suddenly too exhausted to stand anymore. The adrenaline is ebbing and now all that’s left is this deep, hollow ache that feels like it’s been carved out of your chest.

He kneels in front of you. Hesitates. Then speaks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “There’s no excuse for not checking my phone. No excuse for not being here when I said I would be. You have every right to be angry.”

You want to stay mad. You want to scream. But you just look at him, eyes full of tears you no longer bother trying to hide.

“I was so scared,” you whisper. “I thought I was going to get a call from the police. Or a hospital. I couldn’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, pain flickering across his face. “And I hate that I made you feel that way. That I wasn’t there for you.”

“I didn’t want to think the worst,” you say. “But it just kept coming, like wave after wave.”

He reaches up slowly, carefully, and brushes his fingers against your cheek. You don’t pull away this time.

“I’ll do better,” he says. “I have to do better. You matter more than anything. I don’t want you to ever feel like this again.”

You search his eyes. He means it. You know he does.

But the trust — the kind that makes you feel safe — doesn’t mend in a single apology. It has to be rebuilt. Brick by slow brick.

“I need you to understand,” you say quietly, voice raw. “I’m not angry because you were late. I’m angry because I love you so much it hurts when I don’t know if you’re okay. Because you’re my person, H. And if I lost you…”

He presses his forehead to yours. Closes his eyes. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you.”

A long pause.

Then, as if the dam finally breaks, you collapse into his arms.

And this time, when he holds you, it feels real. Solid. Warm.

He lets you cry into his chest while he murmurs soft, broken apologies into your hair.

You don’t know if it’s fixed.

But he came home.

And for now, that’s enough.

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lieslab · 3 months ago

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You know I can't fight the feeling

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's simple mistake causes him to feel like the world is ending

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I know I said there'd be a Hyunjin fic up and it will be up tomorrow. Someone posted Chan's bubble message where he said he always hurts people and that felt like being shot in the chest. Parasocial relationships aside, nobody deserves to feel hopeless and feel like they can't do anything right. If you have bubble, please be kind to the guys. To the rest of us, let's be a little kinder to ourselves, yeah? <3

_ _ _

The soft knocking on the recording studio’s door caused Chan to glance up from his laptop. The usual beats and instrumentals came to a halt quite a while ago. For the past twenty minutes, he’d been staring at the screen and letting his mind wander.

He didn’t move, wondering which one of his members would appear. Someone probably saw the bubble message he posted and they’d be here to talk to him, but he didn’t want to talk. What was there to say? He was drowning in all the pressure from everyone and everything.

It never goes away, not really. When you’re the leader, the eldest, the most mature, and the one that’s responsible for everyone, even when those you’re responsible for grow up, you still feel for them. There’s still a part of you that bends and contorts to make them happy. Fifty or five, it doesn’t matter. Once you start to care in certain ways, it never goes away.

And it doesn’t help when the world is watching. Why do people want him to fall? He doesn’t know. He might never know. One minor mistake. Lately, it’s felt like a thousand. One minor mistake to you, but a million to me.

You become a lifeline in certain situations. The emergency contact. The one person to go for advice. The leader. The father. The best. What happens when those expectations crumble? Who is there for you?

Why do people do that? Assume someone is meant to hold all your expectations and not drop a single one? Nobody fills the role of perfection and yet, it’s still expected. Who picks you up when the world lets you down? Who picks me up?

“Hey,” you uttered softly as you appeared in the doorway. You with a softness on your face and he knew it just by that look. The way your eyes oozed with pity. The frown that only crossed your face when you were worried.

“I don’t want that pity.” His head went back to his laptop. “If you saw that message I posted, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not here because of the bubble message. I’m here because the guys said you went radio silent a few hours ago and you’ve been declining their calls and leaving their messages on read without a response.”

“Just perfect. More expectations that I’ve ruined.” He pushed the top of his laptop down with a hard thud. Your heart instantly ached at the sight. “How many more things can I ruin because of my choices?”

“You don’t ruin things.”

“I ruin everything.”

Your heart sank to your stomach. What do you say to someone who holds those beliefs rooted in their heart? You can cut down a tree, but the roots still embed deep into the ground, twisting through soil, and contorting towards earth’s core.

“That’s not true,” you whispered.

“Of course, it’s true. It’s always true. I make one minor mistake and everyone jumps me for it. God forbid I do something wrong.” He jerks up his hands. “There’s a Dispatch article tarnishing my name. Videos get posted to social media sites with hate comments in masses. I meant it, I can’t do anything right.”

“And what about all the other videos where you do things perfectly? The way you thank the band members who play for your shows. Thanking supporting staff when you don’t have to. Taking the time to thank the security personnel for keeping you safe.”

“I-”

“And what about all the time you sat on live streams giving out advice for free, to the people who genuinely needed it? All the smiling and the laughter. The vulnerable moments you shared. Those hour sessions made people feel like they weren’t alone in life.”

His heart ached. You stepped further into the room. “And what about the staff members who gush about you? There’s a reason people call your group kind and cherish you. There’s always a reason you get photoshoots and so many interviews. It’s not just because of your company, but because you’ve created a group that cherishes kindness and passion. You believe that it’ll take you far, even when you struggle to maintain that image.”

“But there are people who…”

You sat the paper bag down on the coffee table behind him. A leather couch expanded. Multiple times, the guys sat on it waiting their turn to record. Changbin and Han took turns sitting beside Chan in the producer’s seat.

When a third chair couldn’t be found, Han wormed his way onto Changbin’s lap. Other times, he squirmed onto Chan’s lap like a fussy toddler. Grumbling and huffing, stressing about recording and trying to do things right. On better days, he stretched out over them and joked that he’d stay there, pretending to be their joint child forever.

“I know, but you have to focus on the good stuff. If you only focus on the bad stuff out there, it’ll kill you. You. Your passion. Your love for what you have. I’m here to remind you that the good still exists, even when the bad feels like it’s outweighing it.”

He sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I know, but it’s so hard. It’s hard to get onto bubble and look at all the messages telling me I fucked up. I’m really trying to be better and be aware of it all. I’m trying, I swear.”

“You’re allowed to ignore the messages. I know you like reading people’s responses and feeling giddy. There are so many places where you can go and find the outpouring love that you deserve.”

“But the fans paid for bubble.”

“And that’s their right, but it’s your right to create healthy boundaries for yourself. If you are receiving more hate on bubble than support, go somewhere else. You can post something on bubble and go to another site, too. Don’t read through mountains of hate because you think you have to. Stop punishing yourself simply for existing.”

For a brief moment, a lump in his throat grew. A bottom lip quivered and right in front of you, he thought he’d break. The hate filled his heart so much, he thought it’d burst. Deep down, he knew people cared, but it was difficult to pull himself away from it all.

Everyone wants affection and praise. Everyone wants to be seen as valid and craves reassurance. When the hate trickles in, whether it’s from friends, family, or fans; it pours. The only thing you can think of is how much you let them down. It stings. It aches. It soaks your heart in acid and it reacts by causing your brain to scream at you.

Before the tears fell, he forced himself to place his head in his hands. Besides his bleeding heart, a sniffle sounded. For so long, he’d relied on the fans for everything. What more could he do?

When you grow up in such a world without the constant support of people around you, you learn to rely on validation where you can get it, even if it’s not the healthiest kind. Just because his phone is filled with supportive texts and calls from family and close friends, it’s not the same as being there to hold them tight in real life. To hear their words, to take in their facial expression, to truly hear and know that you’re doing well.

When your own worst enemy is your brain, sometimes, you begin to think the entire world is against you. All the praise you hear from people around you, you never take it to heart because you think they say that just to appease you and try to slather your hurt. You never believe it, not really; never fully.

Deep in the trenches of the idol industry, when management forces diets and group secrets, all you have is the people around you and the fans. Always a constant steady stream of support, usually, but when one minor mistake feels like a downfall, what’s the point of any of it?

Those thousands of minnows feel like circling sharks. Sharp teeth, gnashing jaws, and you’re just a human. Words bite into your skin and rip it apart. Blood fills the water; a weakness that they can sense and then it begins again. A never ending cycle that leaves you defeated and floating as a deceased corpse.

It takes so long to build yourself back up. Your belief in the good. The belief that thousands and thousands of fans aren’t against you. It never turns out the way you want it to, but what else can you do when the relationships with people around you have been tricky your entire life?

Seven years alone in an industry where people come and go. Just when you think you’ve finally latched onto someone, they’re ripped away again. Forced to debut without you. Quitting because the pressure to be perfect is just too much.

When you’re shoved into an industry that molds perfection, you’re supposed to keep it that way. Growing up in a culture where if you aren’t striving and you’re not constantly moving and pushing forward, you’re falling behind. There will always be someone better; a wolf chasing on the heels of a rabbit.

How do you break that mindset? Breaks will not kill you. A reaction from a certain number of fans over a minor mistake is not the end of the world. Slowing down and taking a moment to breathe is a good chance to recuperate.

You walked over and placed a hand on the back of his head. He didn’t fight you pulling his head into your stomach. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly. “Please don’t be mad at me, too.” He croaked.

“I’m not mad at you for making a mistake. I make them, too. I brought food because I wasn’t sure if you were hungry.”

After a few moments of closeness, he pulled away and pawed at his streaming tears. His mouth opened, but his stomach beat him to it. A growl roared before it faded into silence again.

“Sounds like you’re starving to me.”

He weakly laughed and nodded. “I guess you could say that, yeah. It’s been a while since I last ate.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“No worries, let’s eat well together, shall we?” You smiled and glanced up. He sniffled and nodded, wondering what you bought for dinner. He watched you open the bag and let you lay out everything.

Today, you’d feast together and tomorrow was another day; tomorrow he’d try again.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #christopher bang #bang chan comfort #skz comfort

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theslumberinggod · 4 months ago

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Pink (Oneshot)

You seek out the Wanderer when you miss him, and mistake his blushing features for anger when it really doesn't, and he gets fed up with it.

Pairing: The Wanderer X Reader

•~°~•

“Watcha doing?” You ask as you peek around a corner. You had finally found your beloved friend after searching high and low for him. You were beginning to think he was avoiding you! In a lonely hall with sun streaming through narrow windows, the Wanderer sat at a small table with books neatly arranged around him. His hat was set aside, posture tense, and sharp, pale-blue glare fixed on you.

“Studying. Aren't you supposed to be doing the same?” How could ones voice be so soft and sharp at the same time? You mused to yourself as you flitted into the room and took your seat next to him with a cheeky grin. You looked over, noting how the sun spilled over his porcelain pale skin that somehow, miraculously never burned in Sumeru’s intense blaze.

“Yeah! But I wanted to see you,” You answer honestly. You caught on a while ago that The Wanderer responded pretty well to perfectly honest answers. You really did want to see him, maybe poke some fun and start some mischief. Considering you had interrupted him during his study time (which if we’re being honest, is just him scrutinizing and judging every detail of every book he's given) he’ll likely be a little miffed. You judged he was pretty miffed by the sudden furrow in his brows and the slight red on his ears.

“You can see me some other time,” He deprived you of his attention, turning back to his books, slender fingers turning old parchment carefully. “I’m busy, and so should you be if you ever hope to get a good score here.”

“Aw come onnn…” You leaned, bumping his shoulder. “Spare me five minutes! I haven't seen you since Tuesday.”

Your good friend (and crush, but we don't talk about that) ignored you continuously to make a point, tilting his hair and letting his perfect, charcoal black hair fall over the sides of his face, blocking you from seeing him. “Pretty please? Three minutes?”

You leaned, placing your arm on the table as you leaned dramatically, trying to get a look at his face. Following your motion, The Wanderer with all his pettiness within his soul tilted his head moreso, still blocking you from looking at him.

“No.”

“Why not? I want to spend a little time with my friend before Lesser Lord Kusanali sends him off to who knows where again!” Also not a lie. The Wanderer had a habit of simply just up and leaving to go who knows where. The rumors of why were numerous in the Akademiya halls, (as there is little else other entertainment other than one's own wild imaginations) but you knew it was simply part of The Wanderer’s agreements with Lesser Lord Kusanali. The details you were certainly privy to, thanks to one or more late night talks.

You watched as The Wanderer’s ears turned a deeper shade of pink. You frowned, realizing you must’ve certainly ticked him off. A pang of remorse struck through you and you leaned back. You know The Wanderer was endlessly a little agitated about everything, but in a ‘ugh why’ sort of way, never a genuinely angry way. But it seems today you picked the wrong time, and your dear friend didn't actually want your company.

Leaning back as you watch him grip his book harder, you speak, “But I see this isn't the best time---”

“No, no,” The Wanderer sat up straight, glaring at you. The pink had traveled to his cheeks and his lips set in a fine line, the picture of cherry-blossom tenseness. “You actually miss me?”

You avoid his gaze, his glare suddenly containing a different, intense quality that did not quite read like rage but you couldn't gage what it was either. Words jumbled up in your throat and you felt sitting up again would bring you too close to him, too close to those eyes of his, to the faint buzz around his being, remnants and hints at his divine inhumanity that was so terribly ironic to you.

“...W-well yeah. Of course I do! I miss you all the time.” You shut yourself before you could say more, fully aware that the words that just left your mouth held more emotion and meaning than a normal sentiment a normal friend would give.

“By the blasted Archons,” The Wanderer muttered under his breath. “I can't stand you sometimes, you know that? You drive me insane.”

In other circumstances, the words wouldn't have hurt, it would just be Wanderer being Wanderer, but you had just confessed that you genuinely missed him, and you knew that he knew you were being honest.

“Hey know! I get you’re in a bad mood but you can't just---” You sit up, looking at him with a burn behind your eyes when you notice the odd softness that's swept over his features. He laughs, the sound gently teasing.

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you---”

Once, you saw the Wanderer use his Anemo in combat. It was very interesting, like watching strings on a harp being plucked, barely kept into the mantle of the instrument. What you saw happen before you was similar, and for a split second you thought you were going to experience the miracle of flight.

But that's not what happened. Hands clutching your shoulders clumsily, gently, he pulled you forward, and kissed you in the same manner.

Oh. Oh!

He pulled away before you could even think about recuperating the soft kiss (soft, soft was not something you'd characterize Wanderer doing anything, but here you were!) and you already missed the subtle thrum of power that radiated off of him and the feeling of him being so close.

“I think I'm hallucinating,” You blurt, matter of factly. Your face is hot, you're absolutely reeling from what just occurred, pinned under the intense, studious gaze of Hat Guy himself. You lick your lips, then immediately gag at the bitter taste Wanderer has left on your lips. “Good Archons, I am not!”

The Wanderer laughs at you, the sound fills up the lonely hall. His ears and cheeks are pink still, his frame shakes with the uproarious melody that's harsh and lovely in a way only this man could ever pull off.

“You need to stop eating so much candy,” He says, reaching up and wiping his lips, turning away from you, back to his books as if he hadn't just kissed you.

“You need to stop drinking so much of that tea,” You try and sound irritated, but it doesn't work. Instead you fall quiet, sitting close to The Wanderer in the later afternoon sun that pours through the windows, enjoying his company.

Eventually however, you lean closer to him to again, and tease him just a bit more with a cheeky grin, drawing out that pink to his ears.

It's safe to say no studying got done on that sunny, sweet afternoon.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #x reader #fanfic #drabble #the wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin #wanderer x reader #writing #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche x reader

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matt-murdockk · 3 months ago

Text

I can fix him (no really I can)

They shake their heads saying, "God help her" When I tell them he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really I can And only I can

college!matt murdock x fem!reader | fluff— a whole lotta fluff | sorta friends to lovers? | fic from reader's pov, then a pov switch to third person

Matt Murdock famously doesn't stick around for longer than a month, tops. You were determined to change that.

