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golden-cherry · 2 days ago

Text

deal - cl16 (59/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The end.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, mention of panic attack

Word Count: 3.8k

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A/N: the end of deal. thank you for coming on this ride with me. it's been over two years and I couldn't be more grateful for every single one of you. for every like. every comment. every message. I love you.

The iron railing he clutches with his fingers as if it were a lifeline is freezing cold. The frosty wind creeps under his layers of clothing, his shirt and the normally soft sweater, which now feels like steel wool and scratches his skin. But he doesn't feel it, the biting cold that envelops him and tugs at him.

Somehow, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

In front of him lies his home, warm lights illuminating the night, and on other days, this would be a sight that would calm him, that would feel like a welcome home after a grueling race weekend. But all he sees now is a city that no longer feels like home.

And he knows why.

He sees it every time he closes his eyes. The moment that destroyed everything. The moment he thought would never happen.

The moment he lost you.

Charles notices the patio door opening behind him, but he doesn't turn around. After all, he knows exactly who is keeping him company right now. And he also knows the look he's being given, without taking his eyes off Monaco.

“I've got you a hot chocolate.” His best friend's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to interrupt the race car driver's train of thought. “If you want.”

Charles hears ceramic on glass as Joris sets the cup down on the table behind him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the houses in front of him. Whether he drinks the hot chocolate or his favorite tea or eats the hottest chili pepper, nothing can dispel the cold inside him.

It has taken hold there, its claws dug into his guts and its teeth sunk into his heart. It is so cold and icy that it feels like anesthesia, as if his organs are shutting down and refusing to continue working to keep him alive. As if his body knows exactly what it needs to do to kill the pain.

But unfortunately, the pain is omnipresent.

Joris stands next to him at the railing of his terrace and also looks out over the houses. Charles sees his breath in his peripheral vision as he exhales. “You'll have to go back inside at some point. You'll freeze to death out there.”

He doesn't care enough about his best friend's concern to respond. Charles knows he can't stay out here forever. Eventually, he'll have to go back to the living room or go home or pack his bags to race somewhere else on this godforsaken planet.

He'll have to go on living as if he hadn't lost the love of his life. As if he hadn't pushed her away in the cruelest way he could imagine. As if everything were fine and the only person he ever truly loved hadn't fled the country and moved away to start a new life.

A life without him.

He deserves the pain, in his opinion. The emptiness inside him, that hole in his heart that can never be filled as long as you're not with him. The weight of the fact that he alone can be blamed for all of this rests on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest like a panic attack that won't go away. He can't breathe, can't think.

He can't be without you.

“Charles,” his friend tries again.

“I'm begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I know how you feel, but it -”

“You have no idea how I feel,” he interrupts his best friend harshly, without looking at him. He notices that Joris is raising his hand to put it on his shoulder to comfort him, but the Monegasque takes a step to the side. The friendly hand drops again.

“Charles -”

“Just stop.” His tone is hard and cold, and he doesn't sound like the man Joris has known all his life. Not even after that crappy race weekend here a few years ago, when Charles didn't even start the race, did he sound so - unfamiliar.

The men just stand there staring ahead, only the whistling of the wind around them filling the otherwise silent night. Not even cars are driving through the streets, not a soul is to be seen. It's oppressive.

Charles' fingers cramp around the metal. He takes a breath, then another, and then: “I'm sorry.” The usually warm voice that can light up any room with its laughter sounds tired and exhausted, as if the man it belongs to hasn't slept in days.

He hasn't, at least not properly. Only a few hours at a time, and his sleep is plagued by nightmares, by your face, by the feeling of having lost you. And when he wakes up, there's that brief moment, that millisecond, when he forgets that you're gone - and as soon as reality catches up with him, his heart stops.

Joris looks over at him, sees the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and feels completely helpless. As the race car driver's longest friend, he usually knows what to say to help, to be a support - but how can he help someone who can't really be helped?

It hurts him to see him like this. So passionless, so detached, so unrecognizable. As if everything positive about Charles had also vanished with your disappearance. As if Monaco had become a little colder since then.

“I'd really like to help you,” he tries again, looking at Charles' hands, which are reddened from the cold. “I just don't know how.” Or if his friend would even let him.

The Monegasque shakes his head slightly. “No one can help me.” His warm breath rises in little clouds in front of his face.

“You sound like you've already given up,” Joris says quietly, almost reproachfully, but more out of concern than anger.

Charles shrugs his shoulders and lets them drop again. “Maybe I have,” he murmurs, as if he doesn't care whether anyone understands him or not. “Maybe it's easier that way.”

Joris scrapes his foot across the cold stone, as if movement could chase the helplessness from his body. He looks at his best friend, searching for something to hold on to - a glance, a word, anything. But Charles remains frozen, like a statue in the middle of Monaco's wintry silence.

“Do you want to go somewhere? Have some tea if you don't want hot chocolate? Or just... be inside?” It sounds awkward, almost banal, but Joris means it. Anything would be better than standing there in the cold next to this broken man, unable to do anything.

But Charles just shakes his head. “I don't want anything.” His voice is calm, but it sounds like glass about to shatter.

Joris nods slowly, more out of uncertainty than understanding. He had seen many sides of Charles - the loud, ambitious, focused athlete, the loving friend. But this side, so sharply indifferent, is new. And frightening.

“You don't have to tell me everything,” he says after a while. "I don't want to pressure you, especially because I can't. I don't know what happens behind closed doors, but... I'm here. Even if I don't know how I can help you."

Charles doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on a point somewhere in the invisible nothingness of the night. But then, for just a split second, his face twitches. His jaw tenses as if he's trying to hold something back - a word, a tremor, a tear.

His best friend sees it. And although Charles immediately regains his composure, smoothes the expression on his face, and lowers his gaze, the moment has not gone unnoticed. And a little hope flares up in Joris's chest.

“You still feel something, right?” he asks quietly.

Charles breathes in through his nose, long and controlled. When he answers, his voice sounds cold again. “It doesn't matter.”

Joris shoves his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket and wonders for a moment how Charles isn't freezing in his sweater. He wants to say something, anything to dispel the coldness in his voice, but everything that comes to mind sounds too grand or too empty. So he remains silent for a moment.

He looks over at him. “It matters to me,” he says finally.

Charles doesn't answer, continuing to stare straight ahead as if his friend isn't even there, but something about his gaze has changed. It's no longer the rigid emptiness of a moment ago—more like a kind of escape. As if he doesn't want to be seen. Not now, when something inside him is threatening to crumble.

“I know you don't want anyone to get close to you,” Joris continues. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because you're my friend. And because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. And because I miss you. The real you.”

Again, no response. Then, very quietly: “The real me... is gone.”

Joris's heart tightens. “No,” he says gently. “He's hurt. But he's not gone.”

Charles's lips press together. For a moment, he looks like someone caught between two impulses - the need to push everything away and the desire to simply be heard.

Joris takes a tentative step closer, carefully, as if walking on thin ice, trying to close the distance between them. “Let me at least do something,” he pleads, almost begging. “You don't have to go through this alone. I mean it, Charles.”

His jaw muscles tense again, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the darkness in front of him. “I'm alone,” he says in a strained voice. “And that's better this way.”

“For whom?” Joris' voice becomes firmer, more urgent. “For you? For her? For anyone?”

Charles' eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen noticeably. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, without looking at his best friend.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies calmly but unwaveringly. “Who is this better for? For you - because you're punishing yourself for what happened? For her - because you think you have to protect her? Do you mean the one who left you? Or do you mean Elena?” He pronounces the name carefully, as if touching a fresh wound.

Charles's gaze hardens. A muscle twitches on his cheek. “Don't do this,” he hisses.

“No.” Joris's voice grows firmer. "You talk about how it's better to be alone, but everything about you screams that you're going down. And I want to know if you're doing it for yourself - or for her. For the one who took your oxygen away when she left, or for the one you showed up with on that damn red carpet, even though—“ He breaks off, shaking his head slightly.

Charles snorts through his nose, his tone bitter. ”You don't know anything."

“Then explain it to me!” Joris snaps. “Explain it to me so I can finally understand why you act like closeness is poison and help is an attack. I was there, Charles. I was there when you broke down, when you stopped talking. And I'm still here, but you - you're doing everything you can to keep me out.”

Charles' hands are shaking now. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. He takes his fingers off the railing and crosses his arms as if to hold himself together. The anger in his voice is cutting. “You don't understand, Joris!” Charles blurts out, his words sharper than intended. “You can't understand!”

His voice echoes between the walls, carrying the harshness of a man who has long since given up on saving himself. For a moment, it is not the controlled Charles who always knew how to behave, but someone standing on the edge - of the abyss, of exhaustion, perhaps even of himself.

Joris remains calm, does not flinch, even though the blow hits home. “Then help me understand,” he says quietly. “I'm not here to judge you. I don't want to lose you.”

Charles laughs bitterly, without any joy. “You've already lost me,” he says. “Everyone has.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles snaps, and now there are tears in his voice, though not in his eyes. “She left me, Joris. Because I lied to her. Because I -” His voice breaks, he bites his lip as if he can hold back the truth.

Joris's gaze softens. Finally, he thinks. At last, a crack in this impenetrable wall.

Charles struggles with himself. The coldness is deep in his voice, his movements, his thoughts. Everything about him seems tense, on the verge of snapping. “I had to do it,” he whispers finally, barely audible. “It was the only way.”

“What was the only way?” Joris presses, taking half a step closer. “What exactly did you do that justifies all this?”

The athlete shakes his head vigorously, his gaze hard and at the same time haunted. “I can't explain it. It was - it was necessary.”

“Why? Because of Elena?” Joris' voice grows louder again. “Because of that damn gala? You took her with you even though you knew exactly who should have been standing by your side.”

Charles Kiefer tenses up but says nothing.

“Say something,” Joris presses, now completely stunned. “Say something, damn it!”

Charles looks up, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger—or perhaps overwhelm. “What am I supposed to say, Joris?” he asks sharply. “That I regret every day how things turned out? That I miss her every damn night? That I hate myself for letting her believe I didn't care about her?”

The words echo in the air, raw and unprotected. But as soon as he says them, Charles immediately withdraws, almost as if he has frightened himself.

“Then tell her that,” Joris demands. “You can't just leave everything like this!”

Charles's gaze hardens. “You don't understand.”

“Because you won't explain it to me! I don't want to lose you, Charles. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself.”

Another bitter laugh, hollow and cold. “Too late.”

Joris wants to say something in response, grab him, shake him - anything to break through that armor. But Charles takes a step back. The distance between them grows with every moment, not just physically, but tangibly. Inevitable.

“Charles, please. You don't have to carry this alone.”

A flicker in Charles's eyes, barely noticeable. Maybe doubt. Maybe longing. But he immediately erases it, as if he can't bear it himself. “Yes, I have to,” he replies. “Because otherwise everything I've done has been for nothing.”

“You mean with Elena.” Joris' voice is cautious, tentative. “Was she - was she a protective measure? For the press? For her family? For your career? Or - for her?”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Don't ask. Please.” He almost begs him, unable to talk about it.

Joris's chest tightens. He can see how hard it is for his friend to keep up the façade. How much strength it takes not to just break down. “I'm not asking because I'm curious,” he says quietly. "I'm asking because I understand you. Or at least I'm trying to.“

Charles looks away, turns away. The cold paints a thin film on his lips, but that's not the only reason he's shivering. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable. Then he narrows his eyes, forcing himself to control himself. ”You can't understand,“ he says tonelessly. ”No one can."

“Try anyway.”

Charles just stands there, motionless and silent. It's as if he's fighting an internal battle - between the urge to finally say what's tearing him apart and the panic-stricken fear of what might be left behind.

Joris waits. Silent, caught between hope and helplessness.

But Charles just shakes his head, barely noticeably. Not defiantly, not dismissively, but simply—tired.

“If I could say it,” his voice almost breaks, “I would.” And with these few sad words, he turns away. He leaves, not abruptly, not dramatically, but with the bitter determination that comes from despair. He hears Joris calling his name, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, as his footsteps fade quietly but definitively. On the street, the fog quickly engulfs him, the darkness behind it doing the rest.

Charles runs. Fast at first, then hurriedly, then slower again—but he keeps moving. As if he could run away from what is eating him up inside. The memories. The guilt. You.

Every street he crosses knows your shadow. Every streetlight reflects a night when you laughed, argued, understood each other without words. Even the wind carries your name in its cold breath. It's unbearable.

His apartments – each one a prison of glass and luxury. Everywhere there are things of yours that you didn't take with you in your haste. Plants, books, a bottle of your favorite wine that he can't drink or even take out of the fridge because the emptiness in the compartment would be worse. A testament to the fact that you were his. A testament to the fact that he is still yours.

He can't go there. He can't go near a bed where you once slept. No coffee machine that used to be the first thing he turned on in the morning for you. The walls whisper there. And he doesn't know how long he can stand not listening to them.

So he walks on, further and further. The streets lose their familiar appearance, the city limits blur. At some point, he is no longer sure whether he is still in Monte Carlo. The lights become fewer and fewer. The night grows colder. But Charles keeps running.

He runs until his legs grow heavy, until his thoughts are nothing but a single noise. Until he reaches the top.

The viewpoint.

Charles just stands there, staring out into the darkness, where the sea and the sky merge almost seamlessly. Only a few lights glimmer in the distance - boats perhaps, or houses on the coast. Everything seems far away, unreal. The wind tugs at his sweater, but he hardly notices. Only a single moment echoes in his head - the day he brought you here.

It was shortly after you met, after the first night you shared the small apartment. Not love, not even friendship, but that strange, vibrant thing that arises when two souls recognize each other before they really know each other.

He had hesitated to bring you here. It's a quiet place, a personal one. Not a place for superficiality or games. But one that laid him bare in a world where he constantly has to pretend and bend himself out of shape to live up to what is expected of him.

But you had looked at him - calm, open, curious. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment.

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely. I may not get an answer here, but somehow – I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here," he had confided in you. He had spoken the words with such gravity that they lingered in the air for a long time, supporting you in your helplessness, even though he didn't know if it helped you in the slightest.

Words that he now repeats alone on this cold earth, in the silence of the night, as if searching for an answer that would never come.

Whenever he was here, he spoke to his father - not always out loud, often only in his thoughts. He felt his presence as if he were very close, despite all the years that had passed since he was no longer among the living. Back then, this place gave him stability, comfort, and a kind of inexplicable connection that helped him find his way.

But today it feels different. Empty. Lonely. As if his father is gone, disappointed in his actions, in the man he had become - or the man he had not become. The closeness that once seemed so natural has disappeared, and with it, all sense of security.

Charles bites his lip, silent tears on his cheeks, the cold creeping deep into his bones, but not as much as the weight on his heart.

He did it to protect you - from the glare of the spotlight, from the relentless scrutiny of the public, who knew too much about you. He had to pull the ripcord before you were completely lost in the maelstrom of rumors and expectations.

It wasn't a decision made out of recklessness or betrayal, but out of desperation. Out of a desire to create a refuge for you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

He couldn't warn you. You probably would have told him you could handle it - the stares, the rumors, the opinions. But that didn't matter. The press would have found out sooner or later. Your last name may not be particularly well known, but a Google search and a little digging would have been enough to bring everything to light.

Your parents are responsible, having done things that would have cast a shadow over your future long ago if they hadn't been dismissed earlier – decisions that made headlines at the time and could still distort your image in Formula 1 today. One wrong move, one wrong connection, and suddenly you would no longer be the subject of discussion, but your origins. Your family. Their mistake.

The public would have been merciless, judging you by their standards, condemning you for something you didn't do. And Charles couldn't let you break under that burden – not when you've already suffered so much.

So now he sits here, on the edge of the world, alone with the cold wind blowing through his tousled hair. The stars above him seem unreachable, as does the comfort he so desperately seeks. His hands are numb from the cold, his heart heavy with pain.

On this night, he is nothing more than a shadow - lost between guilt and love, between what was and what will never be. And as darkness envelops him like a cloak, he knows that he will carry this pain with him forever.

He thought of all the deals he had made in his life - promises he had made to give himself and others something to hold on to. But none were as important to him as the one promise he made to protect you.

No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the journey. No matter how much you would hate him for the heartbreak - he would never break that promise.

And he would rather die than break that deal.

💫 end of deal - book one 💫

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thelunaticself · 3 days ago

Text

ACCIDENTAL TENDER

simon riley x reader

hookups have consequences.

a/n: gawd i caved. price fic soon promise

cw: mentions of sex, masturbation, age gap

Simon thought he fell asleep in a construction site last night when the first ray of consciousness hit him. A whirlwind of sensory overload accompanied by a banging headache. Never again. He has to learn to say no to that stupid Scot next time the bastard dragged him to the bar and fixed up a bird for him.

“Yer gonna die alone at this point, Lt.”

Yeah. Right.

His eyes dart over next to him on the bed, half expectant to find nothing, the other half hopes it’s still nothing. The cold pillow and hollow space greet him in delight. Except the whirring sound of his washing machine snaps him out of his hungover daze. It’s not laundry day yet. His pillow hits the ground with a thud as Simon rolls out of bed with an annoyed sigh. Did someone really lose their mind to try to break into his house this early? Even the neighbors follow the silent rules to let the man do whatever he wants around here, eyes and mouth shut tight. Never get invited to community dinner. Simon expects that much. He sighs again when he stumbles into the kitchen, mid-way to the laundry. There is no thief. Well, not the bad kind at least.

“Um, good morning…I made pancakes.”

A screech of the chair and dishes clashing. Soft delicate fingers brush against his calloused one when she presses the plate with a heavy stack of pancakes in it. She steps back a bit to look at him, trying to gauge his emotion. Simon stares at the plate for a bit. The bits are a bit burnt, there are uneven and rough edges, like someone flipped them too clumsily. He hasn’t even commented on how she unashamedly took one of his shirts and wears it so pretty like that. So much for a hookup.

Words flow smoothly with a full stomach. It’s as smooth as it gets for Simon at least.

“ ‘S that my shirt?”

“I kind of uh… My dress got funny stains on it y’know… and it reeks of alcohol so I um…”

“Oh alrigh’.”

“If you want me to return it-”

“Nah, shit’s too old anyways. Been sittin’ in the closet.”

“I also used your washing machine-”

‘Mkay.”

Simon takes a fat bite out of the very last pancake.

“And I might use up your shampoo…”

“Don’t mind it.”

Half a cup of coffee gone.