Pre-law golden boy with an aura that exudes confidence, Matt was the person everyone either wanted to be, or wanted to be with. He knew that, and his faux modesty only made it worse for the masses desperate to get a piece of him. Am I one of—? Please, I'd fuck a tree before I fuck Matt Murdock. Not that I hate him or anything. I'm just not on the bed anyone with abs and a personality bandwagon. Good for him for all that attention he's getting, but my ties with him start and end in class. He's just a classmate.

Okay, maybe not just a classmate.

We share notes. Sometimes. Only when he forgets his, which is rare, because apparently being hot and capable is a combo this man insists on wielding like a goddamn weapon. Once, he offered to buy me coffee as a thank you and I made the mistake of saying yes. We ended up talking for an hour. One hour. And somehow I left that conversation knowing his middle name, his favourite diner his dad used to take him to, and exactly what kind of espresso he drinks before a big exam.

It was fine. It’s fine. People have conversations all the time. I’m not spiraling.

We became friends. Real ones. That was the problem.

Because here’s the thing: Matt Murdock is a disaster.

Not on paper. No— on paper, he’s perfect. He’s top of the class, charming when he wants to be, a little cocky, but in a way that makes you laugh instead of wanting to push him down the stairs.

But spend enough time around him and you start to notice things.

Like how he never lets anyone get close. Like how he flirts with half the campus but every single one of his flings ends in vague silence and awkward glances the next day. Like how he knows exactly how to listen to someone but refuses to let anyone hear him.

It’s not a red flag. It’s a goddamn red parade.

So of course I did what any completely normal person with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

I caught feelings for that bastard.

Of course, it's the emotionally unavailable mess with enough red flags to decorate a fucking carnival that catches my attention. Just my goddamn luck.

And, in a moment of sheer lunacy, decided I could fix him.

No really, I could. Just needed time. And patience. And maybe a crowbar for emotional extraction. Whatever. I’ve done harder things. If I can survive Mr Vasquez's class, I can survive whatever this is.

I just have to make sure he never finds out I like him. And also make him like me back. And maybe heal years of trust issues in the process.

Easy, right?

Well, it wasn’t.

Because what started as some deranged attempt to break into the fortress that is Matt Murdock turned into something else entirely. We became friends. Real friends. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about fixing him and started being about just… being there.

And God help me, I think he needed that more than anything.

It wasn’t just me and Matt anymore, either. Foggy came into the picture fast— bright-eyed, effortlessly funny, with an incredible ability to sniff out bullshit in under five seconds. The three of us? Unstoppable. Study sessions, lunch breaks, late-night coffee runs before an exam. They were my people.

So yeah. The plan backfired. Spectacularly. But I had friends for life now, so I couldn’t exactly call it a failure.

It didn’t mean it stopped hurting, though.

Matt’s life… it wasn’t easy. I could see it in the way he shut down when he was overwhelmed, how he buried himself in work instead of letting anyone in. Some nights he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but he’d still crack a joke just to make Foggy laugh.

And when he was with other women— when he flirted like it was a language only he spoke— it hurt. Even when I told myself I didn’t have a right to feel that way. He wasn’t mine. I made sure of that.

I’d smile through it. Tease him, even. Make some stupid quip about his tragic taste in women and let the ache settle where no one could see it.

Except Foggy noticed.

He always does.

One afternoon— study session turned snack break in our usual booth— Foggy caught me staring too long. Matt was across the room talking to a girl from one of our electives, charming smile and all.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure? Because that definitely wasn’t your ‘fine’ face. That was your ‘I’m swallowing feelings and pretending to be emotionally stable’ face.”

I sighed, resting my chin on my palm. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I turned to him. “Foggy, I’m not gonna pull a dramatic ‘what are we’ in the middle of a group project. Matt may be a lot of things, but you really cannot force him to be something he doesn’t want to be.”

Foggy frowned. “But do you think he doesn’t want—?”

“Matt would probably suck at relationships,” I said, more tired than bitter. “Like, actual long-term ones. He likes the chase, he likes the moment. And that’s fine. He’s allowed to live how he wants. I just… I’m happy being his friend. Genuinely. Give it time. I’ll get over it.”

Foggy was quiet for a second. “That was… wildly mature.”

“Yeah well, personal growth is a bitch.”

He grinned. “Still. If it helps, he’s not as smooth as he thinks.”

I snorted. “No, but he is absurdly pretty. That makes up for a lot.”

We let the topic die after that. I figured that was the end of it.

I didn’t know Matt had heard.

—————————————————————————————————

Third Person POV

Matt had only come back for his notebook.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to hear that.

But he had.

He stopped just shy of the hallway corner, heart thudding loud in his chest. The way her voice dropped when she said “I’ll get over it.”

The words hit harder than he expected.

She thought he’d be a bad boyfriend.

Worse— she didn’t even think he was worth trying.

And Matt knew— he knew— he hadn’t been great. He had a lot on his plate, a whole goddamn feast of mess, but he never once thought she saw him like that. Not undeserving.

She didn’t know he stayed up wondering what it’d feel like to kiss her. For real. Without laughing it off or playing it cool. She didn’t know how often his fingers hovered near hers and didn’t reach. How badly he wanted to.

But if she thought he wasn’t capable of it? Of loving her the way she deserved?

He had to change that.

Not just for her. For him. For the version of himself he wanted to be—the kind that could love someone, openly and fully, without messing it up.

“Jesus,” Foggy muttered when he saw Matt later that night. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or rather... felt a ghost? I don't know, man.”

“I heard something,” Matt said, collapsing onto his bed, voice low.

“Define ‘something.’”

“(Y/N) said I’d be a bad boyfriend.”

Foggy blinked. “Okay. Context?”

Matt dragged a hand over his face. “She was talking to you. In the booth. Earlier.”

Foggy raised his brows. “You, uh, you were there?”

“I forgot my notebook.”

Foggy held up his hands. “Alright, okay. First off— she didn’t say you’d be a bad boyfriend. She said you’d probably suck at steady relationships. Big difference.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, because you’ve never tried a steady relationship. Which is kind of the point.”

Matt groaned. “I need to fix this.”

Foggy stared. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to walk me through your version of fixing this.”

Matt sat up. “I’m gonna prove her wrong.”

Foggy blinked. “You’re gonna… ask her out?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “I mean— yes. Eventually. But first I need to become the kind of guy she thinks could be a good boyfriend. You know. Change her mind.”

Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Just fuck already.”

Matt frowned. “What?”

Foggy threw his hands in the air. “You like her. She likes you. I have seen you two. Why do you think you want her to stay longer after we're done studying? Why do you think you linger? Why do you think you bring her coffee and save her a seat and remember her deadlines better than your own?”

Matt opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“She fell first, you fell harder,” Foggy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know the drill, man.”

Matt stared.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. My brother in Christ, you’re in love.”

Matt exhaled.

“…Shit.”

——————————————————————————————————

Matt didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake, headphones in, a lecture playing that he didn’t hear, the words echoing over and over again in his head.

“She fell first.”

“You fell harder.”

He didn’t even realize when it happened. Somewhere between her snorting at his awful Latin puns and handing him half her sandwich because he forgot to eat again— he’d fallen. And now she thought he was incapable of loving her the way she deserved.

It felt like a punch to the chest.

But instead of wallowing, he decided to do something.

Starting now.

The next morning, Matt showed up to your apartment with coffee. Your exact order. No text beforehand. No heads-up.

You opened the door in pajama shorts and a hoodie, one sock on and a pen still tucked behind your ear.

“Matt?”

He held up the coffee like it was a peace offering. “You mentioned your 9 a.m. was with Vasquez today. I figured you’d need a hit of caffeine and a minor miracle.”

You blinked. “…That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working on that.”

And then he left. Just like that.

No flirting. No lingering.

Just… left.

You stared after him, cup in hand, completely thrown.

It didn’t stop there.

Matt started walking you to class. All the time.

Not just when you happened to be heading the same direction. On purpose.

He’d show up at your building with some excuse— “I needed air,” or “Foggy wasn’t ready yet”— and fall into step beside you like it was routine.

Then came the favors. Printing your notes when the Wi-Fi was down. Fixing the broken strap on your bag. Letting you drag him to that awful late-night diner when you were too wired to sleep.

You didn’t get it.

This wasn’t how Matt Murdock operated.

Matt Murdock flirted, ghosted, and moved on.

This? This was effort.

It was also torture.

Because the more he did it, the more you started to hope. Stupid, dangerous hope. Maybe he did like you. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided after all.

But every time you thought about asking, about saying something— he’d flash that same unreadable smile and change the subject.

So you kept your mouth shut. Kept watching. Waiting.

Hoping.

Meanwhile, Foggy was losing his mind.

“You can’t just— Matt, you cannot boyfriend her without telling her.”

Matt frowned, folding his arms. “I thought this was the part where I prove myself.”

“To who? To her? She already likes you. You’re not proving anything except that you’re allergic to communication.”

“I’m building a foundation.”

Foggy looked pained. “You’re building a bad sitcom plot. Just tell her.”

Matt hesitated. “She said she didn’t want that. She said she’d get over me.”

Foggy sighed so hard, his soul probably left his body.

“Matt. Listen to me. She said that because she didn’t think she could have you. You have ghosted every girl before her, remember?”

Matt winced. “Not every—”

“Every.”

“…Fair.”

Foggy ran a hand down his face. “You’re gonna lose her if you don’t speak up.”

Matt didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he knew it was true.

——————————————————————————————————

It started with Foggy texting you.

Which was already suspicious, because Foggy never texted first unless Matt was—

foggy: hey can you swing by the quad after class?

foggy: matt’s planning something

foggy: i’m scared :,)

Now, when someone like Foggy— sweet, unshakeable, usually-down-for-anything Foggy— is scared, you listen. You changed your route and headed toward the quad.

And promptly stopped dead in your tracks.

Because what the hell were you looking at.

Matt Murdock stood on a bench.

On a goddamn bench. In broad daylight. Holding what looked like a beat-up portable speaker above his head like he was channelling John Cusack in Say Anything.

Button-down rolled to the elbows. Hair tousled like it’d been run through about seven too many times. Foggy was standing off to the side looking like he was actively regretting every life decision that brought him here.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh no.”

A group of students was already watching, phones half-raised. Matt didn’t seem to care.

You watched, frozen, as he raised a hand and cleared his throat. Actually cleared his throat. Like he was about to deliver a valedictorian speech. You saw Foggy mutter don’t do it, like a prayer.

Matt did it anyway.

“I, uh… I know this is weird,” he began, voice carrying over the quad, “but I have something to say. Something important.”

The crowd murmured. A few giggles. One guy yelled “Murdock, you proposing?” which earned a sharp shut up from someone else. Foggy, probably.

Matt ignored it. His face was dead serious. “There’s someone I’ve been an idiot about. Someone smart and stubborn and too good to waste time on someone like me. But she did anyway. She does. And if she’s here—” his head turned slightly “— I want her to know I’m sorry. And that I like her. A lot.”

You blinked.

Foggy made frantic eye contact with you from the sidelines and mouthed stop him.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Matt continued. “I was scared, okay? I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin her. But then I realized I’d rather screw up trying to be with her than let her go without even trying. So, (Y/N),” he called, voice way too confident for a man committing this level of social suicide. “This one’s for you.”

A soft click, followed by the unmistakable synthy intro of Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

Savage. Fucking. Garden.

You clapped a hand over your mouth.

Someone nearby went “What is happening?”

Matt? he looked hopeful.

And you— stupid, stunned, wildly endeared— were just about to take a step forward when—

Cue the sprinkler system turning on.

Every. Single. Sprinkler.

They sputtered, then blasted to life across the quad like a synchronized ambush. A collective scream rose as people scrambled away, books and phones held over heads.

Matt? Got hit square in the chest, earning a strained Jesus from him.

Foggy somewhere in the periphery muttering “I told him” like a man in mourning.

You? Soaked. Wide-eyed. Laughing.

You actually had to cover your mouth, you were laughing so hard.

Matt stepped down, water dripping from his sleeves. He looked around like he was being personally smitten by the gods. It was like the universe waited for maximum dramatic tension just to drop the punchline.

The song cut out with a strangled sputter as the speaker died a wet, heroic death. Students screamed. Matt cursed under his breath as he was immediately soaked. Foggy, who had clearly seen this coming, was already power-walking toward the nearest tree, muttering “I’m too pretty for this.”

You stood there in shock as water poured down on everyone.

And then— you burst out laughing.

You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. You doubled over, drenched, laughing so hard it echoed louder than the chaos around you.

Matt stood on the bench, blinking water from his lashes, the speaker dangling uselessly from one hand. He looked like a wet, confused puppy. A hot wet confused puppy. Weird analogy. But still.

You pushed your hair from your eyes and walked over, completely soaked.

“This was your grand romantic gesture?” you asked between giggles.

He ran a hand down his face, sopping. “It was supposed to be better.”

You looked up at him, the pathetic speaker still crackling faintly in his grip. “It was absolutely ridiculous.”

A pause.

You smiled. “It was perfect.”

Foggy squelched up behind you both. “Okay, you’ve both had your romcom moment, can I go home now? My socks are... squishy.”

Matt turned to him, still trying to catch his breath. “Thanks for… whatever part you played in this.”

“I want that thank you in writing,” Foggy muttered. “And a refund for emotional distress.”

You turned back to Matt.

“Do I get to keep the boombox?”

He grinned. “It’s mostly water now. But sure.”

You took a slow step closer. “So… boyfriend material yet?”

He reached out— careful, gentle— and brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Getting there.”

And then you kissed him.

In the middle of the quad. Soaked to the bone. Surrounded by students who definitely started applauding and whistling, because of course they did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Foggy just shook his head.

“Seriously. I hate you both.”

You smiled at him. “Love you too, Fog.”

And Matt?

Well, he didn’t run.

Not this time.

a/n: alright so the fic took a detour from what i had originally planned, it was going to be angst, reader was going to be fwb with matt, and well it's a whole thing, a lot of changes happened but i didn't change the title because well i got attached. i know it doesn't really make sense now with how the story turned out, but i'm leaving it in the story anyway, hope you liked it!

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asficdiary · 18 days ago

Note

Hi, I wanted to ask if you could write a fic about Fernando x Reader, where the reader is working in f1 (driver or something else, I'm not picky) and they are friends, crushing on each other and they confess and that stuff, it's all fluff and sweet. (Just no smut please)

There's not enough Nando fics so thank you so much <3

"Let It" || Fernando Alonso

Pairing:

Fernando Alonso X RaceEngineer!Reader

Warning and tags:

Nothing but fluff. AFAB!Reader writen, but no descriptions used. Friends to Lovers. Soft!Fernando.

Summary:

Fernando finally gets his 33rd win after a nail-biting finish in Hungary, but his victory means nothing without the one person who’s been with him since his rebeginning. His race engineer, his closest friend, and the person he's loved in secret for the longest time. When an old promise resurfaces after the podium celebrations, everything changes.

Word Count:

1.5K

Author's Note:

(See end of story for more notes)

I so agree about there not being enough Fernando Fics on here, and I am trying to help turn that around. So like tag your Favourite Fernando Authors for me please!! We're a small group but we're here and need to support each other!! Anyways, I Hope you enjoy this!!

You couldn't explain how or when the friendship with Fernando had started. You'd probably choke it up to your two years at Alpine when he came out of retirement, but it was the most important relationship in your life. You assumed it was the same as when Fernando had signed with Aston Martin, you were his one non-negotiable. He wanted you as his race engineer, but had eventually settled as just one of his engineers. That was until his main race engineer had retired before the beginning of the season, promoting you into that spot.