“What’s your name by the way?”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Simon knows his dick is one of his many talents. Something he thought about every so often and gives himself a pat on the shoulder. But surely it must not be that good. Not good enough for emotional attachment. He hopes it’s not the case because you’re still lazing around the house, finding all sorts of things to do constantly.

“I need to wait to get my dress out of the washer.”

An answer to a question he didn’t even ask. You mumble as you wash his mug. Eyes drifting everywhere but him. Simon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to call you out just yet. Sundays are boring anyways. Either smoke in the yard or rewatch that football match yet again. Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous with himself, he’ll drag Johnny to go fishing in the lake that is an hour drive away. This time, however, he doesn’t even have to change out of his worn out sweats.

“So where’s your butler? Is he on leave? It’s hard to cook so early in the morning.”

Simon cocks his head, eyes finally bother to leave the newspaper. Is she mentally ill too? Where the hell did Johnny even get one like this?

“What butler?”

“Huh? The one who cooks and cleans so you don’t have to do it yourself?”

“I didn’t ask for a definition.”

This time you really turn around and look at him for the first time in the morning. Hands gripped the sink behind, eyes wide:

“You don’t have one?”

Simon lets out a mean snort.

“The hell are you on about?”

“I mean… I thought it’s a necessity? My mum told me that.”

Simon is about to reply with something equally mean and equally ludicrous if his eyes didn’t drift back to the half open page of his newspaper. “CEO OF TOP #3 OIL COMPANY THROWS BIG PUBLIC PARTY FOR DAUGHTER’S 20TH BIRTHDAY IN ITALY.” There she is. Expensive pearl necklace wrapped around the neck that his very own hands choked last night. Hair all shiny, eyes full of glitter, one hand holding a purse with a logo that he can’t identify, the other a glass of champagne. All giddy and spoiled. He’s about to read the line of text underneath the bold printed picture if strands of hair didn’t obscure his view. You have taken the liberty to rest your elbows on the arm of the sofa to lean over to peek into what he’s reading, seeing that he stopped responding.

“Yeah, I had a blast there last month. Too many people though. But I would have invited you.”

Simon gets flashed with your toothy grin when you turn your face around to look at him, eyes crinkle slightly. He didn’t really pay much attention to what you’re blabbering next, too busy comparing your face with the one in the picture. One hand reaches out to brush out a stubborn strand of hair that covers bits of your eyes, making it hard for him to continue his silent quest. It doesn’t take long for Simon to decide which one is better.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

He finds it eerie that you turn silent when you open the washing machine door to take out your dress along with the rest of his clothes. You’re even more silent as you start to hang them up.

“Didn’t ask ya to do it. Just leave ‘em.”

Simon leans against the wall, trying to create some sense of normalcy.

“It’s okay. I probably bother you too much at this point.”

The sudden awareness caught him a bit off guard. You’re not as clueless as he’d like to think.

“Daddy kicked you out or something?”

That makes you slow down your movements, shoulders tensed.

“It’s not like that…”

“How so? Hard to imagine a thing like you go sleeping ‘round with men like me.”

“It is not.”

Your pout makes him stop. Simon is not that close to press on that much anyways. Not yet.

A similar pout appears on your face when he pulls up at your house - mansion. At some point, he swore a guy just scrunched his face in discomfort just from the sight of his car driving in this neighborhood alone. You, however, claimed the passenger seat full of glory. Simon is used to the sight of rowdy men (sometimes injured) occupying this seat. He never thought it could look so good with your pink dress, pretty heels dangle on your fingers as you hold them by their courier.

“Thank you for everything. Really.”

You say as you hastily strap the heels back on. With one last smile at him, you push the door open. The grand black metal gate swallows you in but your scent lingers in his car. Simon lets out a chuckle. Look at him in his 30s, gets played by a spoiled rich brat who is probably as fresh as a fawn. Soap is right after all. He takes a deep breathe, taking in all that leftover sweets.

Simon has never felt so frustrated in his life. Usually, he gets it done pretty swift and fast. For some reason, even with the shirt that you borrowed that morning on his nose, your scent mixed with expensive perfumes blocks out all the other senses, his cock never softens. Simon even generously puts on a video and nothing happens. His rough hand goes languished, tired and desperate. Maybe that's the problem. His hand. Not yours. Even his ears begin to find the moaning coupled with wet slaps more annoying than arousing. Then his phone vibrates, temporarily putting the video in the background of his attention. Your name flashes on the screen.

Fuck.

Relief floods over him in an instant. Thick white spurts land on his stomach. And Simon has yet to read the text.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“But where do you park your second car?”

“Sweets, for fuck’s sake-”

“Oh god, I didn't-”

“Nevermind.”

It has been your fifth trip to his house and your questions only grow. He supposed it's fair since you never stepped on anything but fine marbles. A hand squeezes his bicep.

“But I really wanna try.”

“You sure ‘bout that? Never take you for that type.”

“Well, I don't have to be a specific type to go on a fishing trip.”

“Fine. Just don't whine too much.”

Your fingers curl around his bicep again, failing to wrap them all the way around. You tend to do that a lot. Excited or anxious. His cock chubs from the sight alone but he can't force you into another round. Instead, Simon pulls the blanket higher, trying to distract himself. It's silent for a while before he gives in and asks the question he had been mulling over since the news came crashing down.

“Has your old man talked to you again?”

A nail digs into his bicep.

“Not yet… He’s still in shock. I don't blame him but what did he think was gonna happen?"

“I suppose you're right.”

Simon can't think of a better ending anyways. If that night you didn't yield before your bodyguard's insistent request to meet up with his “typical military” best friend, he is sure you wouldn't be lying here but probably somewhere in Hawaii on a honeymoon with your newly wed husband.

“I mean I get to marry whoever the hell I want right? Even if I did decide not to run off and meet that bloke, divorce would be certain in less than a year.”

“Heh.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

It is a miracle that he manages to find a hotdog stand still opened past 2 am. All the other vendors are starting to pack up and calling it a day. Simon supposed when you're a daughter of a billionaire, everything naturally goes your way. Because he never would have agreed to being woken up to abandon his sleep and “quench the gut wrenching hunger that eats at the soul”. It is also raining hard. He forgot his umbrella. But the way your legs are skipping when they walk back to his car makes it all worth it in the end. You don't seem too bothered by your wet hair and coat.

“These are so nice! My dad never lets me eat these stuff.”

The way you look at the hotdog in your palm is exactly how one would look at their newborn.

“Mm. They sell it ‘round here a lot.”

You halt your steps and plant a kiss on his cheek. Simon ruffles your hair when you pull away to smile at him cheekily. He hopes you would do the same when he slips a ring on your finger.

a/n: first time adding anything that is nsfw in my work so i tried to make it as light as possible but im VERY anxious abt it though

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sexwithnocondom · 3 days ago

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GIRL LIKE YOU— Steve Harrington

SYNOPSIS—Despite your status, your looks, your charm, you were a ghost in the walls of his life. No matter how close you stood you were invisible to him, but in one night old wounds reopen and jealousy brews in causing tangled bedsheets you find yourself the center of his attention—for better or worse. Because now, he’s looking. But now, you’re faced with what it truly means to be seen—just not by him.

CONTENT-WARNINGS—(18+) Dubious Consent / Power Dynamics, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love / Emotional Rejection, Jealousy & Emotional Manipulation, Rough Intimacy, Verbal Degradation (mild), Language / Profanity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity Undertones / Love Triangle and Explicit Sexual Content: finger fucking/ sucking, face slapping, pussy slapping, choking, spanking, Mentions of Bodily Fluids (squirting), unprotected vaginal sex.

A/N—This story has been living rent-free in my head for way too long, so I sat down to write a little pining. A dash of angst. A sprinkle of smut. And then Steve ripped the thong off and everything went off the rails. This one’s for the girls who’ve ever wanted someone so badly it ached… If you’re into unresolved crushes, possessive energy, and a man who talks with his hands (and his mouth), you’re in the right place.

Please check the warnings before diving in. Reblogs + comments are love! 💋

That fucking bitch!

Don’t cry—don’t you dare let a single tear fall. The spoiled child buried deep inside you claws to the surface, desperate to be seen, to play. Your emotions churn violently, sparking like flint on steel, building toward something dangerous. But you’ve gone far beyond the point of warmth; comfort has become a stranger. Now, it’s as if your skin is on fire, every nerve screaming, and all you want is to rip it away—anything to escape the unbearable heat.

“Don’t resort to violence; it’s unbecoming.” Your mother’s voice echoes in your mind, sharp and unwavering. But it’s hard to obey when every part of you aches to do the opposite. The breath lodged in your chest feels like a weight, pressing harder with each passing second, pleading to be released. Your heart, desperate to be seen and heard, screams for an outlet—one that doesn’t involve quiet or restraint, but chaos. It craves destruction, not for the sake of ruin, but as a release—a desperate attempt to ease the unbearable pain it holds.

It didn’t matter that you were in public—everyone under this roof was too lost in their own haze to hold a coherent conversation, let alone notice you. You couldn’t care less about the people behind you, waiting impatiently to refill their solo cups with that disturbingly bright red punch on the pristine white kitchen counter. Their needs were meaningless. All you could focus on was the scream clawing at your throat, packed with every thread of fury straining to break free. The emotions inside you were so volatile, it felt like your blood was on the verge of exploding through your veins, each pulse threatening a stroke. The anguish burned through your fingertips, and the urge to bury them into your eye sockets—wrap them around your own eyes and rip—was almost unbearable.

The very first fit you ever threw is etched so deeply into your memory that it feels like it happened only yesterday—yet it was 1973, and you were about five years old. Your father had been divorced for barely two weeks when he made the baffling decision to remarry. That alone was enough to shake you, but what truly shattered you was the cruelty of his new wife. She had the audacity to seat you and your mother—his ex-wife—front and center at their wedding. To this day, she insists it was out of respect, because you were “a central part of his life.” But you’ve never believed that—never will. It was a performance, and you saw right through it.

He stood at the altar in his crisp black-and-white suit, reciting tender vows to a woman you knew didn’t deserve them. A woman who, in your young eyes, had stolen your father and humiliated your mother. You, his beloved little girl, were dressed in the most expensive gown he could buy—his idea of making things better, perhaps. But all the finery in the world couldn’t contain what was building inside you.

Then it hit—the emotional equivalent of a tidal wave. So vast, so forceful, it crashed through you, unstoppable. Your mind, too young and too overwhelmed to contain it, let it spill out in a storm of screams, sobs, and rage. You didn’t just ruin the wedding. You made sure everyone knew that the fairytale they were watching was built on betrayal.

Tears streamed down your cheeks like an open faucet, your sobs reverberating through the church, sharp and unrelenting. Even the priest couldn’t ignore them—he glanced nervously at your mother, uncertain of what to do. Aside from the quiet murmur of vows, the only other sounds were the sharp clicks of your mother’s heels against the wooden floor and your small, desperate voice calling out for your father as she carried you away.

Over her shoulder, your tiny hand reached back, waiting—aching—for him to come after you. You imagined him rushing down the aisle, scooping you up, holding you close. But he never came.

His wife would later accuse your mother of staging the outburst, painting her as manipulative and bitter. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Your mother had been genuinely happy to see him move on. She believed in his right to start over.

At five years old, that kind of forgiveness was impossible for you to grasp. All you knew was that your father belonged with your mother, and the sight of him promising forever to someone else shattered the only version of love you understood.

Maybe—just maybe—if you threw a tantrum now, he’d finally turn and notice you. But no. Your mother had taught you better. Tantrums were unbecoming, unladylike. You’d learned to bury the storm, to smile instead of scream.

You were deep in a haze, practically dissociating from reality, standing in the chaos that was Steve Harrington’s house during the final Halloween party of the month. Shout at the Devil by Mötley Crüe pounded from the speakers, shaking the walls like a war cry. Outside, the jocks were chanting like wild animals, egging each other on through reckless keg stands, their voices loud enough to echo down the street and maybe even beyond.

Inside, the living room pulsed with teenage energy. Bodies moved in rhythm—grinding, dancing, colliding—while others sprawled across the Harringtons’ expensive furniture, lost in makeout sessions and hormonal dares. It was a full-blown outbreak of youthful impulse, and you were just a ghost drifting through it all—silent, invisible, waiting for something, anything, to pull you back into yourself.

The house was overflowing with people. You’d think the sheer size of the crowd might blur your vision, distract you from the scene that had your mind spiraling—but no. If anything, the press of bodies only highlighted how close everyone was, how exposed everything felt. There was nowhere to look, nowhere to hide. It was as if the universe had conspired against you—against your peace, your heart, your hope for even a sliver of happiness.

The blood pounding in your ears was deafening, yet it still couldn’t drown out the voices of your best friends arguing beside you.

“Why didn’t you warn her what she was walking into?!” Jessica snapped, voice sharp with frustration.

“We were having fun!” the other shot back defensively.

And she wasn’t wrong—you had been having a great time. Until you weren’t.

The vodka bottle Cassie had swiped from her parents’ liquor cabinet was nearly drained, and you were teetering on the edge of being drunk.

“Finish it!” Jessica urged, eyes wide with mischief as she handed Cassie the last shot. Without hesitation, Cassie tilted her head back and downed it in one swift gulp. You cringed as you watched, your nose wrinkling involuntarily.

“All right—” she sputtered, coughing slightly, “I need the bathroom.”

And just like that, the bathroom seal was broken.

You all began making your way toward the house, weaving through the clusters of boys circled around the silver kegs. They reeked of sweat and stale beer, liquid dripping from their chins and sliding down their necks, catching the glow of porch lights like some twisted kind of war paint.

“Wait down here!” Cassie shouted over the music as you reached the sliding glass doors. You nodded and peeled off, heading toward the kitchen—the designated hub for drinks, where half-empty bottles sat waiting to be finished and forgotten.

“Yo! come here,” Tommy called, standing beside the glass bowl of spiked punch. You and Jessica navigated through the crowd, the bass of the music pulsing through your chest, until you reached him. He handed you a red plastic cup filled with what you could only assume was punch.

You took a sip, and the sharp taste hit you instantly—biting at your tongue, scorching your throat as it slid down. You winced, then passed the cup to Jessica without a word, your eyes drifting toward them.

Had you known that stepping across that sliding glass door—from backyard to living room—would drag you straight back to 1973, to that sickening moment watching your father pledge himself to someone who wasn’t your mother, you might’ve stayed outside. Or better yet, curled up in bed, flipping through one of your well-worn Vogue magazines, safe in a world where pain came only in glossy editorials.

The room around you seemed to dissolve. The noise, the people, the lights—all gone. Silence swallowed the space, leaving behind only darkness. Then, as if by design, a single beam of light cut through the void, illuminating them. Frozen in the spotlight. Center stage. The air thinned, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

And then, in a blink, everything shifted.

Your shoulders tensed under a crushing weight. Your throat closed, as if invisible fingers had wrapped around it, stealing your breath. A chill spread through your chest, settling like ice against your sternum, while your eyes burned with unshed tears. Nausea rose sharp and fast as your heart dropped, heavy and sudden, to the pit of your stomach.

It was happening again—just like it did back then.

Word of their relationship had swept through town like wildfire, and it didn’t take long for it to find its way to you. Your mother heard it from Chrissy’s mom—her longtime friend—just this morning.

You were in your room, carefully picking out your outfit for tonight’s Halloween party. Costumes were the norm, but dressing up wasn’t really your scene—especially not tonight. The mood that Cassie’s morning gossip had dragged you into still clung to your skin like a shadow. Eddie and Chrissy—dating? The rumor wasn’t confirmed, but the possibility gnawed at you, twisting your stomach with unease.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before your mom’s phone would ring. After all, she was best friends with Chrissy’s mother, who’d surely call to spill the news about her daughter leaving Jason for Eddie. Her mom hated the idea of Chrissy and Eddie being together. And of course your mom hated the idea, just like you did.

As you spread the crisp white corset across your bed—its expensive fabric cool under your fingertips—the sharp trill of the phone echoed from your mom’s room down the hall.

You hurried over and peeked inside, catching sight of her picking up the receiver next to her vanity. Hair still in rollers, she was getting ready for a date with some lawyer your dad had hooked her up with. You couldn’t help but tease, “Oh god, don’t tell me you’re actually going to this date?”

She shushed you with a knowing smile, already immersed in the call. She knew all about your fixation on Eddie, had always supported you no matter what. But secretly, she was rooting for you to move on—to notice someone who actually cared, like Steve Harrington, your dad’s best friend’s son. That, she hoped, would be the real story worth telling.

“Hi, Lina!” your mother’s voice chimed warmly into the phone, carrying a mix of familiarity and cheer. You could almost picture the smile curling on Lina’s lips. Their voices danced back and forth in a gentle, lighthearted exchange—a brief warm-up before the real conversation began.

“What did she say?” you mouthed, watching your mother on the phone. Her eyes widened first, then softened with heartbreak the moment she heard the words, “It’s official.” She didn’t need to say a thing—the sadness flickering in her expression said it all.

You couldn’t accept it. You refused to. If you didn’t see it with your own eyes, then it couldn’t be real. You’d taken out of sight, out of mind and clung to it like a lifeline—too tightly, maybe.

But now, watching them together, that lifeline snapped.

He had his arm draped casually around her shoulders, her long legs crossed neatly over his lap. His other hand, the one with the silver rings, was resting beneath the hem of her skirt—gripping the soft skin of her thigh like it was his to hold.

And still, you didn’t look away.

It was destroying you—completely, painfully, and with full awareness. But the truth was, you chose not to turn your head. You wanted to feel every second of it.

At first, your two best friends found your little crush charming—almost cute. They figured it was just a phase, something you’d outgrow and move past in time, likely for someone better suited to you. But you never did.

Their patience wore thin—not simply because you had a crush, but because of who it was on. They saw it as pathetic, watching you get tangled in feelings for someone so undeserving. From the very moment your eyes met his, he had you completely under his spell—without even trying.

There weren’t many moments from the past few years that made your heart race, but that first encounter was one of them. And that was three years ago.

As more students filtered into the classroom, the noise swelled into a lively buzz. Groups quickly formed as friends claimed seats near each other, while those without familiar faces buried their heads in the books they’d brought along. Most conversations revolved around New Year’s celebrations—the wild parties, the quiet moments—and the resolutions everyone had decided to add to their lists.

It was hard to judge anyone for indulging in these stories, especially Jessica and Cassie, who were doing the exact same thing. Cassie was proudly recounting how she’d gotten drunk for the first time behind her parents’ backs. You couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed that, considering how closely they usually watched her. Jessica chimed in with her own update: she was officially on a mission to win back her crush. But given how much he hated her for getting him kicked off the basketball team last year, you weren’t sure her plan had much hope.

As their chatter about strategy and second chances filled the room, you noticed something unusual—Ms. Delway was nowhere to be seen. That was surprising, considering how obsessed she was with punctuality and how much she detested tardiness.

Suddenly, your friends snapped you out of your thoughts, eager to hear about your New Year’s at the Harrington house. It hadn’t been easy, to say the least. Just as you were about to dive into the details about what you and Steve had gotten up to, the door swung open.

Ms. Delway entered, textbooks in hand, followed closely by a fresh-faced newcomer. You found yourself captivated by him instantly. Nervousness clung to his every movement—his eyes fixed on the floor, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. His wild, curly hair framed his face perfectly, making it impossible to look away.

Ms. Delway pointed her finger in your direction and whispered something to him. He nodded, then made his way toward you. You tried not to stare as he settled into the empty desk behind you. Damn, he was gorgeous.

“Pst, pst,” Cassie whispered urgently from beside you. You cursed yourself for the smile creeping onto your face—that was exactly what she was waiting for.

While Ms. Delway busied herself setting up the lesson, you turned around, determined to learn his name before anyone else did. When your eyes met his deep brown ones, everything inside you shifted. In that instant, you knew you were utterly, hopelessly done for.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” you said, grinning.

“Eddie,” he replied curtly.

And just like that, it was clear—no matter how much you might want it, he wasn’t interested.

A few minutes passed, and you remained rooted to the spot, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watched him shower her with affection. He hadn’t noticed you staring—not that he ever really did. In a strange way, that was comforting. It had always been this way: you were invisible unless a mutual friend was around or one of your own needed to buy something from his highly regarded “stash.”

And when he did acknowledge you, it was nothing more than a curt nod and a slight lift of one eyebrow. That was it. A passing gesture. You always found it oddly charming—how his brows would momentarily vanish beneath the unruly strands of his bangs, the same ones that framed his annoyingly perfect face. But you reminded yourself: that wasn’t interest. It was just basic human politeness.

Over the years, Cassie and Jessica had taken it upon themselves to fix your so-called “love life,” setting you up with some of the most sought-after guys at school. You turned down nearly every basketball player they threw your way, and it drove them mad. Some of those boys had long since given up, but a few were still holding on—still hoping for a shot you were never going to give.

Unfortunately for you, only one guy could claim the rare title of having taken you out on a date. No one at school was surprised he was the one you finally agreed to give a chance. What they didn’t know was that you loathed him—even after the seemingly perfect evening he orchestrated.

He’d planned it all with precision: reservations at one of the best restaurants in town, flowers waiting for you on the passenger seat of his polished burgundy 1983 BMW. For a fleeting moment, as you slid into the car and caught the scent of roses, you almost let yourself believe he might be the one to pull you out of this hopeless, one-sided obsession.

But he wasn’t. And he can thank your father for even getting that one chance.

“Enjoying the party?” a familiar voice drawled behind you, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Or are you just here to admire the view—my best friend and his new, shall we say, girlfriend?”

Of all people, he was the last one you wanted to hear from—the one person who seemed to take pleasure in feeding your worst thoughts back to you.

Your eyelids grew heavy as the truth settled in, cold and undeniable: they were together. Everyone could see it. You could see it. She was the one he’d chosen—he always chose her.

“He’s never going to want you,” he added, his voice slicing through the music like a blade.

“How do you know?” you snap, turning sharply to face him. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unflinching, as if he can see straight through you.

Steve smirks, the kind of smile that’s more cruel than amused. He lets out a low, knowing chuckle. “Honey,” he says, dragging out the word like it’s a joke only he understands.

“A girl like you? Yeah, not exactly his type, you know.”His eyes sweep over you slowly, deliberately—from head to toe. He’s never bothered to hide that look.

“Girl like me?” you repeat, your voice tight.

“A girl like me?” he echoed with a smirk, then scoffed “Don’t be stupid.”

You were foolish—naive enough to ask him what he meant by “a girl like you,” even though deep down, you already knew.

A girl like you. The kind who lives in a pristine two-story home, with twin spiral staircases framing a grand foyer, a chef’s kitchen gleaming with marble countertops, and a backyard so polished it looks staged—complete with a pool, waterfall, and artificial rock features.

A girl with not just two parents, but two wealthy ones—who’ve made it their life’s mission to give her everything she’s ever wanted. A girl who rotates her pearl jewelry like clockwork, always matching the right necklace and bracelet to the occasion. A girl whose father presented her with a diamond necklace for prom, just because he could.

A girl whose biggest dilemma is deciding which shade of pearl suits her dress.

Steve’s hand lifted to your neck, his index finger slipping beneath your necklace, curling around it with ease. The cool press of his skin against your throat sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

“You really think a guy like Eddie’s into glittering, overpriced pearls?” he murmured, his thumb gliding over them with slow, deliberate pressure.

His eyes met yours—steady, unreadable. He stood there, patient and cruel, silently waiting for your gaze to betray the sorrow creeping in… the sting of realizing he might be right.

A burning heat welled in your chest, tightening your throat and forcing your eyes to shift away. You couldn’t hold his gaze—not when it felt like the truth was peeling you apart. But Steve wouldn’t allow that. He hated when you looked away from him.

His fingers caught your face, curling around your cheeks with just enough force to hold you in place. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You are wanted. Just… not by him.”

His tone dipped, eyes softening in a way that only deepened the cruelty. He was toying with you, and he knew exactly what he was doing. The satisfaction in his gaze was unmistakable—he enjoyed watching you unravel.

“What’s with the pout, hm?” he asked, feigning concern.

Steve had always known. While you were busy staring at Eddie like he hung the stars, Steve had been watching you. And even if he hadn’t, he would’ve still seen this coming—how gutted you’d be when Eddie finally asked Chrissy to be his.

Which is why, earlier that day, Steve made sure he gave his friend the final push.

Steve wasn’t the jealous type—at least, he told himself that. But you made it hard not to be. Stupid girl doesn’t realize she could have everything, he thought bitterly, if she’d just let go.

Still, Steve wasn’t naive. He knew there was one thing he could never offer you: the one person you wanted but couldn’t have.

“Do you think I can—” you began, but he cut you off with a sharp scoff, dropping his hand from your face like it burned him.

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t think you can get with anyone else here. You’re too busy trying to crawl into his bed to even try.”

And what really gnawed at him—what he’d never admit—was that you’d never tried with him.

You glanced around and realized your friends had quietly drifted away. Of course they had. It didn’t surprise you that they’d left you alone with Steve. They were on his side. They always were. They adored the idea of you becoming a Harrington one day—almost as much as your parents did.

Steve stood silently beside you, watching as your eyes swept across the crowded living room. You were too focused on tracking every entrance and exit to notice his gaze lingering on you instead.

He studied your face in the low kitchen light—how your lashes framed your eyes, how the faint freckles on your nose caught the soft glow. His eyes drifted lower, catching the way your tongue briefly ran across your full, cherry-glossed lips. He could almost taste the sweetness, familiar and maddening.

“You know,” Steve said, his voice cutting through the music, “you shouldn’t let that outfit go to waste.”

You turned, startled, meeting his eyes. He was already looking down, from your mouth to the pearls resting against your chest. You stayed quiet, but the silence only pushed him further.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Not hot enough for him to notice you?”

His eyes roamed without shame—lingering on your neckline, trailing down the curves of your figure to your bare legs, like he was measuring how much more attention you could stand.

“I should have—” you started, but Steve cut you off again with a scoff.

“As much as I like you,” he said, his tone growing sharper, “you’re starting to piss me off.”

“You’ve been drooling over him for years, so yeah—it’s not your outfit, or how you dress, or how pretty you make yourself look. He just doesn’t give a damn about you.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!!!

You wanted to slap that smug look right off his face.

Instead, you shoved your palms into his chest, forcing him back against the kitchen island. “Screw you, Harrington! You’re being a dick.”

But damn you—because even as you glared at him, your lips formed a pout that made him want you even more.

“Mean? That’s cute. When have I ever been even remotely nice to you?” His forehead creased in mock confusion.

“I hate—” you started, pointing a finger at him, but before you could finish, his hand shot up, catching yours mid-air and holding it firmly.

“Yeah, you hate me. I hate you,” he said, pulling you close until you were pressed against his chest. His voice dropped to a low whisper, almost mocking. “But at least I’m not the one pouting and losing it over their crush touching and loving someone else.”

Over the years, Steve had thrown countless barbs your way—some sharp enough to sting, others soft enough to make your dimples deepen. But now, you've had enough.

“Are you sure about that?” you challenged, brows knitting tightly as you lifted your gaze to meet his.

You locked eyes, unflinching. “You wish you were him. You wish I loved you like I love him—the way you love me.”

Steve Harrington wanted you just as badly as you wanted Eddie Munson. Maybe more.

Pathetic. You knew it sounded pathetic. But it was the truth you couldn’t deny.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wow, such confidence. But you’re not Nan—”

Your lips twitched into a smile at the near slip of her name. Steve Harrington was a joke; of course, you weren’t Nancy. He was never in love with her, just as she never was with him.

“And you’re not Eddie.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Have you lost your mind?” His grip on your hand tightened.

“It’s the truth,” you whispered, wincing.

Steve pulled you closer, your bodies nearly fused together. His face hovered just inches from yours.

“Look at me,” he muttered, his nose brushing against yours.

Steve’s frustration with you was growing. The mask you wore around others annoyed him, but there was something about you that ignited a fierce desire he couldn’t ignore. The tightness in his pants was becoming unbearable, and he knew this back-and-forth had to lead somewhere—he needed release, and he wanted it with you more than anything.

After a moment, you finally met his gaze. “I don’t care how much you want him—or want him to fuck you. I’ve put up with your crap for too long. Just give it up, okay?”

His eyes drilled into yours with such intensity it made you uneasy. Your focus shifted to his lips, and you caught the strong scent of the alcohol he’d been drinking—heavy, intoxicating.

“Kiss me,” you whispered without thinking.

You were just inches apart, and he could smell the cherry chapstick on your lips. Steve loosened his grip on your wrist, letting your hands slide down his chest. You moved them lower, gripping his belt loops and pulling him closer to you.

His long arms wrapped around your waist, fingertips pressing lightly into the small of your back.

“You kiss me,” he said with a crooked grin, tilting his head just enough to tease.

You shook your head, holding your ground.

“Kiss me.”he said, voice low and firm—this time, not a plea, but a demand.

You shook your head, holding your ground.“Nuh-uh,” you teased, voice low. “This isn’t how this is going to play out. Either you kiss me, or you go home alone—maybe even miserable—while the guy you’re in love with is over there holding the girl he loves”

That was all it took.

Before hesitation had a chance to creep in, you grabbed him—hard—pulling him flush against you with an aching need. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the delicate curve of your throat. Rising onto your toes, you crushed your mouth to his. The kiss was searing—desperate, breath-stealing, and ruthless. There was no softness to it, only raw hunger, the kind that spoke of obsession and the undeniable need to possess.

“Good to know you know how to obey,” he muttered between hungry kisses.His tongue slammed against yours, tongue and teeth battling in a savage dance as he groaned deep in his throat. You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure, as his hands traveled down to your hips, his fingers digging into your hips, pressing you harder against him like he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon.

He bit down on your lower lip, hard enough to draw a shudder from you, then claimed it again with an urgency that set your skin on fire. Every nerve in your body screamed as he crushed you closer, hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingers tracing fire across your bare skin.

No words, no promises—just this aggressive, hungry kiss that left you dizzy, desperate, and completely undone.

Steve pulls back, his lips swollen and flushed from the biting and sucking. He eyes you intensely before grinning. “Let’s go upstairs,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Not gonna fuck you out here for everyone to watch—though I’m sure they’d love to see you get all provocative.” The corner of his mouth quirks up at the thought as he takes your hands in his.

“I know that filthy, twisted mind of yours has already imagined me getting fucked right here on this counter, with everyone watching,” you whisper against his lips.

Steve leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice low and teasing. “Pretty filthy image if you ask me—me bending you over this counter, your little skirt flipped up, that pretty thong barely hanging on. Everyone watching while I make you whimper and beg like you’re mine.”

A pulse of heat surged between your thighs, your breath catching as your panties grew damp with want—just the thought of him filling you, deep and slow, had your body aching and desperate for more.

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. “Only difference is,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, “in my version, you beg first.”

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and strained. “C’mon.”

With a firm grip on your hand, he guided you through the packed crowd, weaving between bodies as the music thumped around you. —your heart pounding harder with each step.

Once you reached the second floor of his house, he bypassed his own bedroom without hesitation, gripping your hand tighter as he led you further down the hall. Without a word, he pushed open the door to a different room and pulled you inside.Before you could ask, he spun you around and pressed you against the door, his mouth crashing onto yours with a heat that stole your breath and made your knees threaten to give out.

You didn’t want to open your eyes mid-makeout, but curiosity got the better of you. Cracking one eye open, you glanced around the room—and immediately felt your stomach twist. This wasn’t Steve’s room. A guitar hung on the wall, amps stacked in the corner, and posters plastered across every inch of space. One in particular made your breath hitch: a massive white banner with Corroded Coffin scrawled across it in bold letters.

You pulled back just slightly, words slipping out in a breathy mumble between kisses. “Is this—”

He cut you off by catching your bottom lip between his, biting gently before pulling away just enough to smirk.

“His room,” you finished, eyes wide as you finally took it all in.

Steve said nothing, watching your expression shift—half surprise, half something darker.

“We should probably hurry—before he gets any ideas about bringing her up here,” Steve muttered, his voice low and edged with amusement. He tugged you further into the room, guiding you deeper with each step. Still holding your waist, he walked backward until the backs of his legs brushed the edge of the neatly made bed. He sat down, eyes locked on yours, a smug glint flickering behind them as he gave your hand a firm pull, inviting you closer.

Standing between his legs, you felt his grip loosen from your hands, only for them to trail slowly down your sides, settling at the backs of your thighs. “Come here,” he murmured, voice thick with need. You sank onto his lap without a word, straddling him. His hands slid up again, tracing over your ass as your bodies pressed flush.

His fingers curled around the soft flesh, squeezing firmly, thumbs brushing teasingly close to where you were already aching for more. With a slight pull and a look that left no room for hesitation, he guided you forward.The heat between you intensified, your breath catching when you felt just how hard he was beneath you. He leaned in, lips ghosting your jaw before trailing hot kisses along your neck.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he growled, and you smiled against his shoulder—because oh, you did.

Steve’s thumbs brushed gentle circles against your pussy through your underwear, his touch both grounding and electrifying. You could feel the tension building in the air—thick and humming, like the pause before a storm. He looked up at you from beneath his lashes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, knowing smirk.

“You gonna let me touch you, pretty girl?,” voice husky, as his fingers slid a little higher, teasing but not rushing. “Don’t think I’ll be able to hold back soon as we get started.”

You leaned in closer, your hands finding his shoulders, then curling around the back of his neck. “Then don’t,” you whispered.

That was all the permission Steve needed.

He brought your face to his again, kissing you deeper this time—less teasing, more desperate. Your mouths moved in sync, breaths shared between kisses, your bodies slowly pressing closer. The heat between you was building, steady and unstoppable. His hands came back up leaving your sweet girl to ache, his fingers holding a tight grip at your waist as you rocked gently against him, each shift making his breath hitch.

“Let me feel how wet that sweet pussy of yours is” he murmured into your neck, lips ghosting across your skin as if tasting your answer before you even said it.

“Touch me” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. “I want all of you.”

Steve’s hand slid down your hips, curving around to the back of your thigh before slipping beneath your ass. His fingers found the strip of your thong, and with a rough tug, he pulled it to the side, exposing the heat of you to the cool air. A sharp inhale left your lips as your body instinctively pressed closer to his.

His touch was deliberate and confident, his index finger sliding between your folds to gauge how aroused you were for him. "Well," he murmured, voice rough, "look at that." His finger gathered your wetness, and there was a quiet reverence in his caress.

A small, knowing smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he looked up at you with a slow, crooked grin, his eyes darker now, pupils dilated with desire—something that made your stomach clench.

"Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice deep and husky. "You're so wet for me, baby. Fuck!"

Steve's eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief instant, everything outside the room faded away. His fingers maintained a steady motion, moving gently up and down, teasing your sensitive clit, causing you to arch your hips and take a quick breath through your parted lips.

You leaned in closely, your lips brushing his ear. "Please," your breath hitched as you clung onto him. "I need more.”

“What do you need, baby?” he teased gently, voice rough at the edges. “More” your voice cracked as you spoke.

His other hand slid to your waist, steady and sure, holding you close as he rose to his feet. Instinctively, your legs wrapped tightly around him, your bodies fitting together like a secret only the two of you knew. His lips trailed along your jaw, brushing over your cheek with the gentlest reverence before finding the corner of your mouth in a lingering kiss. He then lowered you onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Steve hovered above you, his breath warm as his lips found yours once more—this time deeper, full of something that felt dangerously close to longing. His hands slid down to your thighs, wrapping around them with firm intent. As you let your legs fall open, welcoming him in, the space between you disappeared—replaced by heat, tension.

His fingertips trailed up and down the side of your legs, nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. one hand drifting back between your thighs, finding its way back to your bare pussy. Steve groaned into your mouth as he finally began to draw circles on your drenching slit. His finger moving in a rhythm that left your skin buzzing, while the hand now at your waist guided you into a slow grind. “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock” he whispered into your mouth.

“Show me those pretty girls,” he said, voice low and expectant, a glint of mischief in his eye.

He slowly pushed himself up from your body, muscles flexing with the movement, a glint of heat still lingering in his eyes. His fingers found the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric before tugging it over his head in one smooth motion. The cotton peeled away from his skin, revealing the toned lines of his chest glistening with sweat. Without a second thought, he tossed the shirt beside you on the bed, where it landed in a crumpled heap that still held the warmth of him.

“C’mon” he murmurs, his eyes stayed locked on yours— dark intent, unflinching. “Be a good girl and show me those pretty titts.”

You hesitated for only a second before reaching behind you to loosen your corset. The fabric gave way slowly, and with a quiet breath, you let it fall. The cool air kissed your skin, drawing a shiver as your chest rose and fell with anticipation.

Steve groaned, his hand reaching down to rub his throbbing cock through his pants, “you’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmured, his voice low and reverent.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your fingers ghosted over your skin, teasing yourself under his gaze. “Fuck, keep going, play with them.”