It was how you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek as you watched the final 6 laps of the Hungarian grand prix. Since Spain Fernando had become a frequent point scorer, but what you hadn't expected was a possible podium. The race had been intense, with two safety cars and a perfect strategy. You had been in constant communication throughout the race. He had started in tenth, and had fallen to p18 after the first safety car caused by the Ferrari's colliding . He had climbed back to P7 by the time of the second safety car, Lando had found a wall, which had caused him back into P10. But he had raced his heart out passing the Williams and RBs. He had been able to get past Kimi with little fight and had struggled getting past George for third. But he had and it had put him in the position to fight Oscar in for P2.

You watch as they swap positions going through corners.

"Stay focused, Fernando. Use your knowledge" You said. To an outsider it might mean his expertise, but he knew the double meaning. Oscar was managed by Mark Webber and had adopted a lot of his racing styles. Fernando Followed Oscar for a lap and the pressure mounted until Oscar went too wide in the final corner giving Fernando the chance to get passed.

"Well done Fer, Max 1.0 ahead" You told him.

"Yes! Let's go"

He was in second and chasing Verstappen for the win. You tried not to get your hopes up. Five laps and a minute gap wasn't the best. You looked up at the F1 Broadcast screen and saw the radio box of max telling his engineer he was struggling with the tires.

"Verstappen struggling with tires. Gap 0.5" You told him.

A lap later Fernando was behind Max watching for any mistake. He followed waiting for Max to make even the tiniest of mistakes. He covered off every overtake. You watched as they drove past you and started the final lap. You flexed you hand, watching as Fernando tried every single pass he could. Fernando went for a late lunge and they had touched, which had caused Max to go wide going into the final corner. Fernando had over taken and you heard the mechanics in the garage start celebrating. But you watched as Max pulled up along side him. They were neck to neck as the went over the finish line. You looked at the team principal beside you. He gave a helpless shrug, already on the phone with the stewards.

It felt like time stopped. Everything went silent, a static. You told the principle his lap timing, when he asked. You pressed the button. "Fernando, we have to wait." You swallowed. "It's close. We have to wait for the stewards. Just you wait Sombra" (Shadow). You felt the anxiety run through your body.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Your hand hovered over the comm switch, waiting for a verdict.

Then it came.

Stewards:

Alonso - 1:16.626

Verstappen - 1:16.627

Race classification:

P1 - Alonso

P2 - Verstappen

P3 - Piastri

Your entire body flooded with joy. The headset slipped a little from how fast you yanked it back to your mouth.

“Fernando! Fernando it’s you. You did it. It’s yours. Thirty-three, baby. You've won.” You say into the headset, the excitement evident in your voice.

It's quiet for a second before h's radio clicks on. "AHHHHHHH!!! YESSSS!!!" He screams nearly blowing out your eardrums, but you laugh too hard to care. "Oh my word, thank you" He says, and he sounds choked up. You hear the garage erupt behind you again and you press your hand to your heart.

“After thirteen years,” you whispered through the coms, “we couldn’t be prouder of you, Fernando.”

There wasn't a reply right away, just the sound of him possibly crying.

“You’re coming on the podium with me, mariposa. You’ve been with me since the beginning, you’re gonna be on that top step with me.”

You choked on a laugh. “That’s not protocol, Fer.”

“I don't care, I want you with me” He replied.

When he got out the car after a celebratory dance move on top of the car, he had jumped off and immediately ran to the Aston Team. He had taken off his helmet, weighed, and immediately found you. He pulled you into a hug. His head placing in between your shoulder and neck as if it were built just for him. He held you for what seemed like forever as you whispered congratulatory words. When he pulled away he smiled at you. His eye's were filled with tears and you hadn't seen his smile so bright in months.

It had been a few hours since the podium and you had changed but still smelt like champagne. You were grabbing your bag about to head home for the night when you saw Fernando sitting alone on the hospitality balcony. He was on the couch with a beer in hand, watching the people below, packing away for the next weekend.

"Hey" You said softly leading against the door frame. He lifted his eyes to you and smiled. Without saying anything he opened his arms. Inviting you to sit with him. You let your bag fall to the floor and dropped into his arms without hesitation. He held you tight, arms around your waist, cheek pressed to your shoulder like he could disappear into you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your neck. “For everything. For today. For every lap. I couldn’t have imagined anyone else with me.”

You smiled, your face buried in his hair. “You’re going soft on me, Alonso.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered. “They still think I’m an asshole.”

You both laughed, but neither of you pulled away. You relished in the warmth he gave. You couldn't help but wish to stay in this moment forever. “Remember when we got drunk after Spain two years ago?” he whispered.

You narrowed your eyes. “Which time, The Sunday night or the Monday?” You asked. "Because I barely remember either" You add. It had been a tough home race and the next day you had been his plus one to his sister's friends birthday.

He grinned. “Monday. When you attacked that poor balloon stand.”

You groaned. “I did not attack it, I slipped”

“Oh you so attacked it" He teases and you shove him lightly. He laughs. "No, but before that, you made me a promise.”

You blinked. “Did I?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘If you ever win your 33rd, I owe you a date.’”

You froze. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his face. “Fernando…”

“I’m cashing in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

You exhaled. “Because I’ll ruin our friendship."

He stared at you, he didn't smirk or make a quick joke like he usually did. He just searched your face.

“Let it.” he said in one breathless whisper.

Your heart cracked wide open. You had though about this, dreamt about it even, but it was a fantasy you knew wouldn't ever happened. Yet here he was, breaking all the rules you had never really set just assumed were there.

“Let it,” he repeated. “Let it ruin the friendship. Let it become something more. We’ve already built everything together in this team. Why would I possibly want anyone else. I’m not afraid of where it goes.”

You felt your breath hitch. The words were stuck in your throat—yes, yes, god, yes.

“I’ve waited thirteen years to feel like this again, to win” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But all I could think about when I crossed the line was finding you, because you're the person I want to share every accomplishment with, the person I want to share my life with. And I've been blind to not realize it before."

You smiled, tears welling in your eyes. “You always get what you want, don’t you?”

He grinned. “Eventually.”

He leaned down and for the first time he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was gentle. Familiar. Like home. Like your soul had been searching for something for years and it was finally put to rest.

Bonus Author's Note:

Okay so, I had like two ideas when I was thinking of what to do for this request. I know it isn't a super big confession, but it felt right in a sense. I'll probably write the other option of reader being his plus one at a friends wedding and they aren't exactly acting like friends and someone points it out and it makes them weird, but they talk about it on the way home and there's the confession and idk, it wasn't as rounded as this idea. But I'll probably write it at some point as well. And maybe add more onto this, but I hit the 1.5K word mark and wasn't sure if I should write more, but we'll shall see. I think it could be cute to do like a first date and maybe like, his POV of realizing he loves her ya know.

I hope I did this justice!!

#asficdiary #FernandoAlonso #FernandoAlonsoFic #F1Fanfic #AstonMartinF1 #Formula1Fic #F1ReaderInsert #F1RPF #F1Romance #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #fernando alonso #fernando alonso fanfiction #fernando alonso fanfic #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso one shot #friends to lovers #fa14 fanfic #fa14 x reader

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marie-swriting · 3 months ago

Text

The One I Want - Eddie Munson

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary : You and Eddie are dating and before you can tell your parents about your relationship, your dad finds out when Eddie is in your bedroom.

Warning : fake friends, mentions of rumours about Eddie (leading cult/venerating Satan), mention of teenage pregnancy (but no pregnancy), parents walking in you and your boyfriend, angst, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 6.4k

French version

Song Inspiration : But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Unaware what time it is, you look up at the clock on his nightstand and you start to panic. It’s almost eleven in the morning, however you have to be at the Smith’s house at eleven for their annual garden party where your parents are already waiting for you. In one second, you jump from the bed and scream at Eddie to wake up. He groans and shoves his face on the pillow while you take your stuff and run to the bathroom as you keep telling Eddie to get out of bed.

Most of your body is on top of Eddie’s while his arms are wrapped around your waist. You are both peacefully sleeping, light snores coming out of your boyfriend’s lips. Slowly, you wake up but you keep your eyes closed, wanting to enjoy this moment with Eddie. You hold him a bit tighter against you and stay like this for five more minutes before finally opening your eyes. You gaze at his sleeping face. A few curls are on his visage which makes him even cuter; delicately, you put his hair back then you kiss his cheek.

Not having too much time, you quickly freshen up then you dress. While you put your skirt on, Eddie appears in the room, yawning.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m gonna be late!” you reply, yet Eddie is still confused as he rubs his eyes. “My father’s colleague's party, I told you about it yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Can you drive me? I planned on taking the bus, but I don’t want to be even more late.”

Generally, when you sleep at Eddie’s, you don’t take your car as a way to avoid using two vehicles. Though, today, your car would be useful.

“Of course, lemme put on some pants and let’s go.”

“Perfect, you’re the best,” you say, pecking his lips.

You leave the bathroom and you go pack your bag while Eddie puts his clothes on. Once you’re both ready, you get in his van. Eddie is about to drive but stops the second he sees you with your makeup bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting my makeup on,” you reply as if it was obvious.

“Are you sure about it?”

“I’m used to it, don’t worry, just drive.”

Without wasting more time, you leave the trailer park. You do a natural makeup look as you can not do something more sophisticated. The minute you’re close to the Smiths, Eddie stops the car just before their house.

Your parents are clueless about the fact you’re dating Eddie. To be honest, except Wayne, no one knows. You don’t need everyone’s comments about your relationship. Your parents think you stayed at Nancy who you work with at the school newspapers. Consequently, they can’t see Eddie’s van.

Once the car is parked, you thank Eddie and throw him a quick ‘I love you’ before kissing him and bolting out of the car. While you run to the house, you try to smooth your outfit out while putting your backpack correctly on your shoulders. The second you arrive, you find your parents, your dad sends you a pointed look.

“I’m late, I’m so sorry, daddy”, you say, hoping the use of the term ‘daddy’ instead of ‘dad’ will make things better, “We forgot to turn on the alarm,” you explain while wiping some sweat on your forehead.

“Isn’t Nancy with you?” your mother asks.

“She had to go back home quickly.”

“Go say hello to the Smiths and ask where you can put your bag.”

You listen to your mother and walk to the hosts who aren’t far away from your parents. You apologize for being late and Mrs Smith tells you you can put your belongings in Sarah’s room, their daughter who you go to school with. Glancing at her, you see her with Hannah Williams who is sighing ‘what a mess!’ to her while she is clutching her pearls. Mrs Smith asks her daughter to come so Sarah leaves her friend then she gives you a hypocritical smile before inviting you to follow her.

Once you’re rid of your stuff, you go back to the garden and you have to be social with Sarah and Hannah for the following hours. You try to keep your cool the whole afternoon. The people around your age aren’t the one you get along with, notwithstanding you can’t cause a scandal, though they make it hard. Calvin Jones, Jason Carver as well as two other guys and girls join you and you have to hold yourself back from breathing out every two minutes.

“I still don’t understand why you’re friend with the Freak,” Jason suddenly states, turning to you.

“We just get along, it’s as simple as that.”

“Yeah, but still. He’s weird. Wouldn’t you be better with normal people?” Calvin adds, putting his arm around your shoulder, making you uncomfortable.

“At least, he knows what personal space is unlike some,” you retort, looking him up and down.

Sure when he’s with you, Eddie is always in your personal space. He has this need to feel your body against his, whether it’s his hand in yours or on your lower back or on your thigh. Eddie is a real koala, but it’s only because you’re his girlfriend. Back when you were just friends, he wasn’t as touchy so technically, your comment is not really a lie.

Nevertheless, your comment flies over Calvin’s head who keeps his arm on you; to get rid of it, you have to go get a drink. You’ve only been here for two hours and yet, it feels like ten. Reluctantly, you end up going back to the teenagers and occasionally you participate in the conversation. You only want one thing and it’s to go home and ring Eddie or even better, be in his arms.

However, you have to wait until the beginning of the following week to see him again. While you arrive at school, you hear someone calling your name. Turning around, you find Eddie, trotting around, a book in hand. Once he’s in front of you, you realise he’s holding your mathematics textbook.

“You forgot it at my place,” Eddie explains, giving it to you.

“I knew it was weird I hadn’t forgotten something.”

“What would you do without me?”

“You’d be the one lost without me,” you joke.

“True.”

The bell rings, students walk in the building, already bored of their first period.

“Thanks,” you say, pecking his lips without thinking.

You walk to the main entrance as Eddie doesn’t move, startled by your kiss. He didn’t expect your lips to touch his and judging by your lack of reaction, you haven’t realised what you did just yet. Indeed, you only realise you’ve kissed Eddie in front of the entire school once you’re sat in the classroom and you freak out instantly.

During the whole morning, you think back to the kiss. You wonder if a lot of people saw it and if Eddie is mad at you. He’s not the kind of person to get mad, sure, nonetheless you didn’t talk about not hiding your relationship anymore, though you’ve been meaning to tell your parents for quite some time now.

You don’t listen to a single word your teachers say, impatiently waiting for the lunch break to find Eddie. As soon as it’s time, you join him at the picnic table in the woods outside of the school. Without any big surprise, Eddie is already there, he’s probably skipped his last period before the break. He does it so often that you don’t even react to it anymore. You’d be more shocked if he went to all of his classes. As you arrive, Eddie stands up from the bench and he walks to you before hugging you and kissing you.

“We should talk about this morning,” Eddie tells you with a small smile.

“I know, I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did it, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“Do you know if a lot of people saw us?” you question, biting your nails.

“I have to admit I was too in shock to check this,” he answers, taking your hand out of your mouth.

“Well, at least, now we have an excuse to tell my parents.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m tired of lying and I want them to meet you. If you agree, of course.”

“I totally agree,” he exclaims, clapping his hands together, happy.

“Perfect! You’ll come have dinner at my place one evening. I have to plan it with my parents and I’ll tell you.”

“I hope everything will be okay. I want to make a good impression,” Eddie confesses, putting his hands on your hips.

“Since when do you worry about what people think of you?”

“Since they’re your parents and I don’t want to create problems between you and them.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you. Don’t worry, I’ll plan everything.”

You beam brightly to Eddie then press your lips against his. He kisses you back in the second, bringing you closer to him.

You can’t wait to introduce Eddie to your parents. Sure, you’re worried they heard about the stupid rumours concerning Eddie, nonetheless you’ll make sure you give them all the right information before meeting him. You want everything to be perfect for their first meeting.

You still haven’t found the perfect time to talk to your parents about you and Eddie. You wait for the right moment to tell them and as for right now, it doesn’t seem to come.

Though, it doesn’t prevent you from inviting Eddie to your place when your parents aren’t home. Your father is at work until seven in the evening while your mother is out with her friends, so you have the house to yourself. As it’s the weekend, you’ve decided to call Eddie and he didn’t waste a second before leaving his place.

Fifteen minutes after your call, you hear somebody knocking on your back door. Nimbly, you open to Eddie and you don’t give him a chance to say something before putting your lips on his while dragging him upstairs where your bedroom is. He doesn’t need to be told twice and follows you.

Once you’re in your room, you take his leather jacket off while Eddie starts unbuttoning your dress. Eddie’s lips go from your mouth to your neck and then they lower down to your chest, you enjoy every kiss with your eyes closed. Your hands search for the hem of his tee-shirt as he kisses you again. You’re about to take his shirt off when you feel him being harshly pulled back. Opening your eyes, you find your dad, holding Eddie by the collar and dragging him out of your room.