“Rub your clit,” another demand added on. “I want to see how you take care of what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched at his words—what’s mine—and your skin burned where his gaze touched. You kept your eyes on him as your hands moved slowly, deliberately, brushing over the sensitive curves of your chest. His lips parted, his pupils blown wide with hunger.

He stepped closer, his fingers slipped under the edge of your thong, and without a word, he yanked them down in one fluid, possessive motion that made your breath hitch. The fabric dragged over your skin, rougher than expected, cool air hit you. You laid there, exposed, pulse racing, watching as he let the lace fall to the floor like it meant nothing—like the only thing that mattered now was you.

“Rub it,” His eyes followed your every movement, dark with focus, like you were the only thing in the world he could see.

You nodded once more, your hands moving down your body to your bare pussy. One hand found your clit while the other explored your sensitive slit, making circular motions. "Slide your finger in,show me how you play with your pretty fucking pussy," he instructed. He didn’t move, he wanted to watch you.

Gradually sliding a finger inside, you hear the wetness creating a squelching noise. "Shii," you gasped, at the stretch of your finger. It felt so good—so electrifying—that your thoughts spiraled, imagining how much better it would feel to have him slide in for the first time, completely tangled up in you.

Steve’s fingers fumbled at his belt, his breath shallow as the tension between you crackled like static. His movements slowed only for a moment before he pushed his pants down, the fabric pooling around his ankles. He didn’t break eye contact, not even once, as if looking away might shatter the fragile moment building between you. Your lips parting open seeing as his cock sprung up against his belly, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling around your finger. There was something raw in the way he stood there, like he was offering more than just his body—like he was letting you see him, all of him.

Steve hissed, his hand coming to the head, teasing it by giving it a few squeezes before spreading the precum that had been oozing out from his red angry tip, making you clench your thighs together as you continued to finger fuck your hole to the view in front of you.

He grew desperate for your touch. Letting himself go, he pushed your legs apart. He leaned down, planting a trail of feather-light kisses from your neck to your lips, his hands never ceasing their exploration. He shifted his weight, pressing closer until you felt the hard length of him against your thigh, a silent promise of what was to come that made your breath hitch.

His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, smoldering hunger that melted away any hesitation you had left.His hand moved with purpose, fingers slipping inside your pussy. Your brows furrowed, “want my fingers inside your pussy?” The slick he’d already ignited making itself known.

A soft, breathy whine escapes you before you can stop it, your body reacting instinctively as his fingers find that perfect spot deep inside. Your hips twitch beneath his touch, every movement sending sparks down your spine. The way he watches you—eyes dark, full of intent—only makes the pressure building inside you rise faster.

He leaned down, planting a trail of feather-light kisses from your lips to your neck. “Moan for me” he whispered, his breath grazing against your collarbone.

You arched into him, wanting more, needing to show him how much you craved him. His eyes locked with yours—dark, and completely captivated. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, tangled in a heated, intimate world of your own making.

“Right there,” you cried, your hands reaching down to grab his wrist causing him to grab yours instead and holding it hostage above your head. “Unt uh, take it.”

“Come on,” he said, voice rough with intensity, “show me you can take it.” His pace quickened, his eyes never leaving yours, full of challenge and heat.

Breathing him in while feeling hazy you did exactly what he was asking for. “Fuck, keep going,” you begged him, pulling a smile from him, his eyes flicking down to your lips. It only took a second—a pause, a glance—and then he crashed his lips into yours. Your free hand tangled in his hair as his lips moved against yours with growing intensity. His fingers continued to jam into you, thumb pressing and rubbing onto your clit as if grounding himself in the moment.

You gasped when his teeth gently grazed your lower lip, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding past yours in a clash of want and heat. Your fingers, threading through the soft strands as you tugged just enough to draw a groan from him—low and rough, muffled against your lips. The tension between you was electric, and every brush of his skin against yours felt amplified, like your senses were dialed all the way up. The pressure building inside you was undeniable now—slow, rising, and inevitable.

“ fuck, baby.” you cursed feeling your orgasm come closer, a fire pooling in your lower abdomen. “Cum for me, pretty girl!”

“Cum for me,” he coos, feeling your insides pulse around his fingers and your thighs shake beside him. Your body dissolves into a ball of pleasure. Your vision fading to black as the spring that coiled within starts to release.

“Godd” you sobbed, your voice breaking, eyes welling with unshed tears. “That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and breathless. “Such a good girl… you’re being so good for me.” His words weren’t just praise—they were reverent, like every part of him meant it. The way he looked at you made your chest tighten—eyes heavy, lips parted, heart thundering against yours as if to say he felt it too. All of it.

The warmth inside you deepened as you felt him get you close, the subtle slickness a reminder of how intimate you two were being. Every breath, every touch, every gentle movement sent waves of heat pulsing through your body. The splashing sound of your juices squirting right out of you as Steve continues to assault your g-spot filled the room, the pounding rhythm that echoes around you both.

The air was thick with tension and Your whimpering echoed in his mind, sweet and unrelenting, wrapping around his thoughts like silk and smoke. It wasn’t just sound—it was sensation. Each breathy whisper, each broken plea tangled with his self-control, unraveling him thread by thread. You didn’t even have to touch him to drive him drunk. The sound of your purring alone was enough to drive him wild—intoxicated, obsessed, and helplessly yours.

Steve pulled his fingers out and started to rabidly rub your clit,your wetness splashing between your thighs and his body, pooling beneath you. “Open your mouth,” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not with how your heart was pounding and how tightly you were clinging to him.

“Mm,” you breathed out, the sound small and aching when his soaking fingers pressed passed your lips and into your mouth. The faint, heady taste of you lingered on your tongue.

“Suck them, baby. Suck my fingers clean. Taste yourself.” A soft gasp escaped you as his fingers started to thrust into your mouth, meeting the back of your throat. You connected with his gaze—intense, unwavering. Your tongue met with his fingers with greed, swirling around his fingers in a rhythm that made your breath catch in your throat.The faint, heady taste of you settling into your tongue.

He leaned in close, lips ghosting along your jaw until his breath warmed the shell of your ear.

“If only you can see how much of a fucking mess you look,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough with restraint, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva still clung between your lips and his fingers.

Steve slid his hand between your guy's heated skin, fingers closing around his hardened length. He rose slowly, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until your bodies were flush, his strong thighs pressing firmly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Ready to take this cock?” He slaps his heavy member against your pulsing clit, moisturizing his cock with your juices.

“Fuck me, already, please” A soft whimper escaped you as your hand found him, swatting his hand away to make space for you to wrap your fingers around his heavy length. You gave his veiny, heavy cock a few slow, deliberate strokes, feeling him twitch beneath your touch.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” A low groan rumbled from his chest, the corner of his lips twitching into a dark grin as his hips thrust harder into your hand, chasing every stroke like he needed it to breath.

His hands flew up to his face, muffling a low groan as his head tilted back. “Yea, just like that, keep stroking my fucking cock,” he breathed, voice thick with tension. Fingers raked through his hair, tugging slightly, overwhelmed by the combination of your jerking hand and his thrusting hips.

A whimper slipped from your lips as you felt his tip press against your entrance with every buck of his hip. The slick evidence of his pre-cum blended with your own.“Please, baby,” you pleaded, voice trembling with need, every inch of you aching for him to finally fuck you sensibly.

Your begging and pleading look was all Steve needed to continue ruining you. He slid his hands beneath your knees, guiding them up towards your chest, your hips lifted up in the air, baring your pussy, and he paused— eyes tracing every inch of you with reverence and heat.

He gave a slow smirk as his thumb brushed softly through your slick folds, drawing a gasp from your lips as your head fell back against the bed. Steve positioned himself at your entrance, his breath catching as he looked down at you. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, baby, such a pretty, tight little pussy,” he murmured, voice thick with longing. Slowly, he pressed into you, a low groan escaping his throat as he sank into you, your pulsating walls drawing him in perfectly.

Moans began spilling right out of you as Steve slid in and out of you. “God, baby—don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breathless with need. The words spurred him on, his rhythm growing more urgent in response. His thighs and heavy balls clung to your sweaty skin. His hand slid down your thigh before raising it, giving your lifted ass a hard slap, making gasp and the sting making your body jump. You whelped, his grip tightening to hold your legs close to your chest, anchoring you to him completely.

“Mm fuck, that’s it, that’s it you dirty fucking whore, take my cock, atta girl, atta.fucking.girl,” his words becoming aggressive with every thrust. Your moans coming out in shaky bursts, growing louder with every deep thrust. Steve’s pace was unrelenting, his focus entirely on you—on the way your body responded to his every move. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, matched only by the low, guttural sounds he made just for you.

“Youre so tight, baby,” Steve breathed out, his voice rough and low, like gravel under heat as he drove his cock right into your g-spot. “Fuck, baby, right there,” Your hands instinctively found his wrist, not to stop him—never that—but to ground yourself as waves of sensation surged through you. Your eyes fluttering shut, your head tipped back, lips parted in a silent plea as your body responded to every inch of his attention.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “That’s what you do to me.” The air between you crackled, and the tension, the ache, the need—it was overwhelming. Every move, every sound, every look felt like a thread pulling tighter and tighter, building to something you both couldn’t quite hold back.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, the words barely audible. “You feel soo good,” you whined

“Yea, You like that, baby?” he cooed, voice low His body lowered onto you, pressing closer, deepening the pressure in your core as his hand found its way to your neck, steadying you with a touch both rough and tender. “Steve…” you breathed out. I’m fucked he thought. The instant your voice cracked, whispering his name—soft, needy—it seared into his mind, a sound he’d carry with him forever.

“You feel so fucking good fucking into my pussy.”

Steve let out a low groan, the sound of your voice saying his name sending a shiver through him. His lips curved into a smile as he leaned in closer, his forehead brushing yours. “Say it again,” he murmured, voice rough with need but laced with affection. “Let me hear you, moan my name out for me, baby.”

“Steve,” you gasped again, your voice breathy with longing. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, igniting something wild in him.

“That’s it,” he whispered back,drawing his hips back slowly, deliberately, only to press forward again with a deep, steady rhythm that made your breath catch. You clutched at the sheets, overwhelmed by the intensity of how deeply you felt him. His fingers slid gently over your skin, grounding you as your pulse raced beneath his touch.

You whispered his name once more, softer this time, but it hit him just as hard causing him to drive into you again and again, each thrust sending shivers through your body. The bed shifted beneath you, the rhythm of your movements causing it to bump hard against the wall.

“Look at you, such a good girl, taking me so well,” he growled. “Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy anytime I want?”

You nodded, barely able to find words, your hands roaming across his back, nails lightly dragging along the warm stretch of skin as your hips instinctively moved to meet his. His rhythm faltered for a moment—just a beat—before he buried his face in the curve of your neck.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his hands tightening at your hips. “Are you always this fucking wet?” You gave a small nod

Steve leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a fucking slut, do you even realize that?” His voice dropped, laced with dark amusement. “In love with one guy… and fucking someone else.” The weight of your feelings for Eddie hung heavy between you.

The weight of your feelings for Eddie pressed between you, suffocating and raw. Without thinking, your lips crashed onto his shoulder, teeth sinking in hard. Steve growled,“You fucking bitch,” pulling away from you, his palm striking your cheek hard enough to make tears well up in your eyes.

Mm you moaned.

“I bet you wish this was him, his cock jamming into your pussy instead of hers.” He cursed, his member pulsing inside you, teetering on the edge of release.

Steve’s grip on the fullness of your legs slowly softened, letting them fall open around his hips. The sight of you beneath him— your cunt spread open with your puffed up lips wrapped around him— the way your pussy took him in perfectly, every inch clinging and pulsing around him— made his cock sensitive. You looked so raw, so perfect, yet completely cock drunk.

His breath hitched as his orgasm inside him built, spiraling towards the edge. His eyes locked on your face— your parted lips, your flushed cheeks— and he felt completely undone.

Every thrust, every whispered word from Steve pushed you closer.“cum for me, cum all over my cock, let go,” Steve murmured, voice low and urgent, his gaze locked onto yours like he needed to see every second of it. “I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

His words weren’t just a command—they were a plea, a tether pulling you deeper into him. The intensity in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped just a little tighter—it was all too much and not enough. You were unraveling, piece by piece, and he was right there to catch every bit of it.

The way his chest rises and falls, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, pulls you deeper under his spell. His eyes darken with something fierce, something tender, and it melts you inside.Your fingers gripped the sheets, breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck, Steve,” His name on your lips sends a shiver down your spine. You never imagined his name would be the one tumbling from your lips like a prayer, but it felt good, too good as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight.

Every thrust, every whispered word from Steve pushed you closer. “Cum for me” And then—like a match striking flame—it hit. Your body arched into his, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as your release surged through you in waves.

Steve sank his weight firmly against your pelvis and he felt it, the moment you came undone— your body tightening around him. “Fuuck,” nothing but your crying moans filled his ears, burning his body up. Your warm squirt bursting, sulking his thighs and the sheets underneath you. “Oh my god,” your voice broke in a way that made his head spin. It unraveled him, faltering his pace. You could feel his release building, but he held himself steady until you were finished riding out your orgasm.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding against your ribs as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away.A warm, dizzy haze settled over you, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of release.

“Cum for me, Steve,” you urged, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him hold back. Steve’s breath hitched as you squeezed him, your voice barely a whisper but filled with fierce command.

“Right now.” You ordered. “I want to feel your cum inside me, fill me up, baby.”

“Fuckk” he groaned deep in his throat, the need in your eyes stripping away every last bit of control. He hurried himself deep, his rhythm growing desperate. “Aw shit!” A strangled moan escaped him as he felt you clung tighter, legs wrapped around his waist, holding on as if he might disappear. His grip tightened on your waist, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Yea, baby, give it to me!” You demanded, your voice laced with hunger and control.

He buried himself deep, letting the intensity crash over him, your warmth pulling him under. His grip tightened on your waist, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he lost himself in you, in the moment, in the overwhelming rightness of it all.

“Cum for me, now.”The heat blooming deep inside you made your whole body shiver. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer—closer still—as if you could merge into him, take all of him, and never let go. You wanted to feel everything, every pulse, every wave, every last drop of him claimed like it belonged only to you.

Your words hit him like a jolt—commanding, breathless, impossible to ignore. Steve’s jaw clenched, a groan tearing from his throat as he looked down at you, completely undone beneath him.

“Yeah?” he rasped, “You want all of it?”

You didn’t have to answer—your eyes said enough. Hungry. Demanding. His rhythm faltered just once before he gave in, driving into you harder, deeper, chasing that edge with everything you were pulling from him.

“Take it, then,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “All of me.”

“You’re mine,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “And I’m going to make sure you feel every bit of that.” The tension coiled tight inside him, every nerve alight, until finally—he gave in. “Fuck—baby,” he groaned, hips bucking as his own release tore through him, collapsing into you, his cum spilling hot and endless, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he lost himself in you, in the moment, in the overwhelming rightness of it all.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against yours as he slowly came down. The room was thick with his musk, laced with the unmistakable trace of your own release. The sheet beneath you was damp, a lingering testament to everything you two just did. His lips found yours in a searing kiss before letting out a ragged breath as he slowly pulled himself out of you, the cool air hit him, making him hiss softly, every nerve still alive with sensation. His body was slick with sweat, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead— “STEVE!!!” you squealed, your body jolting beneath him as his hand landed a sharp slap against your clit.

“You’re so damn pretty,” Steve murmured, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look away. Hair a wild halo around your face, lips swollen from your teeth, and skin glowing with heat. Your chest rose and fell, slick with sweat, the evidence of everything he’d just done to you. You looked utterly wrecked—gorgeous in your unraveling—and all because of him. He’d never seen you like this before, and the mess you were now? It was his favorite version of you.

Your eyes flicked up to meet him, startled by the softness in his voice—so unlike the usual sharp edges and teasing jabs he threw your way.

“You’re really fucking pretty,” he’d said, and it echoed in your chest louder than it had in the room.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you bit down on a shy smile, trying to look away, but his gaze held you there. You wanted to brush it off, make a joke, call him out for being uncharacteristically sweet—but the way he was looking at you told you it wasn’t just some careless compliment.

He meant it. And the realization made your heart thud hard against your ribs.

“…Shut up,” you murmured, your voice soft and breathless, but the grin that tugged at your lips and the way your face burned gave you away.

Your hand drifted down to adjust your skirt, only to pause as you felt the dampness that clung to the fabric. “Fuck?” you muttered under your breath, heat rushing to your cheeks. You’d been so swept up in the moment, in him, that you’d forgotten to even take it off.

“My skirt,” you huffed, tugging at the damp fabric. “It’s soaked. What am I supposed to wear now? I can’t exactly walk around with a skirt that’s—one, dripping—and two, definitely smells like sex.”

A low, wicked chuckle slipped from his throat. “Oh, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, smirk curling at the edge of his mouth, “your skirt’s the least of it. You reek of sex—in the best way.”

“Steve!” you whined, swatting his bare chest with a flustered laugh as your cheeks flushed deep red. He caught your wrist with a grin, pulling you back toward him. “Don’t act so shy now,” he teased, voice low and warm. “You started it.”

You stayed quiet, trying to think of something while tugging at the fabrics down as if that would help. Steve just stood back, his eyes unapologetically dragging down your still naked chest. “Don’t act like it wasn’t worth it.”

Your face flushed despite yourself. “Yeah, well, now I have to figure out how to walk around without smelling like—”

“Me?” he cut in, smirking wider. “Might be my favorite scent on you.” You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him, laughing. “I hate you.”

“Yea, yea,, you hate me, I hate you and yet,” he caught it effortlessly, “you still squirted so much.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “You owe me a new one,” you muttered, smoothing the damp fabric with a sigh.

Steve ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Nah, I think I just improved it.”

You raised a brow. “By soaking it in sex?”

He leaned in, the grin on his lips softening into something warmer as his fingers brushed the hem. “By making you feel that good in it.”

For a moment, the teasing melted into silence, your breath catching slightly. His gaze locked onto yours—still playful, still cocky, but something else lingered behind it now. You weren’t sure what surprised you more: the compliment, or the way he meant it.

“Say that again,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Steve tilted his head. “What, that I made you feel good?”

You nodded.He smirked but leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll say it every time—‘cause it’s true. You looked gorgeous, falling apart for me.”

You blushed, looking away, but his hand cupped your cheek and gently turned you back to face him.“Don’t hide that,” he murmured. “I like seeing you like this.”

“…Soft?” you teased, trying to hold onto your wit even though your chest was tight with unexpected warmth.

“Honest.”

The air between you shifted—still charged, still close—but quieter now. Real.

“Alright, c’mon,” Steve said with a softer voice than usual, reaching down to grab your corset and handing it to you. “I’ll find you some sweats.”

You took the corset from his hand as you started to slip it back on and tie the lace, the muffled pulse of music from downstairs finally registered again— a whole party was still going on just beneath your feet, and soon, you and Steve would have to reappear, facing the inevitable stares after disappearing for who knows how long.For a moment, you’d forgotten the world outside this room even existed.

This room… Eddie’s room…Your eyes widened in horror as the realization hit. “Steve!” you gasped, voice pitching higher. “The sheets—his sheets—they’re soaked!”

“What?” Steve smirked as he tugged his pants up, fingers working on the buckle. “You don’t want him to see the mess you made just for me?”

“Don’t be stupid!” you whispered harshly, grabbing at your skirt—still damp, still clinging. “We just had sex on his bed!”

Steve stilled for a moment, his smirk fading just slightly. His eyes dragged over you—your flushed cheeks, tousled hair, lips still kiss-bruised. Then, quieter this time, “who.cares!”

You blinked at him.

He took a step closer, closing the small space between you again, this time gentler, his fingers brushing your waist, right over the crumpled fabric of your skirt. “I want him to see what he’s missing out on. I wanted this. And I’m not sorry about it. Not one bit.”

The music downstairs pulsed through the floorboards again, a reminder that this stolen moment was teetering on borrowed time.

“I’ll grab you some sweats,” he said after a breath, backing up reluctantly. “But if your little girlfriends ask… you tripped and fell into a really good time.”

Steve leaned in close, his body brushing lightly against yours as he reached past you. The warmth of his skin lingered for a second before he grabbed his shirt from the other side of the bed, the fabric slightly wrinkled and still carrying the heat of the night. He slipped it on in one smooth motion, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tugged it down over his torso, the cotton clinging briefly to his skin before settling in place.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile betrayed you, tugging at the corners of your lips—warm, uninvited, and impossible to stop. With a small huff of amusement, you pushed yourself up from the bed. Without needing a word, you and Steve moved in sync toward the door,

Your hand closed around the doorknob, twisting it open with a quiet click. “Shut up, Steve,” you muttered, rolling your eyes at him.But the words barely left your mouth before the sound of soft giggles reached your ears.

You froze. Turning toward the noise, your eyes landed on her—the blonde cheerleader, clinging to him like she belonged there, arms wrapped around his neck, her smile sweet and smug.

Her giggles faltered the second her eyes landed on you. Like a switch had been flipped, the airy flirtation drained from her face, lips parting slightly in confusion.Eddie’s smile—so easy and automatic just seconds before—dropped clean off his face the moment he registered you and Steve standing in the doorway of his room. Whatever haze he’d been in evaporated.

The silence that followed was thick, awkward, and telling. His hand fell from her waist. His eyes flicked between you and Steve—your tousled hair, the flush still on your cheeks, your skirt… ruined. The tension was impossible to ignore.

Eddie’s hands dropped from the blonde’s waist like they were burning. “In my room?” he echoed, the question laced with disbelief, one brow arching high until it vanished beneath the messy fringe of his bangs.

“Room was taken,” Steve said smoothly, nodding toward his own door with an easy shrug. His voice was casual.

“Alright,” Eddie muttered, giving a small nod. His eyes flicked to you—once, twice—scanning from your mussed hair down to your wrinkled skirt. It was the first time he’d ever really looked at you. Not through you. Not past you. At you.

But it wasn’t curiosity in his gaze. It wasn’t regret. It was observation—cold and fleeting, like a glance at a stranger in a crowd. And it stung.

You’d spent too long quietly orbiting him, hoping to be seen, to matter. Now, standing in the mess of what had just happened, you finally had his attention… but it still wasn’t enough. You were never a part of his world. You were never going to be.

You straightened your spine anyway, folding your arms over your chest as if that could shield you from the weight of his indifference. The warmth Steve had put in your veins just minutes ago now felt exposed, like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

Eddie didn’t say a word and she didn’t look at you. She didn’t have to. You already knew what she saw. What they both saw. And what they didn’t. You blinked, dry and defiant.

“Let’s go,” Steve’s voice came low behind you—calm but clipped, his hand already finding the small of your back, guiding. Claiming.His touch didn’t feel like comfort. Not entirely. You took a step with him, not looking back. But you felt Eddie’s eyes on you as you walked away.

You stepped into Steve’s room, the familiar scent of his cologne clinging to the air, grounding you slightly even as your nerves threatened to fray. He didn’t say anything right away, just moved straight to his closet, pulling hangers aside with sharp flicks of his wrist, searching for something for you to wear.

You hovered near the foot of his bed, fingers fumbling with the hem of your skirt. Your voice came out in a rush, trying to fill the silence before it caved in on you.

“That was awkward. Did you see her? She couldn’t even look at me—like I was the one interrupting her.” You scoffed, shaking your head as the skirt slipped down your legs.

“The audacity. Acting like she’s better than me.” Your words came faster, sharper, like maybe if you said enough, you could outrun the sting in your chest.

Steve turned, holding out a pair of his sweats. His expression was unreadable for a moment—eyes scanning you as you stood in your underwear, frustration radiating off you in waves.

“You really care what she thinks?” he asked, voice low, not judging, but something else—something heavier. You paused, the question landing deeper than you expected. And for a heartbeat, you didn’t answer.

Because maybe it wasn’t just about her. Or Eddie. Or the look she didn’t give you.Maybe it was about being seen. Really seen. And being enough when you were.

Steve handed you the sweats, but he didn’t let go right away. His fingers brushed yours—just barely—and when you looked up at him, his gaze was steady.

“Chrissy…” he started, then scoffed under his breath like the name tasted ridiculous in his mouth. “She’s the girl guys go to when they can’t get the one they really want.”

You blinked, thrown off by the bitterness in his tone.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice like it wasn’t meant for the rest of the world. Just for you.“You think she avoids looking at you because she thinks she’s better than you? No. It’s the exact opposite. She doesn’t look at you because when she does, she’s reminded of everything she’ll never be.” He shrugged, his jaw tightening a little.

“You are the girl none of them could touch—the one just out of reach, no matter how hard they tried. Not even with your two friends running interference, setting up all those dates you never even entertained.” He reminded you of all the failed dates your friends had arranged over the years—each one more forgettable than the last, none of them ever standing a chance.You remembered brushing them off with a laugh.

“She doesn’t look at you because when she does, she’s reminded of everything she’ll never be. Untouchable.”

Your throat tightened, eyes stinging before you could stop it. Not from sadness—no, it was something else. It was the sharp, unexpected weight of being seen. Really seen and not for the labels stitched into your clothes, or the kind of car your father parked out front. Not for the country club smiles or the carefully curated reputation that always seemed to speak louder than your voice.

“You’ve been the one all of them watched from the corner of the room—including Eddie—because you’re not easy to get. You’re real. And that scares the shit out of guys like him.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, part disbelief, part something far more dangerous—hope.Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“And her?” he added with a quiet scoff. “You’re not invisible to her. You’re unforgettable. That’s the problem.”

Eddie tugged Chrissy into his room by the hand, but the moment they stepped inside, their footsteps faltered. Their eyes landed immediately on the disheveled bed—the twisted sheets and the undeniable, dark stain marring the center of it. The remnants of someone else’s musk still lingered in the air.

Chrissy’s voice dipped low as they approached the bed, her fingers tightening slightly around his.

“I mean… I probably won’t make that much of a mess,” she said, half teasing, half unsure, glancing at Eddie for something—reassurance, maybe. Or comparison.

The air between you thickened with something heavier than just heat. Your hands clutched the sweats he gave you, but your chest was rising and falling faster now—for reasons that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the fact that Steve Harrington had just said what no one else ever had.

Steve hadn’t looked at you like the rich girl who had everything. He looked at you like someone who wanted to understand who you were beneath it all. And that—that rattled something loose inside you.

He stepped in close, his eyes locked on yours — steady, grounding. “Chrissy…” he began, voice low.

Meanwhile, in Eddie’s room, Chrissy’s hands fidgeted at her sides until Eddie came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her gently against him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmured into her shoulder, cutting off whatever doubt she was about to voice. “She doesn’t matter,” he murmured against her ear.

Steve's hand lifted to your chin, tilting it up so you couldn’t look away.Steve was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. Not the mess you left behind on someone else’s sheets. Not the party still raging downstairs. Just you.

And at the very same moment—miles apart in emotion, yet eerily aligned—Steve and Eddie spoke the same words:

“She’ll never compare to a girl like you.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve x you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington stranger things

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justwonder113 · 1 day ago

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🎧Shutting them up with a kiss mid argument - Hyung Line edition 🎧

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📖 Summary: basically what the title says

🖋️ Author’s Note: sorry it took me eons to write this, life was a lot let's just say lol. I'll try to update more though so stay tuned.

⚠️ Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD. Cursing as always, reader is gender neutral. Arguments but nothing too serious. kissing and displays of affection. Mention of fainting and low blood sugar in chan's part. Suggestive ending in Hyunjin's part. Mention of someone making reader uncomfortable in Hyunjin's part. i can't think of anything else but if i missed anything don't hesitate to tell me^^

📝 Word Count: 2.7 k

📜 Masterlist:

☕ Ko-fi:

💬 let’s talk! reblogs/comments = love, motivation, serotonin

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Bang Chan

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Having a handsome friend like Chan was surely an interesting experience. Because as he gave you the longest lecture of your life all you could think about was how hot he looked and how all you wanted was to kiss him senseless. You were a perfect definition of that TikTok sound- bla bla bla backstory stuff.

To explain how you got here with Chan arguing like a tired concerned mom in the middle of a hospital parking lot you would have to go back in time for a few hours. It was nothing special, you just woke up late and you were really rushing so, you didn’t have breakfast. No big deal right? But you did mess up on the part where you didn’t eat anything while you were at work too. You were just too busy! And you might have gone to bed hungry yesterday too because you were too tired...

So what if you fainted. It was only for a minute or two. Your colleague just panicked and called an ambulance. You just had low blood sugar no biggie.

So here you were now. Chris had been on and on lecturing you about absolute necessity of eating breakfast and here you were thinking how ridiculously hot he was even while arguing.

His tone was calm, calculated yet assertive. He looked determined to make you understood his point. You really tried to listen, but he looked so ridiculously hot. like how were you even supposed to act normal? And most of all behave? He even had his shirt folded up to his elbows, his veins and hands... you were just a human for god’s sake!

You were wrong to have other thoughts while he genuinely tried to tell you what was best for you, while he only had your best interest in mind and genuinely cared about your wellbeing.

You were wrong, you knew that. So you did that would make things even more worse than not listening.

Unable to take away your eyes from his lips as he spoke... Them looking so plump and inviting... Suddenly you were acting up on your inner desires, feelings or maybe even pure instincts.

It all happened in a flash. One second you were looking at his lips next second you had brought him close to you by his collar and you were kissing him hard, successfully shutting him up.

Funny thing was you had always wondered how kissing him would feel like. And now you got to know it. Although now as you got to know how soft his lips actually were and you realized he tasted so sweet ... it was like you could feel yourself slowly get addicted to him.

The gravity of what you did only dawned on you after Chan all but stared at you when you leaned back. The silence was deafening and felt like it lasted eternity.

Chan looked stunned. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. He had his pointer and middle finger on his lip as he stared at you searching for answers.

You couldn’t do it. As much as your actions were bold you were also a coward. There was no way you could face him now.

You turned around to leave. To say you were feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement. The gravity and shame of what you did weighted you down like bricks.

His hand on your wrist caught you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes you stared at your shoes like it was the most interesting thing in the world. There was no way you could hold his gaze, not after what you did, not after the greatest friendship you just ruined.

You heard Chan sigh softly. And then... You didn’t know how to explain it, but you almost felt him smile, you didn’t even have to look at him.

“God you’re such a brat.”

You didn’t even have time to process anything. One second he was still holding you in place preventing you from running away and the next second you were spun around, his hands cupped your face, and Chan was kissing you senseless.

You didn’t know what this meant for your friendship or your relationship overall, but you didn’t feel as afraid now.

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Lee Know

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You didn’t mean to ignore him, not really. But here he was, a grown ass man sulking like a kid because you didn’t cuddle him when he asked you to.

To explain from the start both of you had a day off so you decided to have a sleepover at his house. You spent all night cuddling and watching anime.

Minho got up for a while to take a shower and while he was in the bathroom Soonie Doongie and Dori decided they wanted to spend some time with you. All three of them cuddled up to you and who were you to deny your adorable babies' affection?

When Minho came back all four of you were sprawled on the couch leaving no space for him and as much as you loved your boyfriend you would NOT reject your kids’ affection for him.

Honestly you had warned Minho over and over again that he was spending way too much time with Hyunjin because the scene he just made was just purely overdramatic. He kept whining and sulking how betrayed he was by those closest and dearest to his heart. He kept arguing how you were rejecting him when he was the one who bought you and the kids together. He kept huffing and puffing all cutely how you loved cats more than him.

You looked at the cats for a second and it was like you had some sort of mutual understatement. They scrawled around as you got up and approached your overdramatic boyfriend who, mind you, was still ranting and yapping about how life but mostly you were unfair.

Minho was still in the middle of his speech when you decided that you were done listening to him and were now set on shutting him up.

Hooking your hand on the waistband of his pants you brought him closer to you. He was startled for a second but then a smug grin quickly overtook his features. He looked at you, eyes fully challenging you and who were you to back down? He didn’t stop his speech, he was fully enjoying himself now, testing your patience. He was testing you.

You obviously had to shut him up now.

So you did.

You quickly kissed him before he had time to realize what you were up to.

The kiss was firm and passionate and as always fully intoxicating.

When you leaned back for air and most importantly to grovel in victory Minho decided to strike back.

His hands quickly found their place on your hips and he brought you close in one harsh movement, smashing your lips together. And unlike you he kissed like a man possessed. Like he wanted to devour you whole. His lips moved against yours in a rough possessive manner igniting you from within.

Forget flustering or just teasing him (although you did notice the second before he kissed you how adorable shade of red his ears had become) you had to shut him up more like this if it meant that he would kiss you like this in return.

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Seo Changbin

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Sometimes you just stare at your boyfriend and think – how can a person be this round and squishy? Honestly, the cuteness agression Seo Changbin was able to revoke in you should be studied by scientist. Even now as he layd in bed next to him and kept whining how you had been hogging blankets all night all you could think about was just how much you loved your boyfriend.

In the back of your mind you felt bad. You were ignoring him as he whined to you about how he couldn’t sleep all night. You always listened to him no matter how ridiculous his yapping sessions were, you just couldn’t now. Your mind kept coming back to how cute and adorable he looked. You looked as he laid next to you his head on his arm, his cheek squished up so cutely. maybe you could bite it? He wouldn’t be too mad would he? Maybe he would get sulky but still... he always forgave you as long as you gave him kisses. You really wanted to kiss him. He looked way too cute. So soft and squishy and very much boyfriend material.

“Baby are you even listening to me?” his voice bought you back to reality. God you were at least supposed to feel bad for ignoring him.

“No.” You admitted casually as you put your head on his bare chest. As always so warm and sturdy. Bringing you sense of comfort and safety.

Changbin’s scoff was overdramatic as always. He didn’t let go of you as he started to whine all over again. Offended that you were ignoring him just like that so casually. You felt every syllable rumble from his chest as he kept yapping how hurt and offended he was. The funny thing was that his hand never left the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

God you loved this goofy idiot.

Not wishing to hear his whole yap session about how cold he was you decided to shut him up. Gently cupping his cheek you leaned in and kissed him.

There was one thing about kissing Seo Changbin. No matter how many times you kissed him... no matter how you felt... no matter if your lips felt like falling off... you would never get tired of kissing him.

You couldn’t fully put it to words. just what being with him did to you. Maybe it sounded dramatic and cliche but the best description would be that. Whenever your lips brushed against his, suddenly life was worth living again.

Changbin leaned into the kiss immediately, both of his arms wrapping around you securely. He was flustered at first, but he was Seo Changbin. He never lost his cool. In seconds he overtook the kiss completely. He was the one who had you breathless and gasping for air as his lips brushed against yours in a passionate and loving kiss.

“you’re such a tease.” You heard him grumble underneath you as he gently pecked you again his eyes sparking and full of love.

You found yourself chuckling at his comment. What could be said? You didn’t feel bad at all. Smiling in victory you put your head on his chest again, his arms still tight around you, making you feel so safe and warm. You could stay like this forever. “Sorry baby I couldn’t resist.” You pointed out every word with gentle circles with your thumb on his ribs.

Changbin scoffed but it was apparent he wasn’t mad at all. He grumbled something about you being a brat but honestly you didn’t care. Not when he had you in his arms like this.

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Hwang Hyunjin

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One thing you loved the most about Hyunjin was how passionate he was. But sometimes all this passion he had literally running in his veins meant that even the slight inconvenience would result in the most overdramatic outburst ever.

You understood why he wasn’t happy. You two were attending your friend’s wedding. The fact that you were a couple was the most obvious thing ever. Hyunjin hadn’t left your side for a whole night. He really was your Velcro baby. Like you weren’t being dramatic or anything. His hand literally hadn’t left your waist. Also, the number of times he kissed either your cheek or temple...

Your point was that anyone with working eyes or even just two working braincells would be able to tell that you were together. Yet there was this one asshole that kept checking you out and relentlessly flirting with you no matter how many times you shut down his advances.

To say that Hyunjin was pissed was an understatement. You as well. The asshole really managed to get under your skin but your attention really was on your boyfriend now.

“You okay baby?” Your whole attention was on him as he gave the shameless man the nastiest side eye ever.

Hyunjin looked at you, his arm tight around your waist as he laid his head on your shoulder, your hand almost instinctively went to his hair. Gently scratching his nape.

“I’m not fine. I hate how that asshole stares at you! So disrespectful.” Hyunjin grumbled. Honestly you loved whenever he got protective over you despite needing protection from almost everything himself.

“Want to leave darling? It’s getting late anyways.” You whispered against his ear loving his presence all around you.

“Why should we have to leave because of some asshole? Are you uncomfortable darling? I swear I will kick his butt. Minho taught me some boxing moves and Changbin had been making go to Gym with him. I’m basically unstoppable! You say the word my love!” Hyunjin spoke with determination and passion. You couldn’t help but smile listening to him. God he was too adorable for his good.