“Who do you think you are to be in my daughter’s room, you pervert. You better get out of here now or I’ll make sure your hands won’t be able to touch anything ever again,” he yells, dropping Eddie once they’re downstairs.

“Dad, wait!” you beg, running with your dress unbuttoned. “Daddy, please.”

“Don’t 'daddy' me! You better stay out of this. I can’t believe you let a stranger in,” you father reprimand you, appalled.

“He’s not a stranger, he’s my boyfriend, Eddie is my boyfriend,” you admit, buttoning up your dress.

“Him, your boyfriend?” he questions, staring at Eddie with disgust.

“Hello,” Eddie awkwardly exclaims, “Nice home.”

“What the hell do you have in your head?” your dad resumes, not paying attention to Eddie, “He’s crazy! Don’t you hear what people say?”

“Nothing is true. Daddy, please-”

“No, I don’t want to hear anything,” he cuts you off.

“But daddy, I love him,” you scream, tearing up.

“Love? You’re only seventeen, you know nothing about love,” he claims before turning to Eddie and sending him a dirty look, “You better leave now before I get really mad.”

To emphasise his words, your father grip Eddie by the collar again, opens the door and forces Eddie out of the house while you follow them.

“Y/N…,” Eddie tries to say, yet your dad interrupts him.

“Out of my sight!”

“Go, Eddie,” you softly end up telling him.

Unwillingly, Eddie listens to you, leaving you alone with your dad who is more than angry. The second Eddie left, your father grabs your arm and forces you back inside. You hear him mumbling then he violently closes the door. You manage to get out of his grip and cross your arms on your chest, ready to defend Eddie and your relationship.

“Is this teenage angst? Your rebellious phase? If it is, you’ve rebelled, I’m proud of you, now cut the bullshit,” your dad retorts.

“You judge without knowing anything!”

“How long has this been going on?” he asks, however you stay silent, “How long?”

“Six months, but I was about to tell you,” you admit.

“How kind of you it is to finally think about your parents,” your dad exclaims with irony.

“It’s true, I was about to tell you about me and Eddie.”

“There’s not you and Eddie. You won’t see that boy ever again, he’s no good.”

“If you tried to get to know him-”

“I’ve had enough,” he interrupts you, “He leads a cult and listens to weird music.”

“He leads a Dungeon & Dragons club and it’s not because we don’t exclusively listen to classic music we’re weird! Give him a chance.”

“Oh, I’ve seen enough,” he sighs, massaging his temples, “What were you thinking by bringing a boy in your room? Thank God, I arrived before it went farther! Do you have any idea how irresponsible you are? If you stay with him, you’ll end up pregnant before finishing high school and trust me, he won’t be here to help you raise a child. He can barely take care of himself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He was held back a year from what I was told.”

“He just had a complicated year.”

“Don’t you want to date someone respectable who comes from a good family with a good economic background?” he replies, annoyed.

“So, this has to do with his economic background, then?” you retort, mad.

“Precisely because he’s only with you for the money you can give him.”

“What? Nonsense! He loves me and I love him,” you affirm.

“That’s what he wants you to believe. If you absolutely want to date a guy, why don’t you go out with Calvin Jones, for example, he’s a nice guy.”

“You’re joking, right? He’s completely stupid.”

“He’s just naive,” your dad corrects and you scoff.

“He thinks Shakespeare was one of our presidents.”

“At least, we know who he is. He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You have no idea what love is, you’re too young.”

“I don’t even know why I keep talking to you,” you state, going upstairs.

“Come back here, missy,” your dad orders, following you.

“No!” you reply, entering your bedroom.

You don’t have the time to close the door that your father is in your room. Swiftly, he walks to your nightstand and takes your brand new walkman you got for your good grades.

“What are you doing?” you question.

“You’re grounded for three months, minimum, no more hanging out after school and your new walkman, I’m confiscating it for a month just like your car keys. You better not talk to him again from now on and until the end of your life. You better not even call him, send him letters and at school, he keeps his distance with you, if he even goes to class. And don’t even think of sneaking out, I’m watching you from now on. I was too indulgent with you,” he announces and you feel the rage in your body.

“This is not fair!”

“That’s how it is. Now, stay in your room until we eat.”

Upon those words, your father slams the door and you throw yourself on your bed and scream in frustration on your pillow. Angry tears roll down your cheeks and you don’t even try to wipe them.

You weren’t expecting your dad to meet Eddie that way, his first impression of him is now ruined. Henceforth, he’ll never want to see him ever again and that’s a fact, yet it doesn’t mean you want to break up with Eddie. You know your boyfriend and you know he’s a good guy and contrary to what your dad claimed, you know what love is, you discovered it with Eddie. You have no idea how you can fix the situation. In any case, if you find a way to do it, you won’t be able to do it today. Your father is too beside himself to listen to you. Your only hope is your mother. If you can make her understand who Eddie truly is, she might be able to make him listen to reason.

Distraught, you stay lying in your bed, staring blankly at your ceiling. Eddie is in your mind, he must feel awful even if it’s not his fault. You wish you could talk to him, notwithstanding your dad is keeping a close eye on your comings and goings, therefore you don’t leave your bedroom.

Once the sun starts going down in the sky, your door softly opens and your mom walks in. she should have been home later, you guess your dad phoned her to tell her about what happened. Your mother looks at you with eyes full of compassion while she gets closer to you, she sits down next to you and puts her hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

“Dad didn’t have to ruin your night with your friends for this,” you say, avoiding her gaze.

“I can always see my friends another day. He told me everything about you and this boy. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Depends, will you listen to me?” you ask without any hope.

“Of course.”

“Eddie is a good guy, mom, I swear. I wouldn’t be dating someone who isn’t.”

“Are you sure you know him very well? From what I’ve been told, he isn’t well respected around town and with what happened today, it’s not making things better for him,” she contradicts with a sweet voice.

“Those are just unfounded rumours. He’s just non-conformist, that doesn’t mean he’s mean. I love him.”

“You think you love him but you’re young. You’re blind by your teenager's feelings.”

Following her comment, your growl in frustration. It’s the third time you’re told you have no idea what love is and you’re sick of it.

“Why do you all think it’s impossible for me to love someone?”

“Because you two are not from the same world. We don’t know either him or his family.”

“If you were a bit more open-minded, you’d know him,” you retort.

“It’s just puppy love, you’ll forget him fast enough.”

“How can you be so sure about it?”

“You’re too different from one another. You should find a boy from a good family.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to date Calvin Jones, too.”

“God, no!” your mother exclaims with her eyes wide open, “He’s cute but he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“It’s Eddie that I love, he’s the one I want, mom,” you confess, sitting on your bed, “It’s serious between me and him, we have plans together,” you inform.

“What are they?”

“He has a band, he wants to launch his career in Los Angeles.”

“Is that why you absolutely want to go to University there?” she questions, sighing, “Don’t let a guy dictate what you should do.”

“That’s not what it is! I wanted to do my studies in Los Angeles way before him.”

“What about him, does he want to go to University?”

“No, school isn’t really made for him.”

“So, how will you two take care of each other there? It’s not with his band and you studying that you’ll earn a living.”

“I’ll find a job and I have my savings you and dad made for me.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t want-”

“You’re not gonna say this, too!” you interrupt, annoyed, “Is it too hard to believe he wants to be with me because he loves me? He’s not mean, interested in money or I don’t know. Yes, he’s unapologetically himself, even if it means not following what society tells him, it doesn’t make him a bad person, though.”

“Of course, honey, if you say so,” she says, without taking you seriously, “We’re going to eat soon, come set the table.”

You obey your mother and stand up from the bed and follow her to the kitchen. Your conversation with your mom has frustrated you more than the one with your dad. She acted like she was empathising with you nevertheless she didn’t listen to you for one second.

During the whole evening, there’s this tension between you and your parents. Your dad is still mad, talking to you coldly. At first occasion, you run away to your room, not supporting their presence anymore.

On Monday, you can see Eddie at last for the first time since your argument with your parents. He’s already at the picnic table; if there’s one day where he doesn’t like his schedule, it’s during the first day of the week. Upon arriving, you find him focused on his next campaign. As he hears twigs and leaves crunching under your feet, he looks up to you. In an instant, he stands up from the bench and hugs you. Once you’re in his arms, you let go of a sigh, as if you had been holding your breath for the past two days. You hold him tighter as he strokes your back and whispers sweet nothings, your father’s punishment is the last thing on your mind. A few minutes later, you break the embrace then you press your lips on his.

“Are you alright?” he asks with worry, putting his hands on both sides of your face. “I tried calling you, but I didn’t get an answer.”

“My dad is watching the phone and me like a prison guard.”

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with your parents. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m grounded for the next three months. It’s not your fault, Eddie. I didn’t think he’d come back this early,” you reassure him with a small smile.

“I guess your parents aren’t my biggest fan now. I mean, considering the way your dad found us out, I can’t really be mad at him.”

“It doesn’t mean he should judge you harshly.”

“What about your mom, what did she say?”

At the mention of your mother, you sigh, exasperated as you think back to your conversation.

“She acted as if she was listening to me, it was like talking to a wall. They don’t want to hear me out and they don’t want us to be together.”

“It’ll be okay, I’m sure they’ll change their mind,” Eddie promises, kissing your forehead.

“You don’t know my dad. It’d take a miracle for him to have an epiphany. I think it’d be easier to run away,” you propose, almost serious.

“As tempting as it is, I wouldn’t want your parents to hate me even more,” he refuses with a heavy heart.

“This just proves you’re a good person, you prevent me from running away.”

“Oh, trust me, it wouldn’t be hard to make me change my mind, but I don’t want you to get into more trouble because of me. We’ll find a solution, don’t worry.”

Eddie hugs you once more and you stay like this during the first period. It’s not the thing to do, your parents might learn you skip a class, though you don’t care. You’re already grounded, you don’t see how it could get worse than that.

Your day at school is over, you leave the building and you’re about to find Nancy - she offered to drive you home while you don’t have your car - when you hear Sarah and her friend group talking more or less discreetly, you try not to pay attention at first.

“I can’t believe she kissed the Freak last time!” Hannah exclaims.

“I told you they were together. I was sure there was more, they were too close,” Sarah adds.

“I don’t get her, he’s not attractive at all,” her friend comments, frowning.

“I heard her father tell mine he caught them in her bedroom.”

“You can’t be serious!” another girl says, following Sarah’s information.

“Hell yeah, I am! You’ll see in a few months, she won’t come to class anymore, if you understand what I mean.”

Not supporting those childish stories anymore, you decide to join their group, skirting a few students, among them some Hellfire members.

“Hey, girls, how are you doing?”

“Oh, fine and you?” Hannah questions, her cheeks red.

“I thought you were just talking about me.”

“No, you’re not as interesting as you think,” Sarah retorts.

“Really? That’s too bad, I was about to confirm to you guys I’m having his baby, actually. I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, every single girl’s eyes are wide open just as their mouths are. Some of them let go of a surprised shriek and others put their hands over their lips.

“Wait, you are?”

“No, I’m not, but you should see your faces,” you admit, “Instead of gossiping about my life or Eddie's, you should take care of yours.”

“Gossiping?” Sarah starts, walking towards you, “Honey, I’m just stating facts, it’s not my fault if you can’t handle your new reputation.”

“You know what? If you have nothing better to do, then keep talking. I have other things to do than listening to what you think.”

“We just want what’s best for you,” one of the girls says with empathy.

“So you’re doing all of this out of the goodness of your heart?” you ask with irony. “It means a lot to me, yet it doesn’t change anything. You all are just hypocrites.”

On those words, you leave them, not handling their presence anymore. They won’t learn anything from your exchange, though it doesn’t matter. You never liked them in the first place so losing their so-called friendships is the least of your worries.

In Nancy’s car, you enjoy this moment with a real friend to empty your mind.

During the following weeks, you keep walking on eggshells with your parents. On one hand, you don’t want to be too headstrong about it, on the other, you don’t want to let them think they can forbid you from being with who you love. Consequently, you try not to cause any more drama however whenever there is an occasion, you defend Eddie. Your mother is a bit more open now, though your dad stands on his ground. However, the conflicts with your parents are becoming more regular and you hate every one of them. Nevertheless, you’re your father’s daughter and when you’ve both made your mind to it, you can be very stubborn.

You and Eddie defy the rules by continuing to see each other, although now you're more cautious about seeing each other away from prying eyes. Eddie didn’t want to get in the middle of it at first, telling himself it’s between you and your parents, though he sees you suffer because of it and that it causes you stress. Before all of this, you were close to your parents. He tried to reason with you by saying you should make up with them, no matter if your relationship is the price to pay for it but you refuse to listen to him. He’s touched by the way you have his back, however he doesn’t like being the reason for a conflict when it’s about you. As a consequence, he’s decided he’ll fix the situation himself. It can’t go on like this so Eddie found your dad’s work number and he called him. It took him a solid minute to figure out who was calling him then he hung on Eddie, not without threatening him again. For all that, it didn’t stop Eddie. He tried calling him several times, in vain. As he understood it wasn’t working, Eddie decided to go see your dad directly. If your dad doesn’t want to listen to him through the phone, he won’t have any other choice but to listen to him in person. He won’t give up until he does.

That’s how Eddie finds himself in front of your dad’s workplace at the end of the day, his van parked close to his car. Your dad recognizes him from afar. He loudly sighs, preparing himself to ignore Eddie. With a big smile on his face, Eddie gets closer to him and holds out his hand.

“Good evening, I’m Eddie Munson.”

“I know who you are and I thought I had made myself clear last time,” your father answers, looking him up and down, “I don’t want to see you.”

“We started off the wrong foot and I want to change that.”

“Why do you insist so much? Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage already? My daughter barely talks to me because of you.”

“Actually, it’s because you refuse to listen,” Eddie corrects, making the situation worse.

“I forbid you from giving me advice on the way I educate my daughter.”

“I’m not here to create problems, I swear!” he argues, preventing your dad from getting in his car.

“Yet, it looks like you are.”

“I just want you to hear me out. I want what’s best for Y/N, that’s all.”

“If it was true, you would leave her alone. Goodbye.”

Eddie doesn't try any longer and lets your dad go, he doesn’t admit defeat though. He will talk to your dad, that’s a promise he made to himself. Eddie gives him a few days off, before going at it again. This time, he chooses to wait for him in front of your house. Once he sees the car coming, he stands straight. Your dad rolls his eyes before getting out of his car.

“This is stalking. I’m going to call the police.”

“If you’d listen to me, I wouldn’t have to do this. Please, I’m just asking for five minutes,” Eddie humbly begs, “After that, you’ll be able to tell me to leave and I will, though I sincerely hope you won’t.”

“You have five minutes, not one more second.”

“Great!” he exclaims, excited before clearing his throat. “I’m aware I didn’t leave a good impression.”

“That’s the least you could say.”

“And,” Eddie resumes, without paying attention to your dad’s comment, “with what people say about me, I understand you don’t want me near your daughter. To be honest, I don’t even know what people say about me these days, the stories are so far-fetched. Anyway, I can assure you the Hellfire club isn’t a cult, if you want, you can even come to one of our meetings to see for yourself. I don’t venerate Satan or anything else. You think we’re too young, though I promise you I love her. I feel things for her I had never felt before.”

“Yes, I gathered that the second I found you in her room.”

Eddie purses his lips, embarrassed by the innuendo. He scratches his neck before talking again.

“I’m not with her for… that. I really love her and I want a future with her, I wanna build a life with her.”