“You’re adorable baby. I’m fine I promise. Although constant staring is getting under my skin.”

“I knew it! He is making you uncomfortable! I will go and have a damn word with him! No one can make my baby uncomfortable! Some people have no shame!” Not wanting to escalate things further you stopped him. And before he even had a chance to say anything you kissed him hard.

Hyunjin was taken aback but he quickly returned the kiss. His lips moving against yours harshly like he was claiming you. He kissed you back like a man starved. Like he had a point to prove. He had never kissed you like this. Your whole body felt like it was catching on fire, not that you minded. You loved how possesive he got yet how he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You kissed him just as hard. Maybe you were being inappropriate, you were at a wedding after all. But most of the guests were quite drunk or tipsy already so no one really paid any mind to you.

After a while you had to break the kiss. Unfortunately, there was this thing called oxygen all the humans needed to survive.

You didn’t know what came over you but you wanted the whole world to know you were his. Before Hyunjin even the thought would be ridiculous for you but now... your life really was like that tailor Swift song. "I want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck not because he owns me but cuz he really knows me, which is more than they can say. - Call It What You Want. "

Honestly the kiss you two shared was so mind blowing for you, you didn’t even remember why you kissed him in the first place. Only when you noticed him look behind you and smirk in victory when you got reminded.

Looking back yourself you also noticed that the guy who was relentlessly staring at you earlier now looked away all defeated. You smirked knowing your plan worked.

Hyunjin looked at you looking almost giddy.

“Don’t even say anything.” - You warned him, but he didn’t listen at you for a second. Fully smirking he wrapped his hands around you and nuzzled into your neck.

It was endearing how clingy he could get.

“You should do that more. It's an effective way telling everyone we belong to each other.” - Good thing he was cute, or you would have smacked him for being so cocky.

“Come on let’s go home. I have a point to prove who I belong to.” You smirked satisfied while you watched your boyfriend almsot lose his shit with your suggestive comment.

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✧･ﾟ: Thank you for reading! :･ﾟ✧

If you enjoyed this story, reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. 💬🖤

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Any support is deeply appreciated and helps me keep writing more stories like this.

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lonely-ey3s · 2 days ago

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Ride or Die | Chapter Seven

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : There are five stages of grief and anger is showing its ugly face in the aftermath of your accident.

chapter warnings: to avoid spoilers, i'm not going to post very specific warnings for this chapter, but here are the basics: angst, fluff, trauma, violence, and switching POVs.

word count: 10.3k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

ICU — The Next Morning

The sun was just beginning to rise behind the heavy clouds outside, painting the hospital windows in soft gray light. The whir and beep of machines filled the silence in the room.

Joel sat slouched in the corner, eyes heavy with fatigue, but still trained on your still figure lying in the hospital bed. He hadn’t moved much since the night before — not really. Not when the only thing that felt right anymore was staying close to you.

He heard the soft knock at the door before it creaked open.

"Good morning... just here to check a few things.” Dr. Patel said softly as he entered with a clipboard in hand and a nurse trailing behind him.

Joel straightened slightly, rubbing his face, trying to read their expressions before either of them spoke in regards to your condition.

The nurse gave him a soft smile — but it was the kind people used when they felt bad for you or the situation you were put into.

Dr. Patel lowered his voice as he turned toward the bed. “Let’s check her neuro signs.”

Joel stood slowly, stepping back near the wall as the doctor leaned over and began the exam. He watched as the doctor lifted your eyelids, shining a light in each one. No response. He gently tapped your sternum, trying to elicit any movement.

“Pupils are sluggish,” the nurse reported, noting it in the chart as she spoke. “Reflex response still minimal.”

“Glasgow Coma Scale remains at 6,” Dr. Patel said quietly. “Still no spontaneous eye opening. No verbal response. Withdrawal from pain only in the left arm.”

Joel’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what half those words meant, but the weight behind them was clear.

“Respiratory effort?” the nurse questioned.

“None. Full ventilator dependency still.” Patel sighed, straightening. He turned his head slightly to the nurse and added in a lower voice, “ICP hasn’t come down like Callahan hoped. Edema’s still pressing against the left temporal lobe. We should prep for a repeat CT today.”

“Should we alert neurology?” she asked just as quietly.

“Just did,” he said, putting away his phone. “But we’re running out of options.”

Joel stepped forward slightly, voice hoarse. “What does that mean?”

Patel looked at him for a long moment. “It means… she’s not responding the way we hoped. The pressure on her brain isn’t decreasing. There are no signs of improved cognitive function yet.”

Joel swallowed hard, listening, trying to absorb everything. “So you’re saying she’s not—she’s not waking up?”

“I’m saying we’re at a critical point. Sometimes swelling like this resolves slowly… sometimes it doesn’t.” Patel took a breath. “We’re watching for signs of brainstem activity. But as of this morning, she’s still not initiating breaths on her own. That’s not what we want to see.”

Joel pressed a hand against the edge of the bed, gripping it to stay upright. “And her voice? Someone mentioned late last night she wouldn’t have her voice… said to ask you...” he asked, almost a whisper.

The nurse answered gently. “We noticed bruising on her larynx during initial intubation. ENT did a consult and confirmed trauma to the vocal cords. We won’t know the extent until she’s awake… but if she does wake up, there’s a possibility she won’t be able to speak immediately.”

Patel nodded, adding. “There’s scarring. If the cords were torn or the nerves damaged, it could be temporary aphonia… or worse. Again — we won’t know until we get her off the ventilator. That’s another reason we’re watching so closely.”

Joel stared at you — his chest tightening, rage and helplessness mixing like acid in his veins. That son of a bitch had taken so much. Nearly all of you. And now maybe even your voice — possibly your memory too?

The nurse gently touched Joel’s arm. “We’ll come back after the imaging is prepped to take her for that CT.”

The two quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

He didn’t even realize Everly had come back in until her hand brushed his shoulder. “Joel?” she asked, voice low.

He turned, slow and dazed, like he was underwater.

She took one look at his face and frowned. “What’d they say?”

Joel looked at you. At the machines. At the way your chest rose with the help of a machine. At the bruises around your throat. He let out a breath. “Not good,” he said. “Swelling’s not goin’ down. She’s not breathin’ on her own. And her vocal cords might be—” His voice cracked. “She might not even be able to talk when she wakes up.”

Everly looked down at you, lips trembling. “Oh God…”

Joel turned away from her and rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing.

The machines behind him hummed. Beeped. Breathed for you. A constant reminder that you couldn’t do it yourself. Not yet.

His stomach twisted — and his eyes were far away. Going somewhere darker, as the devil on his shoulder began whispering to him.

‘You should’ve been there.’

His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

‘You let her go. You knew it felt wrong, and you let her walk into that house - alone.’

And then it started to get lower, colder, curling into the back of his skull.

‘But you still have time. Time to fix it. Time to make it right.’

He tried to blink the thought away.

‘You know where he is. You’ve already driven past it…’

‘Come on… it’d be easy. In and out. Tommy would help.’

Joel’s jaw clenched, and then another voice — softer, slower — tried to reason.

‘Don’t. Don’t do it. Think about her. Think about what she’d want. About what you could lose…’

But then he looked at the bruises again. The feeding tube. The blood still crusted in your hair.

And the angel on his shoulder didn’t stand a chance as the devil pushed harder.

‘She didn’t ask for justice. But she deserves vengeance.’

‘Think about what he’s doing right now? Eating? Sleeping? Breathing free air? What while she’s here choking on a goddamn tube? Unable to breath on her own?’

His breath hitched, his teeth grinding together.

‘He hurt her. He choked her. He tried to kill her.’

‘Make him pay.’

He could feel his heart start to pound. The adrenaline, the rush of what it’d feel like starting to fuel him.

‘Make him pay for the bruises. For the fear in her eyes. For the blood on still in her scalp. For the words she might never be able to speak again.’

He shook his head, so the angel tried to reason:

‘What will you say if she wakes up and asks what you did? She’s asked you not to fall into his trap…’

But it was no use,

‘What will you say if she doesn’t wake up? What will you say you did? Nothing?’

A beat passed — then another.

And the angel finally tried, one last small and desperate plea.

‘This isn’t you, this isn’t what she’d want. You’re better than this.’

But Joel’s gaze lifted toward the ICU window. The faint outline of the machines and your body lying still beneath sterile sheets stared back at him — and the last piece of him snapped.

‘No. You were better. And look where it got you. Look where it got her.’

He looked at Everly as she sat on your bed, gently brushing your hair back, and it was like a switch was flicked.

“Hey uhm, I gotta go home,” he said. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated…" he started gathering his things.

Everly turned to look at him and nodded, completely oblivious to the internal battle that just took place, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.”

Joel came over and leaned down, brushing a kiss to your knuckles, then to your forehead. His voice was a breath. “Keep fightin’, baby. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

He rose slowly, gave you one last look, and headed toward the door.

The second your ICU door sealed behind him, he felt the shift fully.

That thudding pressure in his chest—the one that had been clenching tighter since the moment he heard of what happened—turned sharp. Less grief now, more heat. His jaw ticked as he walked down the corridor, boots heavy, fists clenching at his sides.

He passed the elevator, didn’t even glance at it. He needed to move. Burn it off.

Every fluorescent bulb overhead seemed to buzz louder. Every passing nurse and echo of voices in the hallway grated against his nerves. The image of your bruised throat, the ventilator pumping your chest, the coldness of your sweet skin he just kissed poems into days ago, the way the doctor said “if” you wake up— it was like fire under his skin.

He reached the far end of the hallway and slammed his palm flat against the wall, breathing hard, shoulders shaking. The dull ache in his hand didn’t even register.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn't breathe on your own. And the bastard who did it? He was still out there. Still breathing, still free, and still living.

Joel's vision swam, red edging in at the corners.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with shaking fingers to see ‘10% Low Battery’, then behind it — your photo on the lock screen. Laughing. Glowing. Alive.

He stared at it like it might ground him, but it didn’t. Not this time.

He opened his contacts and found Tommy’s name, then pressed dial. It rang once before the line picked up.

“Joel? What’s wrong? It’s… fuck— its 4:30am…” Tommy answered, sleepy and concerned.

Joel didn’t even hesitate, “Meet me at the Rosewood Motel. Wear somethin' you don't care for.”

Then he hung up.

His grip on the phone was white-knuckled now. And behind the grief and panic, something darker was rising.

Something cold. Something ready. Something fueled with anger and regret of not doing it sooner.

The parking lot of the Rosewood Motel was washed in the early morning light. The neon sign above the front office buzzed faintly. It looked like the kind of place people disappeared in or went to disappear from somewhere else — no questions, no names, just cash at check-in and a back door to run through when things went bad.

Joel sat motionless in the driver’s seat of his dad’s truck, his eyes locked on the peeling door of room 217, the one that for the last couple days when driving by; kept all the restraint in the world to not drop in, pay a visit to — the one that Riley’s blue truck was parked nicely in front of.

The silence in the cab buzzed louder than the neon above. His jaw ached from clenching. His chest hurt from breathing.

Tommy’s headlights pulled up behind him, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. His door shut, and his heavy boots approached.

Joel didn’t move; he just kept staring at the number 217 as his mind ran over the ways he was going to take the air from his pathetic lungs.

Tommy opened the passenger door and slid in, glancing at his brother’s profile — tense, jaw wired tight, eyes locked forward like a bomb that hadn’t quite gone off yet.

“Want to tell me what we’re doin’ here at 5 am in the mornin'?” Tommy asked, voice low and slightly annoyed.

Joel’s fingers flexed once on the wheel before he spoke. “That day — the day she got blindsided by her dad and Riley showin’ up — I walked her out when things got tense.”

Tommy nodded, “Yeah, and?”

“We passed Riley’s truck.” His hand clenched tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t think much of it then. But on the dash, there was a paper. Scrawled notes. IOUs. Two names — Ten grand for the leader of Los Serpentines and nine grand for Eddie Mason.”

He swallowed, voice turning hard. “And there was a pen clipped to it. Rosewood Motel. Logo stamped clear as day.” he nodded to the motel in front of them.

Tommy’s brows pulled together. “He’s stayin’ here?”

Joel gave a single, tight nod. “See that?” He nodded to his truck.

“He hasn’t left town, and didn’t like what Judd said he did before she went there yesterday. They lied to everyone. And then she walked into that house… where that son of a bitch waited for her.”

Tommy sat back, piecing it together. “So we’re here to… what, Joel?”

“I can’t… sit there anymore, Tommy. I can’t watch her hooked up to machines, praying she wakes up, knowing he did that to her and he’s just…” He trailed off, knuckles going white again. “He’s just livin’.”

Tommy sighed softly, “Joel, you know we can’t—”

He froze as Joel slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The sound cracked through the cab like a gunshot.

“He almost killed her!” Joel’s voice broke.

His breath came faster, more ragged now. The fire behind his eyes trembled as tears finally broke past the edges.

“I sat next to her all night last night. I just sat there… held her hand and prayed to God or whatever is up there.... begged them to wake her up.”

His jaw jutted, and tears fell down his cheeks. “She can’t even breathe on her own. I can’t count the times I told her that I loved her over and over in the last 12 hours, and she can’t even hear me…” His voice cracked. “I failed her, Tommy.”

Tommy stared, stunned by the broken, furious wreck beside him.

Joel wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand quickly, shoving it all back down, breath shaky. “I won’t fail her again. This ends… right here — right now.”

Tommy’s voice was quiet. “You’re not thinking straight, Joel.”

Joel turned on him, eyes blazing. “I am, Tommy. For the first time with this fucker, I am.”

A beat passed, then Tommy exhaled slowly.

“Alright. Fuck it.” He nodded and looked at the door Joel had his gaze stuck on.

“We do this smart. No signs of forced entry. No prints. We leave nothing they can pin back to us.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Nothin’ that can make him look like the victim.”

“Agreed,” Tommy nodded.

Joel’s breathing finally started to slow. “What’s the plan?”

Tommy looked at the motel, at the shadows in the corner, the cameras that clearly didn’t work.

“I go in first,” he said. “Knock on his door, pretend I’m housekeeping or the front desk. If he opens it? I get inside. See if he’s alone. If he is… I drop him. Quiet. No mess.”

Joel nodded once, the tension coiling tighter in his gut.

“Then I turn on the lamp to signal you…” Tommy continued as the most of the lights were out in his room. “You come in, we do what needs to be done. And then…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, turning to look at his brother. “Then what?”

Tommy smirked faintly. “We make it look like one of the guys he owes came for collection.”

Joel blinked. “You want to pin it on one of the names?”

Tommy shrugged. “He already owes ‘em, and both of ‘em would do something like this but one would keep the cops away...”

He nodded toward the room as he continued, “We swipe one of his notes. Add some flair — leave it behind as like a warning. A little message in Spanish…”

Tommy could see the gears in Joel’s head start to turn, the muscles start to tense in his jaw the more he convinced himself it would work.

Joel looked at the room, “You're right... you know how jumpy the cops get when cartels are involved. They’ll step back…” He looked at his brother.

Tommy shrugged, “Plus, we’ll be each other’s alibis if they come sniffin’ around.”

Joel stared at the door of room 217 again, then down at his hands, now shaking slightly.

Tommy leaned forward and put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Look, we are either doin’ this right now or we’re walkin’ away… there’s not goin’ to be another chance.”

Joel nodded after a split moment, face set. “This ends now.”

Tommy opened his tool bag and pulled out a black ball cap, tugging it low over his eyes. He also pulled out an old hoodie and a pair of leather work gloves.

Joel looked over at him and nodded as he watched. “No fingerprints. No skin.”

Tommy smirked. “This ain’t my first rodeo, hermano.”

As he opened the door to leave, Joel reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hold me back in there...”

Tommy looked him in the eyes. He saw how dark they were, how much rage he had behind them. He could see the guilt melted into his brother's normally light and bright brown iris’s — it now making his eyes almost black.

All he could do was nod and offer a tight smile, “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Joel watched him walk across the lot, each step echoing with quiet vengeance.

And as the street light flickered overhead, the only thing he could hear was your voice — soft and trembling in his memory:

“You make me feel safe…”

He whispered into the silence: “Forgive me, mi vida.”

Then he leaned over and pulled out the Glock he had from under the passenger side seat that he hoped he wouldn’t need to use, and put it down the back of his jeans, checked the time, and waited for the signal.

Everly's POV - 7:04 am

The room hummed with a type of quiet you can’t describe — the low murmur of machines, the soft hiss of the ventilator, the steady, unchanging beep of the heart monitor.

You hadn’t moved — not in the hours since surgery. Not since they brought you up from the ER and into the OR. You looked so fragile and pale, so still you hardly looked like the girl who used to shout across the pasture in the wind or laugh until you hiccupped.

Everly sat at the small chair near the window, fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee. She hadn’t sipped it in nearly an hour. Not really. She just held it like it might anchor her to the moment – keep her somewhat warm in this cold world without your light.

Joel had been with you all night. He hadn’t even moved to eat or drink. He just sat beside your bed, one hand clasped in yours, like letting go might make something worse. His eyes had been bloodshot, rimmed with the kind of pain no sleep could fix. Everly tried to offer him food or rest, but he refused. He said he couldn’t leave you, he couldn’t bear it.

But then — sometime after the doctors came in for their morning rounds — something in him changed after Everly came in.

“I gotta go home,” he said after a long beat. “Freshen up. Change. Call my folks. I told ‘em I’d keep ‘em updated...”

Everly nodded without a second thought, she understood he might need a break, she doubted he’d be gone for too long. “Yeah, of course… go. I’ve got her.” she said after kissing your head.

He’d kissed your hand. Your forehead. Whispered something only you could hear then turned around and left.

That was two and a half hours ago.

Her thumb brushed across her phone screen. No new messages. No calls. Nothing from him.

She stood and stretched, the quiet in the room beginning to press too tightly against her chest. She moved to your bedside, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead gently, watching your chest rise then fall a few times with the help of the ventilator.

“You’re still fightin’. I know it,” she whispered. “I know you’re still in there.”

The door creaked open behind her, and she turned quickly.

Wes stepped in, shoulders hunched, eyes still tired.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’s she doing this morning?”

You sighed slightly disappointed, and turned back, “No change,” nodding toward your still form. “Breathing tube’s still in. BP’s stable for now, but she’s not stirred. Doctors said a lot of medical things this morning — none of it good.”

Wes walked closer, eyes sweeping over the machines before landing on you. “Jesus…”

He paused. “Where’s Joel?”