“A life she will fund, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s a fact I won’t be able to live off my music right away, but I’ll work. I’m not with her for the money, I’m in love with her. I know you don’t like my background nevertheless I’m not gonna apologize for this. It’s something I can’t control and besides, even if I didn’t have an easy life, I have a great uncle who takes care of me and I’m grateful for him, he’s doing his best so I can have a good life. Sure, we’re not rolling in the money, however it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to treat your daughter respectfully. Since your fight, she’s sad. She won’t say it, but I know she hates it as much as you. You mean the world to her and she never meant to hurt you by hiding our relationship. She just wanted to be sure it was serious and she wanted you to meet me in good time. Unfortunately, that’s not how it happened. I tried to tell her she shouldn’t go against you as much as she does, yet she doesn’t want to listen to me, that’s why I keep on trying. I don’t care what people think about me, though, she cares what you and your wife thinks. I’m not gonna lie, I’m not perfect, I have flaws and I made mistakes and I’ll make others, but hurting Y/N won’t be one of them,” Eddie states with confidence. “If you give me one chance, I will show you I deserve your daughter.”

Your father looks hard at Eddie, weighing the pros and cons. He doesn’t want to admit it, however Eddie found the right words. He runs a hand over his face, then breathes out before replying.

“One chance. I agree with you coming to eat at home so we can get to know each other. Don’t ruin it.”

At his words, Eddie holds himself back from jumping in joy. He can’t ruin all his good effort now, so he just smiles.

“I won’t, sir.”

Eddie holds out his hand and your dad shakes it, sealing their agreement. The noise of the front door opening catches their attention. Turning their head toward the door, they see you walking in, your school bag on your shoulder. Once you see them, still shaking their hands, your brows furrow, not understanding what you’re gazing at.

“What’s happening?”

“Eddie came to talk to me,” your dad explains, taking his hand off Eddie’s, “He’s been trying for a few weeks and I finally agreed to listen.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t handle the way you were tearing each other apart because of me,” Eddie adds.

“And I don’t like the way you're is cutting me out of your life and after hearing Eddie out, I think, maybe, I judged him too quickly. I’m not saying I’m happy you love him, though he knows how to defend himself. You’re still grounded by the way,” your father quickly specifies as he sees your joy on your face, “but I agree on eating with him this Saturday so I can judge if he deserves you or not.”

“Thanks, daddy!” you exclaim, hugging him, “You have no idea how happy I am.”

“I just agreed to get to know him, it doesn’t mean everything is fixed.”

“I’ll prove to you I deserve your daughter,” Eddie promises, strutting.

“We’ll see about that. Now, go home, she’s still grounded.”

“I’ll show him to the door,” you say.

“You have five minutes.”

You take Eddie’s hand and drag him outside, wanting to enjoy every second you have with him. Eddie is pleased he made things better between you and your dad.

The minute you’re alone in front of his van, you jump in his arms. Eddie loses his balance for a bit yet he catches you nonetheless then, he holds you tighter. A few seconds later, he takes a step back, wanting to talk seriously with you. You guess this by the way he plays with his hands and searches for his words.

“Everything okay?” you question.

“Yes, I’m happy your dad is giving me a chance. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to talk to him? We could have done it together.”

“I hesitated to tell you however I thought I should be the one doing it; it’d be easier. I mean, I had to fight for three weeks just so he’d listen to more than one sentence. The fact is, we’re on the right track.”

“What’s wrong then? I feel like there’s something else.”

“Yeah, there is,” he admits running a hand over his face, “Look, you probably planned to tell me yourself, to tell me in a beautiful way but I know.”

“You know?” you ask, your brows knitted together.

“Yes and that’s why I wanted to smooth things over with your dad,” Eddie continues, ignoring your confusion, “You’ll need them and you can’t stay on bad terms with them and all of this stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he says, putting his hand on your stomach.

“The baby?”

“I know you’re pregnant,” Eddie states and you’re getting even more lost.

“What? Eddie, I’m not pregnant,” you inform, taking his hand out of your body.

“You don’t have to lie, I’m not mad. Sure, I panicked when Dustin told me but I’m here for you, no matter your decisi-”

“Eddie!” you interrupt, “I can assure you I am not pregnant. I got my periods a week ago. I don’t know how Dustin could have believed that.”

“He said he heard you say it to some girls.”

Following Eddie’s sentence, you need a second to understand how Dustin could have heard this. As soon as you finally figure it out, your face relaxes and you lightly chuckle.

“Oh, this! No, it was a joke. They were gossiping and I wanted to shut them up.”

“So, you’re not pregnant?” Eddie wants to make sure, still worried.

“No.”

“Thank God, I didn’t tell this to your dad,” he says, sighing in relief.

“Thank God, yeah or you would have been six feet under already and I would have followed you.”

“More scared than hurt. Though, I meant it when I said I’d support you if it ever were to happen.”

“I know you would. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You put your hands on both sides of Eddie’s face and he leans in to kiss you. His hands make their way to your hips, bringing you closer. Your kiss doesn’t last long, guessing your dad is watching you through the window. You break the kiss and Eddie gives you one last smile before getting in the van. Before leaving, he opens the car window.

Stranger Things Masterlist

“I told you we’d find a solution. See you Saturday.”

#marie swriting in english #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things one shot #Spotify #marie swriting with taylor swift

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rei-ismyname · 7 months ago

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Let's talk R-LDS

R-LDS or Resurrection-Linked Degenerative Sickness was alluded to in X-Men #4 and the Infinity Comics before being named in X-Men #7. We're told that Magneto has it and it's directly caused by Krakoan resurrection/The Five, kinda.

Here's Beast doing some alluding.

In the panels above, we learn that Hank McCoy is the only one working on the problem - the problem being Magneto's loss of his powers and his body breaking down rapidly - his very chromosomes unraveling. He seems quite sure that it could happen to 'any of us' though the lack of quarantine suggests it's not contagious.

The next bit of information we receive is from Magneto and Scott in conversation, reflecting on The Iron Night. They took down a wild sentinel that was attacking the town and Mags lost control over his powers immediately after, requiring Scott to knock him out for safety's sake. Scott is no scientist, and while Magneto is a genius polymath autodidact (with plenty of experience in genetics) it's not a character trait that's seen focus lately. Thus, I'm assuming they're discussing it as amateurs and as patient zero in Magneto's case.

Magneto confidently names the condition for the first time as well as using an acronym for it, suggesting it's confirmed to exist, he's had a positive diagnosis, and they're using the term enough to require shorthand. He even spells out the subtext for us - it was a hidden flaw in Krakoan resurrection. I'll come back to that notion. Scott says 'we don't know that for sure,' implying that R-LDS is just a theory or speculation, which Mags doesn't directly refute. Instead he lays out the worst case scenario. They can't both be right here, so what's the deal? Magneto's symptoms are obviously confirmed, but how did they get from there to here?

If Magneto is the first and only person affected by his condition, why are he and Beast so sure about its providence and everyone being in danger? How could they possibly link it to Krakoan resurrection? I'm no scientist but I do know that there's only so much you can conclude from a single data point. Magneto was indeed only resurrected by the Five once, but he died again after that on Arakko (X-Men Red #7). The body he's in came out of a portal from Overspace in Adam Brashear's underwater base (Resurrection of Magneto #3.) His body suffering a condition borne of something that happened to a different body doesn't make sense. Considering he's the only person to return to life that way AND the only one allegedly with R-LDS, that would be the place to start for Beast's sciencing.

There he is, good as new.

Word of God

In a recent AIPT interview, Tom Brevoort removed any ambiguity and just straight up confirmed it. With the caveat that his recent X-history knowledge seems pretty poor, he is the de jure ultimate authority on the matter. I don't agree with that, and not just because I don't respect him as a creator. This habit of on-panel ambiguity and editorialising in interviews is vexing.

It's especially vexing when he contradicts himself. He counterpoints his own information with some of what I just pointed out, but the fact that they've made a list of who was and wasn't resurrected suggests R-LDS is a plot point they're committed to. I have to wonder why he bothered giving a detailed answer to this question if it's 'yes,' then 'maybe', then 'it will definitely be a thing you'll see as we progress.' Saying all of that and then ending with 'we know very little so far' really makes me wonder what he's thinking. Tom Brevoort could have given his usual cagey answer about not wanting to spoil anything, but he didn't here. I'm saving most of my Brevoort-specific criticism for a separate piece, but this glib and irreverent tone is typical of his commentary - even managing a light jab at Jordan D White.

Frankly, I think it's a graceless and cynical development. There are so many character beats, mistakes, and conflicts to use from the First Krakoan Age that choosing to create R-LDS feels like a shot at the core of hopefulness and creativity that blew our socks off in 2019.

HoxPoX

House of X/Powers of X was hopeful and magical. After a decade plus of endless misery and genocides, dull stories and bizarre characterisation, for once mutants got a W. The ability to use mutants working together to right the horrendous wrongs they'd suffered was central to that - the power of community and cooperation. What they built wasn't perfect but The Five was something they got right.

What would possess someone to take the cornerstone of the greatest X-Men story of all time (don't @ me) and try to tear it down? Remember, when the dust settled we ended up in Moira X life 10E. In 10A, the original Krakoan experiment, the mutants won! They thrived and protected what was theirs against Dominions. It took a literal apex AI God existing outside of space and time directly opposing them to fail. Enigma, on the back foot, sent Omega Sentinel through time to start ORCHIS years early and ensure Krakoa's collapse. Am I to believe 'no, sorry. That was a dead end?'

Haven't we been here before?

We've had mutants suffer from the Legacy Virus and M-Pox already, and I might even be missing other examples of nebulous diseases that threatened to wipe out all mutants. Obviously it's the prerogative of the X-Office to use whatever plot points they want, but do we really have to do this again? There are plenty of ways to sideline Magneto as a combatant that don't require repackaging old storylines. We've even had Hank McCoy decades behind the curve desperately trying to catch up before - in All-New All-Different X-Men.

Small World

Defenders-era Hank McCoy might be the worst possible 616 scientist to tackle this problem. He's literally decades behind the science curve and doesn't have the experience in dealing with anything like this. He's not the same guy that worked on M-Pox or the Legacy Virus. He never set foot on Krakoa and has never met any of the Five. We don't know how much data was recorded or kept from The Five but Beast may not have access to it.

Why isn't he talking to Cecilia Reyes, Forge, Jean Grey, Reed Richards, Doctor Strange, Adam Brashear, Healer, Doctor Nemesis? Even doctor dickhead that extorted Storm has the ability to instantly diagnose anyone. It makes the world feel tiny, and when you're following an era of interconnectedness that's just so disappointing. Portraying him as supremely concerned about 'all of us being ticking time bombs' rings hollow if he's working on it solo. Hank McCoy has always had a sense of arrogance where his scientific ability is concerned but not to this degree. Look at the guy! He's hating the stress he's under.

Sins of Sinister and the White Hot Room

I have to wonder if the implications of linking Magneto's illness to The Five's resurrection have been fully considered. The Sins of Sinister timeline ran for a millennium with the Five resurrecting on an industrial scale. Rasputin IV would have noticed, or the Quiet Council. The mutants left behind in the White Hot Room in RotPox spent 15 years bringing back ALL the dead mutants. That's 16 million, minimum. 15 years is less than a thousand but it's still longer than the First Krakoan Age, several times over. Nobody noticed anything? Elixir, member of the Five and Omega biokinetic, with his unlimited mastery of DNA didn't notice anything? Destiny didn't see mutants falling apart? Sounds dubious as hell to me.

Towards the end of the era many humans were resurrected too. 5% of the Five's work was set aside for bringing back poor children etc through the Phoenix Foundation. Steve Rogers was resurrected into his current body on Judgement Day. I am extremely skeptical that this has been considered, and in Steve's case whether the X-Office can even use him.

Conclusion

Magneto's physical degradation has been swift. Here he is in Uncanny X-Men #700, implied to be at most 6 months before X-Men #1. I think I've demonstrated that the concept is nonsensical and to reiterate, I think it's a terrible narrative choice. If I'm being generous, it'll be interesting to see if they can explain R-LDS in a way that makes sense - if they can do something new and interesting with a tired concept. There's only been one issue since it was introduced, so perhaps I'm jumping the gun on breaking it down. Let's check back in 6 months.

What do you think of R-LDS? Do you think my reasoning is sound? As always, I'd love to hear what other fans think.

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areislol · 2 years ago

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Back at work

►— pairings. genshin men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. mentions of stalking/a stalker, nothing that i know of? not proof read please dm me if i misgendered reader/any mistakes.

►— synopsis. albedo created a machine where it would bring back their creator, who was stuck in another world, back to where they belong. but instead of bringing you here to them, it brought them to where you were.

►— a/n. !!! i hope you guys enjoy this!! i've been getting LOADS of ideas lately and every time i complete a chapter i get so excited because i can finally start jotting down everything i want to happen in THAT chapter so yay!! it's like a lil reward to me. and once again i apologize for like.. procrastinating and leaving this chapter be, I PROMISE YOU AFTER I HAD FINISHED THIS CHAPTER MY ASS STARTED TO WRITE CHAPTER SIX ALREADY.

►— wordcount. 4.8k

recommended to listen to: snooze- sza

Today was the first day you would be going back to work. Normally, you wouldn't be nervous at all, it was just like every other work day—waking up at 5 am, doing your morning routine, getting dressed, eating something light for breakfast before leaving your house to go to work.

Most people would groan everyday about work, complaining that it was too "hard" and that they barely got to "rest" which IS a big problem but not for you! You worked at a bakery, it was very calming and peaceful job and plus, you could bring home a few baked goods (as the owners were just a lovely old couple who were really kind).

The problem is, you weren't so sure if you could trust the 28 men – that now somewhat lived with you– all alone in your home. I mean yes, there were a couple men you could trust to be in charge of making sure nothing happened (Albedo, Dainsleif, Al-haitham, Zhongli, Baizhu, Neuvillette, Wriothesley and Pierro.. surprisingly).

So today is a day where you would have to just see if everything will turn out fine, and even though Childe told you not to worry and that everything will be fine... his very not obvious cheeky grin was not going to be fooling you or anyone.

You literally woke up, got ready for work and ate the breakfast Thoma made for you, all the while anxious. Obviously you have somewhat trust with the men, you did not want to upset them in any way if you outright just told them "erm i actually do NOT trust you at all staying in my home without me so!!!".

So of course you said nothing and kept a nervous smile on your face. Everything was going to be okay... Nothing was going to happen to anyone or anything.. Well that's what you thought until you came home at around 6:30 pm.

Lets rewind a bit.

"Ughhhhhh do you really have to go though? Like... You can just stay here.."

"For the whole day?"

"Well-" "and not get any money?" "...."

Gorou frowns, clearly upset about the fact that you were going to leave for work after being with them for four whole days (it's a lot to him apparently) and even after desperately trying to persuade you to stay, you were very adamant about going to work.

Ayato lets out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, placing his hand on Gorou's shoulder. "Leave it be, Gorou... Work is very important after all." Ayato explains, backing you up.

You smiled softly as you slipped your shoes on, making sure that you had everything in your bag before quickly sending a text to the owners of the shop.

"I'll be there soon! ❤️"

Tucking your phone back into your bag, your hands rest on the doorknob as you opened the door slightly, body just halfway through the door, your eyes scanned the scene before you (making sure that everything was in its place so you'd know if anything was broken and or moved later on).

Thoma was in the kitchen cleaning the dishes, and dare you say he looked delicious. (... not literally) His sleeves were rolled up as he wore your rubber gloves on his hands, not only that but he also wore a pink and white polka dot apron. He looked like the definition of 'Male-wife'.

Ayato and Gorou standing in front of you to the side, going back and fourth about how he (Gorou) should let you go to work and how (Ayato) should just let him grab a hold of your legs and prevent you from going to work.

The rest of the men were either sitting on the couch or leaning on the couch watching you watch Ayato and Gorou bicker. As your grave wavers off to the other men your eyes landed on Heizou, that cheeky man.

A smirk appears on Heizou's lips as he caught your eye. "Missing me already?" Heizou flirted, winking at you so... flirtatiously. Your cheeks began to flush up at his actions, you clear your throat and looked away.

"Absolutely not. I'll be going to work now alright? Please don't fight or anything.. Remember, Dainsleif, Zhongli and Neuvillette are in charge." You reminded, the men in charge all nod their heads are your word, and they all glare at Childe. Because they knew he wouldn't listen.

Childe was blissfully unaware of the stares as he was busy giving you puppy dog eyes, all the while stepping closer towards you, hoping that it would work. Obviously it did not.

"Whatever you're trying to do, Childe, Isn't working. Okay bye bye! I'll be back at around five (5) pm." You wave your hand goodbye and pat Childe's head before clicking the lock on the doorknob and closed the door shut.

Childe groaned, leaning his head against the door. "They better come back at five exactly, or else.." He mumbled, clearly annoyed.

"Or else what ginger boy? You aren't going to do SHIT" Wanderer scoffs, smirking at the ginger-haired reaction as he knew he was now 100% pissed. Before Childe or Wanderer start anything Zhongli cleared his throat, his hand on his lips.

Zhongli glared at the both of them—not putting up with their antics and arguing.

Childe soon stormed off, mumbling under his breath along the lines of how "Y/n's always putting Zhongli in charge.. Why not me?! I'm very stern and a great person to put in charge..." And yadadada.

Heizou heaved a great and dramatic sigh, sinking down into his seat. He knew it was going to one long and boring day without you.

The walk from your home to your workplace was quite short really, it didn't take too long to reach your job area. And one of the best things about walking to the pastry shop is that it was calming, since the time you leave your home and walk to your destination is early in the morning (7 AM) it's very quiet.

There are no loud noises, no chitter chattering, absolutely nothing. Only the sounds of bird chirpings, the sounds of the ringing from bikes as they passed by, the soft and cold whooshing of the wind as the leaves shake, you were calmed by the sounds.

But today. Your stress levels were spiked up slightly, you were nervous about leaving all the 28 men men in your home, all alone (it's just you gone but still), without YOUR supervision!! But then again you had Zhongli, Dainsleif and Neuvillette to be in charge but you can't help but worry.

Like what if they break your favourite plate that costed $23 from Amazon?! What if Childe and Wanderer fight once again and knock everything over?! only the Lord can save them when you arrive home, that's for sure.

Before you knew it you were right in front of your bakery shop. Subconsciously you let out a sigh upon seeing the familiar sign of the shop. "Mrs. Bakery" it read. A smile reached your lips as you opened the front door, the sound of the wind chimes tinkling against one another.

Stepping foot into the warm shop, your eyes sparkled with joy as you noticed Mrs. Sam grinning and waving at you. "Welcome Y/n, I feel like it's been so long... Come, I've just prepared a batch of Caramel Donuts, come try one, I need your opinion."

You wasted no time and walked over to the back of the shop, placing your bag down and greeting Mr. Sam before trying the Donuts.

As you finished chowing down on the Donut you hummed in delight, nodding your head in acknowledgement. "Mmmh! Tastes really nice, boss! I don't know how you guys do it..."

"Oh—Please, no need to call me 'Boss', you know to call me Linda." The old woman chuckled, shaking her head playfully, you smiled back in response and began to put on your apron.

You begin to do your job, cleaning the tables, setting the new Donuts, Cakes and pastries in the display case before counting the money, checking in the emails and making sure you have all the pastries ready for the orders. Everything was okay and in order.

The time was now 8:30 AM, you got from behind the counter and walked up front to the door and turned the "CLOSED" sign around, it now read "OPEN", the store was now open for the day.

And as you all wait for your customers you lean against the counter, jus staring into the void when you suddenly felt someone nudge your arm, it was Charles, well, Mr. Sam.

"Oh, Charles! Is everything alright, do you need help with anything?" You asked, fixing your posture as he just caught you slacking off of work. Charles shook his head and laughed. "No No, I'm fine. You just look... troubled, are you okay?"

You shake your head, sighing. "No, I'm okay thank you. Just uh.. you know.. things." You replied with a sheepish smile, trying to make sure that the truth doesn't slip out of your mouth.

Charles hums as he stared out the door. "Oh! Look, our first customer. Be sure to welcome them!" He states before walking away. You straightened your back even more before smiling as you welcomed your first customer.

Work will surely get the nervousness off your mind and body.

(Now back at home,) After you left your home, Heizou, Gorou, Aether and Lyney groaned in defeat, what were they going to do now? You were gone.. there was nothing to do without you.

Thoma had already finished washing and drying the dishes as he now leaned against the couch, humming a soft tune. The silence was deafening, everybody was too quite, way too quite to the point where they could hear the birds chirping from out the window, the small droplets coming out of the tap as it landed on the wiped sink, the occasional sighs and sniffles from the men amongst them.

Yeah it was quiet.

Then all of the sudden Thoma perked up—giving Kaveh a fright. Kaveh, who was staring at Thoma as he sat on the couch, had jumped from the sudden movement of Thoma, his face was screaming "WHAT THE FUCK?!" but you know, he didn't actually scream that out loud.

Thoma smiles sheepishly and apologized, "sorry Kaveh, I didn't mean to.. but I have an idea to propose." Thoma states, looking around the room, Zhongli gave him a nod to continue.

"Wait wait wait—sorry to interrupt you but uh.. why do you sound so... professional?" Itto intercepts, staring at Thoma looking seriously dumbfounded. Thoma shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, but anyway back to my idea, I say we should clean Y/n's house? I mean we're all bored and have nothing to do. Plus, I'm positive Y/n will be thankful for us cleaning her home."

Thoma's suggestion didn't sound so bad, the idea of cleaning? Not sp much. You being happy that your house is clean? Absolutely yes. The hums of agreement could be hear from around the living room.

"Hm.. that doesn't sound so bad, I guess, but I dibs not cleaning the bathroom OR unclogging the sink!" Heizou added, knowing that he beat majority of the men who also wanted to dibs not cleaning the bathroom and or unclogging the sink.

Many of the men groaned, wishing that maybe someone would take one for the team when Zhongli cleared his throat, immediately silencing everybody. "I say we all do it in groups. I will do it for you guys since I do not trust any of you doing it."

After many troubles, arguing and nasty stares, Zhongli decided that he, Ayato, Heizou and Aether would be a group and clean the living room.

Kaeya, Albedo, Diluc and Xiao were in group two, they were in charge of cleaning the bedrooms (and making sure that everything you placed was still in its' position).

Baizhu, Kazuha, Itto and Gorou were in group three, in charge of mopping, sweeping and vacuuming the floors.

Venti, Neuvillette, Wriothesley and Freminet were in group four, they were put to the job of dusting everything.

Childe, Dainsleif, Pantalone and Pierro were set into group five, they organized your wardrobe.

Capitano, Lyney, Cyno, Al-haitham, Kaveh, Dottore and Wanderer were in group six, they were in charge of... cleaning the toilet and bathroom.

And last but not least, Thoma, he was set to organizing the cabinets with the food, plates, utensils and all kitchenware. He was the only one who was happy with his position.

They all set off to the spots and began to clean, at first they didn't enjoy cleaning (other than Thoma, Aether, Zhongli, Neuvillette, Wriothesley and Lyney) but over time they enjoyed it, it was therapeutic and gave them a sense of pride when they see how much they cleaned.

And thankfully, no vases or anything fragile fell and or broke, everything was all well and clean as the men made sure to be extra careful around your most prized possessions.

While they all cleaned, time seemed to have gone by fast, three (3) hours had already passed by the time everybody was done cleaning. "Oh my lord.. that was extremely tiring, I need water.." Lyney spoke breathlessly, wiping the sweat off of his forehead as he dragged his feet across the floor to the kitchen.

Unlike some other men who did not even sweat a drop and looked energetic (Diluc, Wriothesley, Itto and Childe), they all slumped on the couch, tired from all of their cleaning they were sure their muscles would grow after all the arm strength they used in scrubbing.

Lyney came back with with cans of soda and gave them all to everybody, as they all took it from Lyney's hand and on the coffee table they all thanked him and thanked the lord.

"Soda has never tasted any better..." Itto sighed after chugging the whole can before burping, loudly. Childe, along with the others groaned in annoyance and muttered under the breath.

"How disgusting.." "Why is he always burping?" "Does he have no shame?!"

Heizou looked up to the clock on the wall, the time read 10:45 AM. Heizou closed his eyes, taking in breaths as he thought about you coming through the door, finally finishing work.

There was still seven (7) hours left, and there was nothing to do but watch shows and sleep through the afternoon.

"That would be $7.50 thank you!" You said, reaching your hand out for him while smiling towards your regular customer. He always came every (opening) single day, you were always so thankful to his understanding and kind nature but he did sometimes creep you out.

Despite him always wearing a black hoodie that was always hanging on his face, you could always see his smile.

The man smiled in an unsettling way before nodding his head and handing you the money, you ignored the way his hands seemed to linger on yours for more than a second as he passes you the money.

"You look even better than usual, Y/n." The man whispers, your brows furrowed as you slightly leaned in closer. "I'm sorry?" You heard him just fine but the way he said it put you off, maybe your brain was wiring his words to sound weird?

"I—I mean you look amazing, today!" He stuttered, cheeks blushing a bright coral red. You smiled shyly and thanked him quietly, still not used to compliments.

Your gaze follows him as he walks off, sitting down at his usual seat as he looks down at the table. "Hello?" The voice of another customer caught your attention, your head snapped back as you quickly apologized and getting back to work.

A beautiful, brown haired woman who looked around your age began ordering her drink, you took everything down and gave her the price. "That'll be $5.90, anything else?" She shakes her head.

You expected her to move so that you could take the next customer but she didn't, her eyes shifted to the man you were talking to earlier before looking at you.

"That.. guy. Do you know him personally?" She asked quietly, leaning in closer. Your brows furrowed at her question. "... No, why?"

A sigh.

"I don't mean to come off as a stalker but.. For a couple of weeks now I've seen him coming to this shop and talking to you, stalking you, watching you as you worked and when you left. Please don't freak out—I just want you to know."

For a second your heart skipped a beat, you expected yourself to be afraid and you know, the usual scared emotions but for some reason you felt.. neutral? You would've never expected that him, your regular customer, to be your stalker.

The thought of him following you home, watching you work, watching you leave work made you feel uncomfortable, but you had to stay calm as the supposed stalker was in the room with you.

You nod your head slowly and took a deep breath, looking at the woman in her eyes. "Thank you for telling me, I'll... do something about it." The lady smiles apologetically and walks away, leaving you a few seconds to your thoughts before you were dragged right back into reality by the voice of your next customer.

All the while you were serving and taking the customers orders, you found yourself glancing at the man in black, the more you stare at him the more you noticed how suspicious he looked, the more unsettled and scared you felt, the pit in your lower stomach was filled with butterflies.

Your palms grew sweatier as everything became harder to concentrate on. Questions ran through your mind.

Was he really stalking you? Are you and that other woman overthinking it? But then why does he look so suspicious? Why was he always staring at you so.. greedily?

It got to the point where you couldn't even focus on your customers and answer their questions and orders. "Hello? Helloooo? Ugh are you even listening?" Was the only thing you could hear from your very annoying customer.

You placed your palm up, apologizing to the customer. "I—I'm sorry I need to go do something, I'll get another person wait.." You stated, your hand rubbing your temples as you walked off into the back of the shop to meet Mrs. Sam

Mrs. Sam noticed you walking into the room looking troubled. "Y/n, everything alright? Are the customers being rude?" She questioned, placing both of her hands on your shoulders—holding you steady.

"I'm.. I don't know, I don't feel good nor safe. Can I take a quick break? I'm so sorry—" You were cut off by Mrs. Sam as she shushes you.

"Never be sorry, Dear. Take as much time as you need I'll get Charles to do the job." You were thankful for her as she calls her husband over and explains the situation, he wasted no time getting out of the kitchen.

Time passed by as you sat down on a chair, just thinking about everything. "You know..." Mrs. Sam begun, washing the dishes, not even staring at you as she continues to speak.

"You can tell me anything, I'll try to help. If you don't feel safe you can go home you know? We are about you a lot."

Turning your head around you stared up at her before looking back down, sighing. "It's nothing Mrs. Sam, I don't feel safe walking home right now. D'you think you could walk me home today?"

Mrs. Sam hums, finishing up her washing before placing the plate on a dish rack. She puts her latex gloves away and faces towards you. "Why, of course, I don't mind."

A smile reached your lips as you felt a slightly bit better and safer.

—

Finally, it was 4:50 PM, you would be going home early as the couple allowed you too, this would mean that the shop would close 10 minutes earlier.

Fortunately there were no more customers by the time you were closing the shop—the supposed stalker had went away as well.

You made sure to count the money, wipe the tables, and make sure that all the pastries that weren't bought were put in the freezer. You turned the "OPEN" sigh around, signifying that the shop was now closed.

You grabbed your bag and checked that everything was inside before opening the door and holding it open for the old couple before closing and locking it after stepping out.

"Thank you for walking me home, I feel much better now!" You happily expressed, smiling towards the both of them. Charles chuckled and waved his hand.

"It's no worries, It has gotten quite dangerous nowadays you know.. I heard on the news last week that a young woman went missing in an alleyway near Hills St.."

You giggled as he rambled on about stories about him and his wife, they always made your day. Sooner or later you reached your home, you had totally forgotten about the 'stalker'.

After thanking them, you waved goodbye and unlocked the door, after hearing the click you turned the doorknob and pushed yourself inside.

As the men waited patiently for you to come home, the sound of the click of the doorknob was heard from the door. Everybody whipped their head towards the sound and immediately got up—as if they were ready to pounce on you (because they were).

The second Heizou saw your figure coming through the door he ran towards you and hugged you from behind, tightly. You haven't even closed and locked the door shut yet as he held you tightly with no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

"I missed you too, Heizou" You giggled, closing the door shut behind you before locking the door. "Oh, ow ow ow— Heizou you're hugging me really tightly-!"

Heizou apologized, but you knew he didn't mean it but you didn't mind. Before you knew it more people began to hug you really tightly. Gorou, Aether and Childe all hugged your body.

They felt so warm and this was just what you needed after a long and confusing day at work.

"You seemed tired, do you need to rest?" Ayato asked worriedly, pulling the men away from your body. You looked up to meet his gaze and sighed. "Yeah, I think I do." You muttered.

That was all that he needed to know before he swooped you off your feet, obviously spooking you as your eyes widened, your heart beat spiking up as your hands immediately gripped on his arm.

"Time to go sleep." Ayato states, bringing you to your room as the rest followed behind you. You groaned, too tired to protest. "But I feel icky, I need to go take a shower first."

Ayato hummed for a second before putting you down in front of the bathroom door, he opened the door and ushered you inside. "I'll get your clothes, just stay there.

You listened to his words as you waited for him to get your pajamas. After a couple of minutes he knocked on the door, as you opened it his hand poked through the crack of the door, a pair of clothes being handed to you.

You took the clothes as he quickly retracted his hand and closed the door.

After 20 minutes of taking a warm shower you slipped your clothes on—you felt so much better, more refreshed and clean. As you exited the bathroom you made your way to your bedroom, stepping inside you noticed that the fan was on, your blinds just rolled up slightly so that little sunlight seeped in, just the way you liked it.

Not only that but Tighnari was also in your room, tending to the plants on your desk. His ears twitched as he picked up the sounds of your footstep and your presence.