Everly hesitated. “Went home a couple of hours ago. Said he’d be back quick.”

Wes furrowed his brow and looked down at his watch. “Couple of hours?”

“Almost three now,” she said, checking the time again. “He hasn’t texted or called…”

“That doesn’t sound like him...” Wes said, setting down his things.

“I know,” she said with a concern to her tone.

“Did he seem ok?” he asked, coming over to sit in the chair by your bed, taking your hand.

“I'm not sure... I think somethin’ rattled him after the doctors came in earlier.” She said, quieter.

They both stood in silence for a beat.

“He was wrecked last night,” Wes added. “Didn’t wanna leave her side for even two minutes. You think he…?”

“I don’t know,” Everly murmured, her voice uneasy. “He said he was just gonna shower and check in with his parents. Maybe something came up. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Wes perked, eyebrow arched.

She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know, Wes. He’s just… he’s been glued to her. Like she’s all he’s got. Somethin’ just doesn’t feel right.”

Wes exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want me to try him?”

“I already did. Texted twice. No answer.”

Wes frowned, pulled out his phone, and tried calling. He held it to his ear for a moment.

“Straight to voicemail,” he said after a second. “Either it’s dead… or off.”

The pit that had been forming in Everly’s stomach dropped a little deeper.

She stood and started to pace to the window, arms folded tight across her chest. “Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe he stopped to check on something with his folks. Maybe he’s just sitting in the shower letting it all catch up to him.”

“Or maybe he went and did something dumb.” Wes said more to himself.

She turned to him, eyes flashing something between anger and concern.

“What? I’m not sayin’ he would,” Wes clarified, holding up his hands. “I’m sayin’ he looked like a man hangin’ on by a thread last night. And he’s got one thing on his mind… one person — to be more specific.”

“Riley.” She sighed.

Wes nodded. “That piece of shit damn near killed her. Miller’s ain’t the kind to let that go. You know that. They are known for keepin’ things balanced…”

Everly chewed her lip. “You don’t think he’d actually go looking for him?”

“I think if he thought Riley was still walkin’ free and breathin’ the same air, he might. Especially if he found something, or overheard something. He wouldn’t let that shit go...”

Everly’s eyes flicked to you again — to your pale, bruised skin, the hiss of the vent, the wires.

“God, if he does something reckless…” She came to sit by you again.

“He won’t,” Wes said, but it didn’t sound confident. “He’s smarter than that.”

But even as he said it, they both knew the truth.

Joel might be smart — but he was heartbroken. Furious. And terrifyingly quiet about it.

“I’ll give him thirty more minutes,” Everly said, voice tight. “Then I’m calling him again. And if I don’t hear back…”

“I’ll call some buddies of mine and go find him.” Wes offered.

They both looked at you again, the rhythmic beep of the monitor filling the space between them.

Riley’s POV - 5:19am

The air conditioner rattled in the window like it was trying to shake itself loose, drowning the room in a mechanical hum. Riley stood shirtless at the sink, rinsing his face, the cold water doing little to chase off the anxiety curling in his gut from the line of coke he had just snorted.

The duffel bag on the bed was nearly packed.

A few shirts, a pair of jeans. All of which were under stacks of wrinkled cash, and the folded IOU slips he hadn’t dared throw out. Sloppy? Sure. But part of him still thought he could bargain his way out of this whole mess.

He zipped it up halfway, stuffing the papers deeper inside as his burner phone buzzed on the laminate nightstand.

Incoming call: Judd

He sighed and clicked answer. “What do you want, Judd?”

“You still in town?” Judd’s voice was lower than usual, tense.

“Where the hell else would I be?” Riley muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“They’re sniffin’ around,” Judd said. “I just got a call from a buddy down at dispatch. Sheriff’s office flagged your name — said you might’ve been involved in what happened to Y/N… their lookin’ for you.”

Riley froze. “It was a car accident...”

Judd didn’t answer.

“It was a goddamn accident,” Riley repeated, pacing now. “She ran a light, that’s what they’re sayin’ on the news. That ain’t on me.”

There was a silence on the line, then Judd said flatly, “That buddy of mine said she’s got marks on her...”

Riley stopped walking.

“What?”

“On her neck. Her arms. They’re sayin’ it doesn’t match the accident injuries. They’re gonna ask me questions, Riley. And when they do, I’m not going down for this shit with you. You didn’t say anythin’ about hurtin’ her like that...”

Riley swallowed hard. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to hurt her, alright? I grabbed her. That’s it. She wouldn’t listen, and then she tried to leave—”

“Jesus Christ,” Judd hissed. “You told me you just wanted to talk to her.”

“I did!”

“But you grabbed her?” he scoffed.

“Just her arm. And her face for like—” he hesitated, exhaling. “Fuck—I lost it, okay? She was bein’ dramatic, you know? You know how she can be, right?”

Judd cursed on the other end. “You better start cleanin’ this up. They're gonna come after you — not me. This ain’t fallin’ on me.”

Riley’s jaw clenched. “Unbelievable. This was your idea! You’re the one who said I deserved a chance to talk to her—”

“You weren’t supposed to touch her!” Judd snapped. “You weren’t supposed to leave fucking marks! God you’re dumber than your daddy…” Judd coldly chuckled before he said in a low tone, “You better listen and listen well — get the fuck out of town, got it?”

Riley nodded then swallowed, “Got it.”

The line went dead as Judd hung up.

Riley stared at the phone, then tossed it onto the mattress with a curse. He yanked the duffel up and sat down hard on the bed, trying to breathe. His knee bounced. His mind raced.

'This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to have more time to come up with a plan.'

'Fuck. What am I going to do? I can't handle the cops on my ass..."

Then—three quick knocks.

“Maintenance,” a voice called from outside. “Got a report of a plumbing issue in one of the top rooms—need to check the lines.”

Riley blinked.

He looked at the door then the duffel. The duffel full of cash and pretty much two death notes.

“Fuck—” He muttered, his pulse spiked.

“Be right there!” he called, pushing the bag under the bed quickly.

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, grabbed a t-shirt, and tugged it over his head before opening the door.

A tall man stood there, maybe mid-20s, sun-worn, built like a man who worked with his hands. He wore jeans and a tucked-in button-up shirt — dark blue. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing a dusting of sawdust. He carried a silver toolbox in one hand, a wrench in the other, hands gloved. He looked the part, there was no doubt he was maintenance.

“Sorry to bother you so early, sir,” the man said with a hint of a Hispanic accent, his voice easy. “Got a call ‘bout a leak. Mind if I check your fixtures? Just routine.”

Riley narrowed his eyes slightly at the fixtures behind him. “Don’t think I noticed anythin' leakin' or off…”

“May not show yet. Could be coming through the wall,” the man said, motioning to the unit beside with a slight nod.

Riley hesitated but stepped aside. “Yeah, ok… yeah, um, come on in.”

Tommy stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind him. “Just you in here?”

Riley nodded turned back toward the small kitchenette. “Yeah, just me.”

He cleared his throat softly and followed close behind as Tommy took a few steps inside, looking around. “So, uh—what part do you need to check?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

Then a voice — low, calm — in fluent Spanish:

“Nadie escapa de la mordida de la serpiente.” (No one escapes the serpent’s bite.)

Riley turned, eyes wide.

“Wait, what did you say—?”

Then before he could register, the wrench came down hard — a sickening crack splitting the silence.

Riley’s body crumpled like a ragdoll against the edge of the bed frame, one arm twisted beneath him, the other limp at his side.

Tommy stood over him, breath steady, but his heart thrummed like a bass drum beneath his ribs. Not from fear — from fury. From the hate he had for men that hit women — especially good ones like you sank deep into his bones.

He rolled his shoulders back, suppressing the tremor in his right hand.

The wrench was slick with a smear of blood near the joint. Not enough to kill. But enough to remind Riley what it meant to be prey for once.

Tommy bent over and checked the pulse at the bastard’s neck.

‘Still there. Stronger than you deserve.’ he thought to himself.

"Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath in Spanish.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped the wrench down clean before tossing it back into his open toolbox, careful not to leave anything out of place.

Then he turned and gave the room a once-over.

'Duffel under the bed. Burner on the sheets. Coke on the dresser. God, you couldn't have set this up better for us, pendejo.'

He crossed the room, nudged it open with the toe of his boot, and crouched. Inside: bundles of cash — crumpled but thick — and a worn manila envelope.

Tommy pulled it out and unfolded it carefully.

The two IOUs.

$10,000 and $9,000. One marked with a familiar name — “D. Santos” — the other with just initials: E.M.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “No solo un pedazo de mierda, sino uno roto también…” (Not just a piece of shit, but a broke one too.)

He made a quick estimate of the money, maybe a couple grand — not nearly enough to pay either debt off.

He stood and flipped open the burner phone. No lock screen. No passcode.

‘Cabrón.’ he huffed.

The most recent texts were short, code-like. But one caught his eye as he scrolled through his inbox:

Riley: “I’ll get her to come around. One way or another.”

His stomach churned. That bastard sent it to Judd — and typed it to boot, too. Joel had been right. They were planning this. It was calculated.

He exhaled through his nose, fingers gripping the phone hard before placing it back.

He looked around the room once more then went over to the lamp in the window and turned it on and off twice before looking at Riley’s pathetic limp body. “Desearás no haber regresado nunca a casa.” (You're going to wish you had never come back home.)

Joel’s POV

The engine idled low beneath Joel’s boots as he leaned forward, elbows braced against the steering wheel.

His eyes locked on the second-story window.

Room 217.

The curtain didn’t move, but then—there it was.

A flick of light.

Once. Twice. That was the signal.

Joel swallowed hard. His throat felt tight — dry, like it was full of splinters.

‘It’s clear.’ he told himself.

His pulse began to thud, slow but strong. He could feel it in his neck, in his chest. In the places that had been numb to the last 24 hours.

He should’ve felt relief — but he didn’t.

Instead, something cold curled inside him — that flickering, bitter hesitation. The part of him that had been raised to walk away when the line between right and wrong blurred. The small part of him that was screaming:

‘This could ruin everything. If someone sees us. If Riley wakes up and talks. If she wakes up and needs you—and you're behind bars? Don’t be a fucking idiot.’

He exhaled, hard through his nose.

Then leaned back in the driver’s seat and opened his wallet he’d sat in the cup holder.

Inside, tucked neatly between a fifty dollar bill and an old parking ticket, was the two photobooth strips from the fair. He pulled them out, fingers already softly gliding over the photos — over the light of his life.

You.

That smile — god, that smile — frozen in time.

His hat perched on your head as you smiled when his lips touched your cheek. Your lips on his as he pulled you in for the first of many kisses. The warmth these eight photos and two strips of memories held.

He stared at it, thumb brushing over your image and he closed his eyes.

The weight in his chest was unbearable.

These same images had gotten him through the last 15 hours. Through the blood. The wires. The tube down your throat.

He hadn’t left your side once — not since.

Not until this. Not until he heard those doctors this morning suggest you’d might never come back to him.

Joel clenched his jaw and looked up at the motel window again. Then he thought of the marks on your neck, the handprints on your arms.

He thought of the way your voice must have cracked when you begged Riley to let you go with his hand around your throat.

He thought of the way your father invited Riley back, knowing damn well what kind of man he was.

Joel’s hand slammed down onto the steering wheel with a guttural grunt. His head dropped forward, forehead resting on the cool leather wheel. His breath heaved — sharp, ragged. And his chest ached with a fury he could no longer name.

This wasn’t just about retribution. This was about protection. Your protection.

You’d been prey — and he had failed to stop the wolf at the door.

Not again. Never again.

He lifted his head and shut the voice off, hardened himself to where it was all turned off and the only thing fueling him was the pent up rage he felt for this waste of space.

He opened the truck door slowly. The hinges creaked — the only sound in the quiet midday air.

His boots hit the pavement with weight. He put the hood of the hoodie he wore around his head and ducked his head down.

No one lingered outside. The blinds in the other windows were drawn. Just a lonely soda machine buzzing on the walkway beside the staircase.

He walked toward the stairs slowly, every footstep heavy, but sure. Like each one stamped down the wrath. Buried beneath it, was the beat of his own heart.

He climbed the stairs in silence, his hands clenched in the pockets of the hoodie to keep him from exploding.

When he reached the door, he paused.

One last breath. One last glance down at the photo from in his wallet — your smile, your eyes, your happiness.

‘For her.’ was all that he needed to tell himself before he slid the photo back into its sleeve, tugged his gloves on, and knocked once then three times on the door.

Tommy cracked the door a few seconds later, nodding once, face hard but calm.

Joel slipped inside.

The air was stale, and the room smelled like old smoke and something bitter beneath the bleach.

Riley was slumped in a chair. Still out cold.

He was zip-tied to a motel chair — wrists looped tightly, ankles bound to the legs — posture slumped and broken. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

His own dirty sock, used as a gag stuffed between his teeth had long soaked through with spit and blood. The duct tape held it all in place, tight around the jaw, silencing everything except his choked whimpers.

Tommy stepped back, arms crossed.

“He’s still out — but not for long,” he said softly in Spanish.

Joel’s eyes locked on the man before him — his heart turned to steel as he reached for the wrench sitting in Tommy's open tool box.

Riley groaned, head lolling forward beneath the pillowcase tied over his face. The fabric was soaked through near the top — blood from where the wrench had split his scalp — but not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to scare.

From across the room, Joel's boots moved slowly.

Measured. Heavy. Unforgiving.

He stepped into the dim light by the bedside lamp. No mask. Just eyes filled with hate, and his jaw set like stone.

He said nothing at first.

Just crouched beside the chair. Close enough for Riley to feel the heat of his breath through the cloth.

Then, quietly asked:

“¿Me escuchas, cabrón?” (Can you hear me, asshole?)

Riley suddenly twitched violently. A choked grunt escaped behind the gag.

Joel leaned in just a little closer, breath cold as ice.

“Vas a pagar todo lo que tomaste.” (You’re gonna pay everything you took.)

No names. No hints. Just the voice of a reckoning.

He stood again, slow and methodical, and reached for the wrench he’d had resting beside the chair.

He paced once in front of the chair. Then again, before coldly commanding.

“Confiesa lo que hiciste.” (Confess what you did)

Riley thrashed weakly and shook his head.

Joel didn’t hesitate — he drove a fist straight into his gut.

The chair rocked with the blow, the zip-ties creaking as Riley bent forward, gag-muffled cries filling the air.

“Confiesa, cuenta tus pecados” (Confess, tell your sins) Joel demanded again.

Riley tried to speak — begged through grunts — but again shook his head.

Joel hit him in the face this time, a clean, hard punch to the jaw that snapped Riley’s head to the side.

Tommy stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed, face unreadable, eyes dark.

Joel circled again, his veins filled with nothing but anger and rage, eyes black, chest starting to heave.

“You like power?” he hissed, slipping back into English. “¿Te gustó verla estremecerse? ¿Oírla llorar?” (You liked watchin’ her flinch? Hearin’ her cry?)

He struck again, knocking his head the other way.

Riley jerked and whimpered.

Joel’s nostrils flared.

He stepped back, bringing the wrench into his grip.

He heldd it high over Riley’s right leg.

“Veamos cuánto te gusta sentirte impotente.” (Let’s see how much you like bein’ powerless.) Then the swing was swift — brutal.

CRACK.

His kneecap gave instantly. Riley screamed behind the gag, thrashing, bucking, head whipping back and forth in immense pain.

Joel didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.

He waited. Let him writhe. Let him feel every second.

Then leaned in close again and whispered into the soaked pillowcase, putting his hand on the back of the chair to hold it still.

“Vas a rogar para morir antes de que termine.” (You’ll beg to die before this is over.)

Riley sagged, nearly faint.

But Joel wasn’t done.

“Confiesa,” he said once more — lower now, quieter, a devil’s lullaby.

Riley groaned something unintelligible.

¿Qué fue eso? No te entendí…” (What was that? I couldn’t understand you…)

He swung the wrench again, turning what was left to dust.

Riley’s body strained against his restraints and sobbed, his chest heaving quickly, unable to beg for him to stop.

“Stop?” He taunted in English, grabbing his hair through the pillow case, tilting his head back, setting the wrench down by the chair.

Riley’s head nodded through the pillow case, his sobs muffled.

“¡¿Me estás pidiendo que pare?!” (Are you asking for me to stop?) he yelled in his face, rage now taking over.

Riley could be heard agreeing as much as he could through the gag, his head beginning to nod more frantically.

Joel grabbed his face by grasping his jaw, keeping his head straight before he whispered only for him to hear, “¿Ella te pidió que pararas?” (Did she ask for you to stop?)

Riley sobbed, not knowing what was being asked of him. You could faintly hear him begging, "Please" through the gag, his chest heaving quickly up and down.

Joel held his face tighter, then muttered, "Fuck you." then wound up with a final, massive punch to the side of Riley’s face — and the chair buckled. One leg snapped out from beneath it with a sharp crack. Riley tipped backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud. His head struck the tile hard.

For only a split second the entire room went still — then Joel stepped forward, breath ragged, fists clenched, gaze locked on Riley’s body.

He stood over his limp, crumpled body and continued hitting his face — fists like hammers, falling again and again.

He didn’t even realize he was growling — something primal and broken in his throat. Every hit was a scream. A memory. Her voice. Her face. The bruises. The blood.

Tommy lunged forward when he heard bones begin to crack.

“¡Basta ya!” (That’s enough!)

He grabbed Joel by the shoulders and yanked him back hard.

Joel stumbled. Chest heaving. Eyes wild and rimmed red.

His hands shook — the gloves now covered in his revenge.

Tommy looked down at Riley’s body — still breathing, barely.

“¿Terminaste?” (Are you done?) Tommy asked, quiet but firm.

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at his own hands.

Blood, dirt, and your name still echoing in his head.

He looked up, nodded once, and then turned his back on the body as he began gathering everything into Tommy’s tool bag.

Tommy went to work fast to set it all up. He dragged the duffel into the center of the room, smearing Riley’s blood along the edge of the dresser, then back toward the cracked chair. He dipped his fingers in the pool of blood near Riley’s mouth and drew the crude cartel symbol on the wall. The “S” with the line through it. Los Serpientes.

He tossed Riley’s burner phone beside the duffel. The manila envelope with the IOUs was placed carefully beneath it.

It all looked deliberate now — calculated.

“Vamos,” Tommy said as he closed the tool bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Joel lingered by the door, chest still tight.

He looked back once at Riley’s body lying in his own small pool of blood.