"Finished already? Well don't mind me I'm just taking care of your plants" He spoke in a soft tone, smiling at you. You hummed and made your way to your bed before flopping down, heaving a great, relaxed sigh.

Tighnari stopped in his tracks as his ear twitched once more, he turned his head to face you lying on your bed, looking exhausted yet relaxed from the shower.

Your eyes were closed shut when you felt the edge of your bed dipping, your eyes flickered open—you spotted Tighnari sitting on the edge of your bed, just staring at you, observing your face.

"Are you okay, Y/n? You seem exhausted. Was it work?" He questioned, his voice filled with worry. You thought about your answer for a second, you would've been fine if you had not known about your so-called 'stalker'.

But could you really tell him? You knew they (all the men) were overprotective of you and if you told Tighnari, he might tell everybody as well. And that would only cause more problems.

A faint sigh escaped your lips. "No.. I'm just a bit tired is all, don't worry about me." You replied, moving around in your bed and tucking yourself in.

Tighnari didn't respond after that, it was only silent.

"... I've noticed you've been looking at my ears a lot."

Your eyes widened at his sudden words. He wasn't lying. You've been thinking about their (Tighnari and Gorou) ears and tails for a while now, they just looked so soft.

A warmness spreads across your cheeks to your face as you nod your head, "well you're not wrong"

Tighnari blushed before clearing his throat, his eyes avoiding yours. "W—well if it makes you feel a bit better, you can touch them, I don't mind. It would be an honor to have my ears touched by you."

His words made you feel some type of way but you wasted no time and pat the spot beside you, you couldn't waste this opportunity.

Tighnari obeys, lying right beside you but just a bit lower than you, you slowly placed your hand on his soft, fluffy ears, making sure not to hurt them or rub them too hard.

All the while you looked between his ears and back at his face to see any signs of discomfort. Your breath hitched in your throat, amazed by how soft they were.

"So soft..." You mumbled softly—unable to stop yourself from touching his ears. Tighnari blushed at your words and closed his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips as his grip on the blanket tightened.

After a couple of minutes the drowsiness soon took over your body and eyelids as you fought to stay awake but to no avail. Your eyelids slowly but surely grew heavy and heavy, and before you knew it you were knocked out cold, your hand still laid on his ears.

Tighnari, too, fell asleep to your touch.

"Shhhhh! They're both asleep!" Kazuha shushed Childe who was complaining quite loudly about how he should be in the bed with you. Childe huffed and grumbled under his breath.

Soft snore escaped your mouth as you grumbled and flipped to your other side. "It's already 8, we should get to sleep as well." Neuvillette whispers, already settling down onto the mattress near your bed.

"That lucky bastard!" Wanderer scowls, glaring at Tighnari that slept peacefully on your bed, his ear twitched. Heizou rolled his eyes and began to tuck himself into the bed.

The rest went to the guest room and got ready to sleep. The sounds of the blankets rustling, people snoring, sighing and the sound of the fan was the only thing could be heard.

"Hey... guys?"

Dainsleif, Neuvillette, Cyno, Childe and the others hummed at Aether's question.

"Is it just me or was Y/n kind of off today? They seemed different I don't know why." Aether proposed, his voice was soft as he thought about you.

A chorus of hums and agreement were heard, and then it was silent again. "You think we should go visit Y/n at work? Maybe something happened to them."

Dainsleif sighed before responding. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea but... wouldn't that make us seem like creeps though? To Y/n I mean."

"Eh, not really, we're just visiting them to see if anything happened to them you know?" Childe explained, his arms and legs splayed out on the mattress of the bed, his arms hitting Gorou who groaned and turned his back towards him.

Well, at least they won't be bored the next day, just... one small thing that bothered them.

The unknown number who texted you just a couple minutes ago that read,

Messages

Mark Holey

hey, you looked ravishing today my love, i want to tell you something and i hope you feel the same way about me too, a couple weeks ago i...

note: RAHHHHHHHHHH I FINALLT FINISHED THISSS i just went with te flow and if you sent any suggestions they will be used in the next chapters!! i'll give credits as well dw <3 for the end idea (reader and tighnari) it was submitted by an anon.

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @hexvx @saltylovetale @backintomykpopphaseagain @toramune @oreo-ren @serenity-lovesred @flooofity @minteasketches @amaizverydum @lovelive-animequeen1029 @roseapov @yuraasia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealamp @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanisty @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-sh @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcroww @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqq @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhiwassup @youdontneedtoknowlol

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

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tickettride · 3 months ago

Text

Bad omen

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x wife!reader

in which you know something’s wrong when Johnny doesn’t come home one night. Instinct tells you the Kid has something to do with it—you just don’t know how deep it goes. Based on Johnny's last scene, except for some details.

word count: 5,7k

warnings: complete angst, blood, violence, mentions of death, hospital, hopefully no big mistakes

A/N: : I knew I wanted to write something about Johnny’s last scene ever since I rewatched the movie. Something angsty? Absolutely. And then I fell upon one of my favorite x-files scenes in which Scully is filled with both sorrow and rage, thinking that her man is going to die. It helped me so much. That’s how I’d have reacted in front of the kid. Or at least what I’d have thought. It took me weeks to write something I really liked, and even longer to finish it. Sorry if it feels rushed!

based on the same universe as one of my previous fics

“I thought he’d eat with us,” Joan repeated for the third time, her doe eyes dropping to her empty plate.

Instead of sighing into the silence like you’d done for the past hours, you kissed the top of her head and faked a smile against her soft hair. Your mother used to do the same. With a big smile on her lips, you could never tell how bad it really was.

"Daddy's been real busy lately. Probably caught up with some papers or somethin'."

“He said he’d take us to the movies,” Lynn added, chewing on the rest of her food.

What could you even tell them? Johnny had made lots of promises lately. None of them had seen the light of the day, drowned by his worries about the club, about Benny, about the young ones wanting to join. It was a miracle he’d kissed you goodbye that morning.

“I know, honey.”

Scraping your chair back, you took your plate to the sink and started running the hot water to wash it up. Joan came up behind you and handed hers, always first to finish.

“You’ll read to us?”

“I will,” you assured her, though you couldn’t see yourself tucking them in when you had no fucking idea where Johnny had gone. They’d ask for their daddy at least ten times before accepting to close their eyes. “Go get a book.”

Joan happily walked away while Lynn ate in comfortable silence, her feet dangling as she hummed something. The driveway was empty, just like it had been five minutes ago.

You’d promised him a fine meal and a nice night in to make up for the long shifts you’d taken at work these past few weeks, sweet words along with a swift kiss on his temple. The girls had let out a scream that had your heart stop beating for a second, only to realize they were just playing hide-and-seek and laughing hysterically. And Johnny had grunted in response, his eyes on the newspapers spread on the table. You’d thought he’d got the message then, but maybe that distant agreement had meant ‘whatever you say’.

Your face shrouded in disappointment as something resembling anger bubbled in your chest.

So much for trying. The girls had asked about him ever since they came back from school, and you were running low on answers.

Minutes later, the book was finished—you read the last chapter twice—the girls were changed into their pajamas, and you lectured them for being rude to each other. Sweet words were exchanged, the girls wished each other good night, and you closed their bedroom door with a rock lodged in your throat. He would never have left without telling you. Johnny was a man who liked his peace; he didn’t have Benny’s reckless spirit.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The thoughts were torturing and endless as you swept the last shirt from the pile of clean clothes on the bed, catching a whiff of his smell as you took it to the closet for a hanger. Another look was thrown out the window as you carried the empty basket, swallowing the negative images.

For the first time in months, you’d taken an entire day off and he wasn’t even there. Maybe he was at the club, getting his third round of drinks fetched by Cal or someone else while you were there, getting yourself sick over him. Maybe he was out there bleeding to death.

With a sigh, you halted in your steps.

Stop it. He’s just late.

Yet, the late afternoon bled into the night, the time passing to a soundtrack of light rain and enthusiastic actors on TV, and the distinctive sound of keys jingling never echoed. Rising to stretch out your stiff limbs, your gaze dropped on the framed photo on the cabinet. Your parents had taken the same photograph thirty years ago. The dress was the same. The looks were just as sincere. On your wedding day, Johnny had promised it would never end–his hand on your hip meant so.

Angry with yourself, with him, with the club, you pushed a strand of hair out of your face and grabbed the phone receiver, hesitating a second before dialing your sister. Faster than any other babysitter, she walked through your door with concern edged over her soft features, already knowing.

“He left?”

“No,” you said coolly, tired of repeating yourself. “He’s just out somewhere and that’s unusual.”

Your sister looked tired, maybe more tired than you. Still, she picked up on her babysitting habits and plopped down where you’d been sitting a few seconds before, turning the volume up.

“Is that Paul Newman?”

You barely glanced at the screen, too focused on checking that you got anything you needed. Your keys, some cash just in case. A quick trip to the bar to make sure he was okay, and you’d be back.

“Mmh, yeah. Might be.”

“He looks fine.”

“The girls are sleepin’,” you ignored her, not in the mood to gossip about men's looks when yours was missing. “Tell them I’ll be back soon if they ever wake up, and… put them back to bed.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Letting out another sigh, you kissed the top of her head and thanked her before gently slamming the door behind yourself.

The chilly hair nipped at your skin, begging you to turn around and slip on a jacket or a pair of pants to cover your legs. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat and hovered the key near the ignition for a second. Another fuck it slipped past your lips and the car roared to life. After all, he could be at the hospital for all you knew, and you wouldn’t know until the next day. Better safe than sorry.

The roads were empty and familiar, and it didn’t take long for you to find a parking spot in front of the Hi-Hat Club. Smoke lingered in the air, like halos above the men’s heads. The air inside was filled with smoke too and the flickering light of the neons greeted you like it did any other night. Yet, you could practically hear everyone’s breath halting as you crossed the room towards the bar, where one of the guys you didn’t quite recognize lingered, his eyes trained on you. Like everyone else. There was something odd in the air, a bad omen.

Your name didn’t seem to ring a bell with the man wiping glasses. A newbie, you guessed. It felt ridiculous to be offended by this, but you couldn't help feeling it nonetheless. Everyone knew you were Johnny’s wife. Wasn’t that obvious?

Though the club was close to making you scrap your hair, it was a family you’d come to accept years ago. You’d been there at the very beginning, back when it was nothing but a project in Johnny’s mind. Now his mind was plagued with fears and anger, and your face was one of a distant relative he once knew.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sighed exasperatedly, resting your sweaty palms on the bar. “D’you know where he is?”

“Johnny? Haven’t seen him today. He ain’t gonna show up here again anytime soon, if you wanna know.”

Through his casual British tone, you could tell it was some sort of secret he’d been dying to share. And you were human after all, so curiosity piqued and your narrowed eyes focused on him.

“Why’s that?”

Next to you, a loud manly roar of laughter erupted, close to shaking the walls. It pissed you off even more that you didn’t even know who those young guys were. Johnny would never have let them in. No, the club wasn’t a daycare, he’d said once. Those young ones had different views on the matters at hand, and they’d ruin the spirit with their ideas.

“Gonna shut his mouth myself,” the one in the middle snickered, nursing a drink while the others around laughed.

You couldn’t help but glare in pure disgust. Or maybe that thing you felt was pity. Surely the kid wasn’t older than twenty or twenty one. Already dreaming of violence like this was the one thing that would get him to the top. Or the gun showing out of his jeans.

“What happened with him?” you turned back to the man standing behind the bar, twisting your wedding ring around your finger.

He busied himself with pouring two glasses of some amber liquid, the thick grayish locks covering his forehead hiding his frown. “Doesn’t like the change. But it’s gonna happen, whether he wants it or not.”

Nodding solemnly, you looked over at the table where you’d first met. Now, two men and a girl who looked barely legal occupied it, unaware of the history beneath their feet.

You swallowed another rock in your throat, willing yourself to stay strong until you found your husband. Then, you could lash out at him and make him feel sorry.

Beside you, the group rose to their feet, downing the last of their beer in a single gulp, letting it drown their already drunken minds. As they passed, they shot daggers at your back. You didn’t bother to care.

“I need to find him,” your voice wavered, but your confidence remained. “It’s urgent.”

“We all do, love.”

Out of desperation and frustration, your palms hit the bar. The thud had everyone's head turned to your direction, judging you or recalling you from that time you’d smacked a man’s cheek for groping you. The rumors that you were mad and unstable had only hurt the first week.

The thud had also reached the group that lingered behind the door, their cigarettes in mouth. Only one of them wasn’t smoking. The leader, you’d guessed. His eyes fixed on you, cautiously watching.

“His two little girls are worried sick about him,” you said lowly, a cold edge to your tone. “I’m not goin’ home until I’ve found him. So, please, call someone who might know ‘cause I’m not movin'.”

Instead of telling you to fuck off, the man stared at you. “He didn’t lie ‘bout you.”

“What did he say?”

“That you’re a fierce one.”

A desperate sigh left your mouth, joined by a desperate expression you hoped would make him spill more secrets. It was time you’d stop thinking you could intimidate men. Pushing them away was easier than getting answers.

“I don’t give a damn about bein’ fierce. I wanna know where my husband is.”

The man looked over your shoulder for a second, thinking to himself before he put his attention back on you. “I think he was meetin’ with the lads over there. A fist or knives meeting, y’know.”

With a quick nod of his chin, he indicated the small group behind the door. You followed the direction, instantly meeting that young man’s eyes. His gaze didn’t waver at first; no, he looked at you as though he was considering something, and it seemed to leave his brain at the same time as he trailed behind his friends. That same boyish expression on his face had replaced the doubt.

“I’ve never seen ‘em before.”

“Me either. They’re just kids who want more than what they have.”

The nod you gave him was small, defeated. Now Johnny’s stories made sense, and you could put a face on the nickname he’d given. The Kid. The death of me. He’d had tears in his eyes telling you Benny was gone. It’s only exhaustion. The same kid with a gun. Dreaming of violence. Gonna shut his mouth myself. The death of me.

You had to find him.

“Where they meetin’?”

“Either the place in front of Brucie’s or behind that bar downtown. The one with the blue lights.”

The blue lights. You’d been there once with Kathie. You looked over your shoulder again before some sixth sense warned you.

You dashed to the door where you stopped short, your fists clenched. Every cell in your body filled with desperation as you watched the young ones ride away, and you ran toward Johnny's car, your breath coming in shallow pants as you reached for the car keys in your handbag. You nearly drove into a pole while turning around, but it didn’t matter. You made it to Brucie’s empty house in record time, where there should have been dozens of bikes lined up or a few cars waiting, engines idling, their drivers watching to see who’d hit first. Who’d shoot first. But no one was there.

“Fuck!” you yelled into the silence, hitting the wheel as you sped up.

It didn’t take long to reach the bar with the blue lights. You remembered Kathie telling you it was a meetup spot for junkies, but you’d always brushed it off with a laugh. Now, squinting through the windshield, you saw what she meant. You’d been too blinded by foolish love to notice just how dangerous it looked from the outside.

Fear choked you, but nowhere near as much as spotting what was on the other side of the building. Behind the familiar cars you often saw through your window, Johnny had his back to you. His leather jacket hugged his shoulders tightly. You couldn’t tell which shirt he’d put on. The red one, maybe. All you saw was the metal glinting in his hand–that damn knuckle duster.

Corky and Wahoo stood there, the smoke of their cigarette flying above their heads. Others talked among themselves, as the show hadn’t begun yet.

Your seatbelt was unclipped as Johnny started walking in that kid’s direction, fumbling with something in his hands. A cigarette, too. Then he slid his knife out of his back pocket with his usual confidence. Oblivious to the bullet awaiting him. Although the thought that the young man would only threaten him to get what he wanted had crossed your mind, you knew the outcome would be bloodier, if not deadlier. His look had faded into a deathly quiet upon you, because he’d realized you were Johnny’s wife. That wouldn’t stop him, though.

The cold in your veins froze to ice as your hand shot out to the handle, slamming the door open as you yelled our heart out. Not loud enough to be heard. Or maybe all of them were just too focused on the adrenaline to make out your familiar form in the shadows, crashing onto Corky’s back, whose arms held you back. Once again, you were the invisible mad woman, the unstable and now paranoid one.

“Johnny!”

He had no time to turn around. The kid shot, and a dull thunk sounded as his body hit the ground. Numb. For a second, you were completely numb.

The body you loved more than anything, the body who’d shielded you and loved you was reduced to nothing but a weight, a target. His daughters were sleeping, waiting for him to come home, and here he laid, unmoving. Dead.

The scream that left your throat then was inhumane.

Someone held your waist as you began thrashing wildly, yelling nonsense as your heart broke over and over again. Screaming so long and loud that your voice cracked, watching your husband’s sweet soul planning over his head.

When you finally broke free from Corky’s grasp, you pounded back toward Johnny’s lifeless form, ignoring the eyes burning into your back as you ran harder than ever before. Your knees screamed in protest as you dropped to the floor, reaching for him. The ground scraped the skin beneath the rim of your dress, but the red staining your knees was nothing compared to the crimson spreading across his chest.

“No!”

His head was heavy as you held it up, your trembling thumbs on his cheeks as the feeling of helplessness began to take hold.

So heavy. But not one breath was coming out of his nose, and his blood kept pooling on the ground.

“Oh, God–oh–what has he done?”

Another strangled cry escaped your throat as you yelled his name, hoping he would feel your presence and blink. When nothing happened and the world went on spinning, your heart seemed to crush in your chest. The eyes who only seemed to light up for you remained empty.

“No… pleasepleaseplease,” you sobbed, unable to remember where you were supposed to check for his pulse. Your sister would have known. Instead, you pressed a hand over the red spot on his shirt, where the blood spurted over. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us yet.”

Your name was called somewhere in the distance, but you ignored it. The others were standing just behind, frozen, terrified all of this was real. Only one of them dropped to their knees beside you, yelling to get some help as he closed Johnny’s eyes with a gentle move. Shouts broke out behind you but your heartbeat drummed in your ears, swallowing the sounds.

You watched in horror his closed eyes, his fatal and decisive end. Just like that, he was slipping away from the world, from you.

Cold fingers were placed on your shoulder. “We’ll take him t–”

A wave of pure panic swept over you as you realized that they’d take him away from you, forever.

“No!” your raw voice echoed through the stillness, the kind of stubbornness that would have Johnny smirk at himself. “Don’t–no!”

Inhaling shakily, you looked at his tired face. You’d spent an hour studying him just a week before. But now wasn’t the time to get some rest. Not today. You’d spend the rest of your life making him coffee if you had to, but he couldn’t give in to his exhaustion.

“He’s still there,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I know it.”

You tried to feel his pulse on his neck, but it was hard to feel a thing when your fingers trembled so much, buzzing over his chilled skin. Finally, you rightfully pressed your fingertips just below his jaw and leaned down to listen to his breathing, with your heart painfully clamoring in your chest. His had to beat the same. What would you even do without him? You stayed for a long moment, the sounds of your pain filling the silence as you stained his sweet face with his own blood. Cradling him, warming him. Panicking.

And eventually, a tiny, tiny huff of air brushed your cheek.

You stilled. And felt it again.

With that, a small cry of relief escaped you.

“He’s breathin’!” You looked up from one man to the other—then realizing the other group had vanished. “He’s breathin’.”

From then, everything seemed to speed up. Hope reached their eyes again. Tears squirted into your frightened eyes, and you pressed a hand to your lips, staring down at his closed eyes. He had to live. He had to think about all the beautiful years awaiting you, with all the plans you’d made together. And you, you had to hold that ray of hope.

“I’m not leavin’ you,” you promised in his ear, holding his face like you would hold a precious china. “I’m sorry I was so rude this morning. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

Though the tears continued streaming and drenching his cheek, you kept kissing his face, knowing he’d feel it somehow.

“The girls are waitin’ for you.”

Your own words had you bursting into loud sobs again. Any other time, you would have felt ashamed for such extravagance in front of the men. But the pain and the fear were too loud to leave any place to reason, and those same men felt the same, deep down.

“We gotta take him to the hospital.”

Shaking your head, you looked up in panic and met Wahoo’s distressed eyes.

“You can’t move him. You gotta–you gotta get a doctor here.”

“We’ve got no time to wait for a doctor. We have to take him there.”

His eyes were still shut tight. His chest barely moved. The blood kept spilling. If he stayed here, he’d lose too much blood.

More convinced, you gave them a small nod and watched them pick him up, four of them carrying his body. All wanting to show how much he meant to them, and how much he’d given them.

The gravel dug painfully into your thigh, but you couldn’t get up, not even with Wahoo’s words of encouragement. Even after blotting your eyes on your sleeve, the tears made their faces swim before you.

“C’mon, we’ll go with him,” he told you, though it did little to make you move.

“He can’t die.”

“He won’t if you’re there with him,” he promised, balancing you to your feet. “Trust me.”

The ride to the hospital passed in a blur. It seemed like you’d used all your tears until Corky pulled into the parking lot, carefully throwing you looks in the rearview mirror. Your crying resumed silently, watching as they took his body out of the car before you.

The walk to the reception was just as hazy. Johnny was rushed inside by the same men who’d held him earlier and laid on a stretcher by a couple of nurses who asked you for his name and basic information. Your lips pressed a long kiss to his forehead, and your bottom lip quivered as they took him straight to another room, with words you didn’t understand and a tone that did nothing to soften your worries.

They made you wait in a room much too small for the eight of you. At first, you were willing to wait hours until the doctor found you. The same one who’d saved Benny’s foot a lifetime ago. But the image of that kid’s face wouldn’t leave your mind. One man had almost destroyed your lives. He would have killed your daughters without an ounce of regret, but the rage inside him didn’t equal yours. The grief turned into a deep wrath, unmovable.

Your faraway gaze fixed on Corky, who frowned up at you. “Give me your keys.”

“I’m not givin’ you nothin’.”

Blinking slowly at him, you swallowed and sniffled hard, wiping your nose with the hem of your sleeve. “At least give me your jacket. I need some air.”

Hesitantly, under the gazes of the others, Corky slipped off his leather jacket and handed it out to you. You thanked him silently and refused when one of the men asked if you needed company. You just needed ten minutes.

The clicking of your heels echoed on the hospital walls as you strode to the front door, not slowing down your pace. As you’d hoped, the keys were in the left pocket.

You only realized how much the car smelled of smoke when you settled behind the wheel, with a slightly clearer mind and sharper feelings. Corky’s shouting barely reached you before you drove off back to the Hi-Hat Club.

As though knowing their leader was close to death, the bar was even more empty than before. The lights were dimmer, solemn, too. Still, you spotted the same figure wiping off the glasses—he’d waited for you.

“Where does he live?”

Your bluntness seemed to set him off, as he looked at your eyes and ran a hand around the back of his neck. Words weren’t necessary. Just the truth.

The man spilled the address with a careful tone, his eyes sweeping over the bar across your shoulder. After making sure the kid wasn’t sitting in a corner, you nodded in thanks and went back to the car. You thought about your daughters during the whole ride. And finally, you stopped in that dark, concealed alleyway the man had told you about. The small knife Corky had left in the glove compartment, rusty but sharp, felt heavy on your hand, but it was nothing compared to the way Johnny’s head had felt. Because his held all the memories he had, and the knife might have only threatened a few people here and there.

Occasionally a car dashed past, reminding you that the world hadn’t stopped behind. People were sleeping in the houses around, kissing their children goodnight.

Emotion threatened to choke you, but you didn’t let it. Not here anyway, in a car that wasn’t even yours. The air was foul with stale tobacco smoke and spilled beer. And he was there, somewhere behind that door.

You got out slowly.

“Jane?”

You spun around.

The boy you’d been looking for stared back at you, and as he came close he saw that you were not, indeed, Jane. He recognized you instantly, though he only nodded slightly as a sign. His eyes looked just as empty. It seemed like he’d lost all his boyish cockiness to that bullet, and had acquired a somber air ever since. More grown up since his first kill.

You didn’t scream, but tears ran down your face.

You took a step forward as he took one backward, and another, until his back pressed against the brick wall and he had nowhere to turn left. He glanced down at the knife and up at your face again, judging you.

“I’m a good person, so I ain’t gonna kill you.”

As a response, he only nodded. You nodded back in agreement. Through a mist of rage, you saw him shoot over and over again. And Johnny’s body never moved.

“You must think it’s gonna give you the right to do what you want with the club.” Your voice raised with each word, as cold as your husband’s face and as the blade in your tight grip. “But if Johnny dies because of what you’ve fuckin’ done, I’ll make sure you wish I’d stabbed you, you worthless piece of shit!”

He was silent, and at first you thought he was sulkily refusing to answer. But in fact he was just taking it in, perhaps even realizing what he’d done. None of that mattered anyway. The mad woman had screamed in the alleyway, and the young man had kept his mouth shut.

The knife dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.

“And if I ever, so help me God, see you lingerin’ around the club thinkin’ you have every right to just because your cock has grown last summer, I won’t hesitate. You hear me?”

He didn’t laugh, nor dismissed you like you’d half expected. The kid’s gaze fell on the street on his left, where the lights were on and the people oblivious.

“You’re a sick bastard,” you muttered as you sniffled harshly, letting out a shaky breath as you walked back to the car.

Somehow, you felt a part of the weight lifted off your shoulders. Now was time to pray like your mother had done for your father, with her hands joined together against the bed.

Corky was waiting when you were back, sitting with his elbows on his knees. You didn’t bother parking carefully either, and slightly blamed yourself for having left his knife on the ground there. Did he consider it a precious item, or would he just yell at your stupidity? Standing in front of him, you ran a hand through your hair and blew out a long breath that he mirrored. He did neither of these things. He just eyed you warily as you opened the door and staggered to your feet.

“Feelin’ better?”

With a quick nod, not wanting to let him know you’d threatened a young man like some psycho, you followed him in where the smell made your knees weaken.

“He’s still in surgery?” you dared to ask as you passed a crying mother, tearing your eyes off of her.

“They sent him to another room to rest.”

Another breath of relief left your lips. He was alive. Maybe not fine yet, but alive.

You couldn’t see him yet. You stood from the chair every time a nurse rushed past the waiting room, but none of them came to bear you the good news. So you lingered as long as you dared, till your spin grew numb and your stomach growled, along with Corky, who stood so suddenly you thought something had happened.

“Fuckin’ hungry waitin’ here.”

He left you with the others, two of them you sent home to their wives. It only left you here with Wahoo, whose eyes never left the wall ahead. He seemed to pray for a second.

“You can go home too, you know. I won’t blame you if you do.”

“I’m stayin’,” was all he said.

So you nodded tiredly. “Thank you.”

No one spoke until an hour later, when a tall and lanky man with a white blouse told you to follow him. Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest as your pace matched with his, upstairs, and to the first room on the right.

"He was damn lucky," the doctor finally spoke, peeking his head through the cracked open door. "The bullet missed his heart by inches, and he's lost a lot of blood.”

A quick nod told him you were listening, even though it hurt like hell to hear those words.

Noticing your glass-eyed look, his tone softened. "You can see him now. Just don’t expect him to wake up anytime soon."

You thanked him, standing there as he vanished in the next room. Threatening a guy had made you feel so confident though shaky, so why were you almost backing up now?

A young nurse walked past you, eyeing your dishevelled state and scrapped-up knees. After a minute or two, you finally walked in, where the dim hospital light spilled onto the bed. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, steady but weak. Johnny was staring hauntingly at the ceiling.

“Johnny?”

The room seemed to spin around as you stared at him lying there, his head tilting limply towards you. He looked so pale. They’d even removed his shirt to have his torso wrapped in bandages, replacing your arms. A thin tube ran under his nose–and that was what finally jolted you from your frozen state.

At last you finally grew closer and stammered again in a choked voice, “Johnny? It’s me.”

When his eyes finally locked on yours, a loud breath escaped your mouth. He was alive, breathing. He still had that look in his eyes.

“You know where you are?”

“Not at home. Can’t smell ya.”

You choked on a strangled noise, caught between grief and relief. “I’m here. I’m with you. You’re at the hospital, remember?”

He grunted his response, reaching for your hand, which you gave immediately as you perched on the edge of the mattress. Your eyes flooded again.

He knew he’d die, didn’t he? He knew the club was the death of him, and he went through this alone.

Softly, you couldn’t help but ask, “Did you know he was gonna shoot you?”

Johnny shook his head slightly. Unsure whether he was lying, you nodded anyway and rubbed his hand in absent motion, although they were slightly warmer than when he’d lay there, the blood pooling–

“Didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said hoarsely, watching you as though he was afraid you didn’t believe him.

Aware that the next conversation was going to be painful, you tightened your grip around his palm. For a moment you both concentrated on your joined hands.

“You shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Not then. I mean… all the other times. I mean when it started, when you knew this was gonna happen.”

Johnny swallowed hard, the effort almost too much. “I didn’t want ya in it. Didn’t want ya carryin’ this.”

“I would’ve—”

Johnny’s fingers twitched, barely, like he wanted to hold on but didn’t have the strength. “Wouldn’t have changed nothin’.”

Your gaze fell on the bandages again. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I swear, I saw you fallin’ down…” You shook your head, beseeching him with your eyes. “Please don't jeopardize your life like that again.”

“That won’t happen again. Hear me?”

Lifting your head, your chin quaking, you asked him to promise. The kid’s face flashed through your mind. Deep down, you doubted if he’d ever try something again. He was just a lost soul who probably lacked support. But Johnny? He loved riding too much.

“Promise,” he breathed out.

A sigh fell from your lips. “I couldn't stop lovin’ you even if they cut the heart out of my chest."

His free hand came to circle your waist as much as he could, the gesture tugging his IV cords and shifting the metal stand. His grip was weak, but the intent was clear. He needed to feel you there, close to him. So you leaned down to kiss his brow and lay carefully by his side, making sure you weren’t hurting him.

“Where the girls?” he asked, head tilted in your direction.

“Home.”

The tips of his fingers grazed your forearm, feeling your skin. “And your jacket?”

“Home,” you said again. “I rushed out.”

“You’re cold.”

“You almost died.”

“Fair enough,” his raspy voice mumbled.

You made a small sound, your expression a mixture of regret and love, for you’d done nothing but worry for weeks and the relief still was nowhere in sight. The next days, if not weeks, would not ease your soul. Not until something was done about his involvement in the club.

"I'm sorry I said that.”

“Nah,” he managed to kiss you somehow, gently. “Don’t have to apologize for nothin’.”

With a ragged breath, your lips were back on his. Even with your wet nose and your blotchy cheeks, you pressed your weight delicately into that single kiss, like it was the last you had to offer. Johnny slid his hand over your neck and stroked the skin, just how sorry he was. You were sorry too. After all, his dreams had turned into a nightmare.

But you weren’t going anywhere. So you accepted that this was the best outcome and pushed aside the worst. You promised him you’d help him out of his dark spots, give him a new purpose. Maybe talk to Benny first. Take up riding freely. His life could be full of possibilities.

You fell asleep there—which was selfish, beside the man who had nearly given his life for his own cause—and didn’t even stir when a nurse came in to check on him. Drifting somewhere between sleep and reality, you barely registered his voice saying he was better now.

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