He prayed God wouldn’t be merciful. That he’d let him live — that he would have to come to head with the consequences of his actions of what he did to you. That he’d rot behind bars for it.

Then turned back and walked out into the early morning sunlight, the motel room door swinging shut behind him like a coffin lid.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, fists still clenching and unclenching at his sides as they made it back to their trucks.

“You good?” Tommy asked, dropping the toolbox into the bed of his work truck.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the rusted motel sign, the curtained windows, and the silence beyond the door.

“I’m better now than I was yesterday, now that I know he can’t hurt her again,” he muttered.

Tommy nodded. “We need to call it in.”

Joel nodded and took off the gloves he wore. Tommy took them and told him he’d take care of everything.

They walked two blocks down, boots crunching over cracked pavement, until they reached the corner liquor store. A dusty old payphone sat bolted into the side of the brick wall, faded blue handset dangling like a relic from another lifetime.

Tommy wiped it once with his sleeve before handing it to Joel. “Dial star-sixty-seven. Then 911.”

Joel took it with steady hands, pressed the buttons, and turned his back to the parking lot.

The phone rang once before a dispatcher picked up.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

Joel lowered his voice into something nondescript. “That man that’s wanted on the news, for beatin’ that girl from the accident? He’s at the Rosewood. Room 217.”

The line was quiet for half a second, keyboard clicks then, “Ok thank you for that information. Can I have your name for the police report?”

Joel paused. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Click.

He hung up and turned to his brother.

Tommy gave a small nod, pulling his cap lower on his head. “Let’s get gone before sirens show.”

They didn’t rush. They walked back to the truck slowly and steadily, just two working men leaving a job site. Nothing frantic. No guilt. No red flags.

Inside the cab, Joel stared out the windshield for a beat, his jaw tense.

“You think that’s enough?” Tommy asked quietly, leaning in through the passenger window from outside.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“He won’t ever come near her again, and that’s all I need to know,” he said finally, turning the key to start the engine.

Tommy nodded and stepped back, gently patting the window. “That’s enough for me.”

By the time Joel pulled into his long gravel driveway, the adrenaline had worn off.

He stepped out of the truck and grabbed his phone from the cupholder. It had been dead since leaving the hospital. He could feel the tightness in his shoulders, the toll of every punch, every held-back scream.

He entered the house, walked past the photos on the wall, past the chair where you always curled up in the mornings with your coffee. He couldn’t stop to look at them, he needed to focus on getting back to the hospital — back to you.

Inside the bathroom, he started undressing, placing everything into a trash bag, and turned on the shower water.

He plugged in his phone, and when he powered it back on, messages started lighting the screen like fireworks. Missed calls from Everly. Wes. One from his dad. Two from his mom.

He quickly showered, taking as little time as he could to avoid any further suspicion on how long he’d been gone.

Then, just as he was toweling off, it buzzed against the counter.

Incoming Call: Everly

Joel’s heart thumped — not fast, not panicked. Just… ready.

He answered, voice low and steady. “Hey, everythin’ ok?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Everly’s voice cracked with worry. “I’ve called a dozen times—”

“I know, I’m sorry, my phone died right as I left, I just realized,” Joel said calmly, like nothing had happened. “You alright? Is she ok?”

There was a pause. Then a sigh of somewhat relief from her: “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay. She’s the same. Still sleeping. The doctors came by about an hour ago… they are gonna try to wean her off sedation starting tomorrow, see if her cognitive tests improve...”

Joel’s eyes fell to the photo of you both on his nightstand — one of the two of you from the night at the cowboy bar, Tommy had taken of the two of you dancing in the middle of the crowd. His thumb brushed over the glass.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said. “Just needed to finish cleanin’ up. I’ll bring coffee.”

“You sure you’re alright?” she asked.

He could tell she heard it — the quiet. The stillness in him that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said.

And for the first time in hours, Joel smiled with a sense of satisfaction washing over him.

Joel stepped off the elevator and walked down the unfortunate — yet familiar hallway. His boots echoed softly against the linoleum with each step he took. The scent of antiseptic burned in his nose, but he barely registered it. His body moved on autopilot, every step back to your room rehearsed in his mind.

When he reached the door, Everly was seated by the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Wes stood at the foot of your bed, talking quietly to a nurse. As he entered, both siblings turned — Everly with narrowed eyes, Wes with something colder.

Joel offered a calm, quiet nod. “She doin’ okay?” he looked at the nurse.

She nodded and gave a small, polite smile, “Just checking vitals, still stable.”

Everly stared for a second too long, then added. “Still asleep. No changes.”

Joel’s gaze moved to you instantly — the way your fingers still lay where he’d left them just hours before, your chest rising and falling. His expression was calm, but the storm behind his eyes hadn't yet passed.

Wes stepped forward, stepping into his gaze that was on you. “Hey… you mind stepping out with us for a sec?”

Joel blinked, setting down the to-go tray of coffee he’d brought for the three of them. “Yeah, what for?”

Everly stood slowly. “Just want to talk, give her a moment of some quiet, yeah?”

Joel hesitated, then walked over and gave your forehead a gentle kiss before he backed up and followed them into the hallway.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wes didn’t wait. “Where the hell were you today?”

Joel’s jaw tensed at the tone he gave. “Told you. Needed to clear my head, plus I told you I had things to take care of.”

“Bullshit,” Wes snapped. “You ghosted us for hours. Didn’t answer a single call. Now you show back up lookin’ like you’ve seen a war, what the hell?”

Everly’s voice was low. “Joel… you’ve got this calm thing going on, and that’s not like you. Not right now — not since yesterday.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Wes took a step closer. “You went after him, didn’t you?”

Joel met his eyes. “Like I said, I had things to take care of.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wes muttered, turning away for a moment. “You think that’s what she’d want?”

Joel’s voice didn’t rise. “I think what she wants is to never need to be afraid again.”

Everly looked between them. “Just… just tell us you didn’t do anything that could tie back to you.”

But Joel didn’t respond, he just took a deep breath in and stared past them, avoiding the interrogation.

Then the television screen above them flickered, and the hospital hallway stilled as one of the nurses turned up the volume.

BREAKING NEWS: SUSPECT OF ASSAULT WAS FOUND BRUTALLY BEATEN AT ROSEWOOD MOTEL - POLICE SUSPECT TIES TO THE CARTEL.

The news anchor announced, “…suspected connections to cartel retaliation, possibly linked to unresolved gambling debts. The victim, Riley Jameson, was discovered bound and unconscious, with multiple injuries including a crushed knee, broken jaw, severe head trauma, and fractured ribs. Police say there is no current suspect, but the scene suggests organized involvement as the Los Serpentines tag was found inside the room along with an IOU note in Jameson’s possession.”

The anchor continued, but all three of them were frozen as they watched flashes of the crime scene shown.

Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all.

Wes turned to him slowly. “What did you do?”

Joel said nothing and looked at Wes with eyes that were begging him not to make him say it out loud.

Everly pulled the three of them closer and lowered her voice, “If this was you and God knows who else, just look at me and tell me one thing — were you smart?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak at first; he just did one short nod before he cleared his throat and ran a hand over his scruff then inhaled deeply and quietly said, “Yes. Of course.”

Everly and Wes looked back at the TV and watched as Riley’s photo flashed on the screen. It continued going on about him being the main suspect in your investigation.

With that, an agreement was passed between the two of them without needing to say a word. They looked back at each other and silently vowed to never speak of this again.

Later that night

The soft click of the door closing echoed louder than it should’ve.

Joel stood still for a moment, blinking against the dim hospital light. The only illumination in the room came from the monitors — little green lines blinking, humming, keeping rhythm for the woman that held his heart lying still in that bed.

Everly and Wes had finally left to grab food. Promised they’d be back in thirty minutes. He nodded like it mattered, but all he could hear was the stillness — the kind that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes.

He ran a hand down his face, then walked to your bedside slowly, his boots quieter now, like even they knew they shouldn’t disturb you.

You looked just the same — too pale, too still, too hollow.

A tube still down your throat, a bruise blooming a deeper shade of purple with each hour across your neck, tape clinging to your wrist where the IV line fed its steady drip.

He sat down in the same chair, assuming the position of the same posture. That same knot in his chest that hadn’t loosened since the day before.

His fingers reached for yours without thinking, threaded between them — holding onto you tight.

“You missed a hell of a sunset,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Orange like fire over the ridge. Buck would’ve loved it — Wes said he damn near galloped when he let him out to pasture.”

No answer — just the beeping.

Joel’s throat worked. He leaned forward, elbows braced the edge of the bed, thumb brushing slow circles into your knuckles.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to say this,” he whispered. “I’ve never been good with words. But I think you always saw through me anyway.”

A heavy silence continued.

“I did somethin’, sweetheart.”

He swallowed. “I don’t regret it. Not one goddamn second of it. I’d do it again. A hundred times over.”

His voice cracked then, raw and low. “But I wish… I wish you didn’t have to pay for it. I wish none of this ever touched you.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly. His stubble scratched against your skin as he lingered there.

“This ain’t how your story ends,” he whispered against your hand. “It can’t be.”

Another beat passed, then a sob climbed out of his chest — quiet, guttural, and stolen.

“Please don’t leave me…” he choked, dropping his forehead against your joined hands. “Fight. Please fight.”

Tears slipped from his eyes, soaking the edge of the sheet.

“I’m right here, baby… waitin’. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll be the one to remind you who you are if you forget.” His voice shook. “Just don’t quietly go away. Don’t slip through my fingers like this...”

His body trembled now, voice breaking open like something sacred inside him cracked wide.

“I need you.”

The words spilled out like a prayer. Like a surrender.

“You’re my home. My girl. My heart. If you go… I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”

He kissed your hand again, then moved forward, leaning forward and kissed your temple — soft, worshipful — like the kind of touch meant for memories, not flesh.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

Careful not to tangle in wires or disturb a single part of you, he climbed onto the edge of the bed, curling his larger frame against the small space you took up. His arm slid gently beneath your shoulders, the other resting protectively over your waist. You barely weighed anything. He could feel your ribs rise and fall against him with each breath the ventilator pushed.

His lips brushed your hairline as he settled close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “Come back to me, baby. Please…”

The room stayed silent aside from the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitor.

He closed his eyes, letting his cheek rest against your forehead, his body pressed against yours like a shield. “We’ve got so much left to do,” he murmured. “I want to tell you so much. Show you that canyon we drove past. Take you dancin’ under real stars — not ones strung up over a bar floor.”

He exhaled shakily. “I want a life with you, a family — I want to grow old beside you.”

A brief moment of silence took up space, and then — a twitch against his hand. One so faint he thought he imagined it.

His eyes opened. He looked down where your hand lay loosely in his. The monitor beeped on, steady. His thumb brushed across yours again, and this time— it moved.

Your finger curled — not by much, just the smallest twitch — but enough.

Enough to snap the breath from his lungs.

Joel sat up slightly, staring at your hand in his, as if willing it to move again. And it did.

Another flutter. Just as small. But just as real.

He let out a quiet, broken sound and brought your joined hands to his chest, holding them like a lifeline. His forehead dropped against yours once more.

“I understand,” he whispered, voice cracking with relief. “You’re fightin’.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, one after another.

“I’m right here when you’re ready. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

His voice went quieter still.

“I’ve got you, baby.” he said as he held you close — not like you were slipping away, but like you were slowly, beautifully… coming back to him.

In the early hours of the next morning, the room was dark but not silent — the rhythmic hum of the ventilator filled the quiet space like a lullaby. Joel’s arm stayed around you as he lay curled beside you in the narrow hospital bed, your fingers still resting in his. One dim light above the sink cast a pale wash across the room, but otherwise, it was still. Peaceful.

At some point, he drifted off, forehead still resting near yours.

His dreams weren’t deep. They were full of disjointed memories — your laugh, your hand tugging his toward the photobooth at the fair, the way you whispered his name half-asleep in his bed a few mornings ago. He murmured something in his sleep, his hand twitching around yours.

And then a soft knock at the door stirred him from his sleep.

He blinked slowly, then sat up in a haze, disoriented, but a protective instinct kicked in immediately.

The nurse’s voice was low, gentle. “Mr. Miller?”

He rubbed his face and blinked again, taking in the sight of her and a man in scrubs standing just beyond the threshold. The badge on the man’s coat read Dr. Hayden Callahan, Neuro.

Joel straightened immediately, clearing his throat softly. He almost didn’t recognize him, he looked so different without scrubs on.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you. We just need to do a quick neuro check, if that’s alright.”

Joel nodded and slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb you. His boots hit the tile softly as he moved to the side, folding his arms and watching like a hawk.

Dr. Callahan stepped in first, shining a penlight into your eyes, murmuring to the nurse.

“Pupils are equal and reactive. No anisocoria.”

The nurse was already adjusting the bed, raising it slightly to position your head better.

“Can we remove the paralytics yet?” she asked softly.

“Already cleared with ICU protocol,” the doctor replied. “We’ve begun tapering her sedation, too. Let's see how her reflexes are responding...”

He leaned down and spoke to you calmly, clearly.

“Okay, sweetheart. If you can hear me, I want you to try to squeeze my fingers. Just a little squeeze — that’s it.”

Joel held his breath. His fingers curled tightly into his palms as he watched.

There was a pause — one second, two — and then— a twitch of your right pointer finger.

“Slight contraction in the right hand,” the nurse said quickly, her eyes flicking to the monitor, watching for anything to note.

Joel’s heart skipped. He took a step closer. “She… she uh, moved a couple times last night. Same thing as right now.”

Dr. Callahan nodded once. “She’s tracking. Still delayed, but she’s responding. Let’s try a command.”

He leaned closer to you again. “Alright, Y/N, can you open your eyes for me? Even just a little?”

After a few moments, your eyelids fluttered. Barely — just a tremble. But it was there.

Joel nearly stepped forward again but stopped himself, holding his breath.

“Good,” the doctor said gently. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

He turned to the nurse. “Mark this — reflexes are beginning to return. I’d say 36–48 hours until full arousal is likely, barring any unexpected pressure spikes.”

“Still risk of retrograde amnesia?” she asked softly.

“Always with temporal injuries,” he replied, adjusting the chart. “But it’s promising. Swelling is down nearly twenty percent from yesterday’s baseline.”

Joel’s throat caught. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to steady his breathing.

You were coming back to him.

Not in full — not yet. But it was happening. Little by little. You were fighting.

He watched as they finished their assessment — the nurse checking the IVs, adjusting your ventilator slightly — before she turned to him with a small smile.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” she whispered.

Joel nodded, eyes locked on your peaceful face. “Always has been.”

She nodded towards the door, “Mind if we step out for a moment?”

He pinched his eyebrows, confused, and looked back at you once, “Uhm, yeah, of course.”

She led him out to the middle of the hallway and hesitated before saying, “Uhm, there’s… one other thing.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowing.

“Her father’s here,” she said carefully. “He’s been in the waiting room for about an hour, he tried last night too. Apparently, he’s trying to get in to see her.”

Joel’s jaw tensed.

“We’ve denied him access per law enforcement instruction — the hold is still active while the investigation is pending. He’s refused to leave until he gets answers, but as you know, we can’t share any details with him due to HIPAA.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it briefly before muttering, “Christ.”

The nurse shifted her weight, lowering her voice. “Do you want us to call hospital security? Or contact the sheriff to have him removed?”

Joel looked through the window again — to you.

You were starting to look warmer, like you were coming back, you were refusing to give up.

He stared for a moment longer and then turned back to the nurse.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice calm but threaded with steel. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Her eyes widened a little. “Are you sure?”

He gave a slow nod. “I won’t start nothin’. Thank you for letting me know.”

She hesitated, then gave a respectful nod. “The waiting room’s two floors down. Just take the east elevators. I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

Joel didn’t say another word.

He looked back at you once more — at the color returning to your cheeks, the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“I’ll be right back, my love” he whispered, then turned, squared his shoulders, and walked down the hallway towards the elevators. His boots were silent but filled with a quiet rage — his purpose burning, steady, with every step.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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w1zxrd · 1 day ago

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The Stranger Things writers want byler shippers to feel like Joyce Byers.

(i'm aware this is a long read, but it's worth it i promise! 💔)

- "Joyce, 99 out of 100 times a kid goes missing, the kid is with a parent or relative."

"Well, what about the other time? You said, '99 out of 100', what about the other time, the one? The one!" -

since the season 5 release date teaser came out, lot of stranger things fans have made their way back to the fandom!.. delightful! because of that, arguments over certain stranger things topics have gotten more vocal (if that's even possible); like, for example, the wars between byler and mileven and which will be endgame!

mileven shippers, or maybe even just anti-byler shippers, have been mentioning (as they always do) that "byler wont happen", "it makes no sense", and "byler shippers are delusional". as well as that comes a lot of complaints from byler fans; saying mileven shippers have it all wrong, they under analyze, and dont understand the small details Stranger Things writers and directors bring to the table.

with all this being said, as a byler shipper myself, its quite frustrating when some people just dont see what you see and will never believe what you believe, especially on a topic that is pretty important to you.. That sounds a bit familiar, right? 😭 (i'm getting to the point, I swear. stay with me now.)

- "Maybe I am a mess, maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m out of my mind! But, God help me, I will keep these lights up until the day I die if I think there’s a chance that Will’s still out there!" -

this is ALL that Joyce Byers had gone through when trying to find Will in season one. Will communicated to her through the lights, she saw him through the wall, she heard his phone calls.. but because the chances that such supernatural and unrealistic things were happening are very low, nobody believed her.

recently, i saw a comment on tiktok stating something along the lines of, "i have no idea why it feels like everyone is incapable of listening in this fandom. the general audience has a surface level of knowledge on everything that simple analyses can make you feel crazy," and it made me realize something.

maybe, just maybe, that's the entire point. i know that's pretty obvious, but on the topic of byler, it's easy to feel crazy! a lot of people say that the byler evidence we have seen means nothing, and it's all just delusional. a HUGE number of people believe byler won't become endgame and are concerningly very against it, actually. it's like Joyce with the lights. she knew Will was alive, and people argued she was going crazy.

but was she really crazy? nope. she wasn't. after everything, after no one had believed her at first, she was RIGHT. i mean, (this is important) the proof that Will was alive was very obvious to her, she saw it herself! some just didn't agree with her because THEY didn't see it.

this sounds oddly familiar to what happens between mileven and byler shippers. we have so much evidence, so much proof, that it almost just feels obvious how the final season is gonna go for Mike and Will, yet we still get called delusional and crazy for it all.

but, this is SUPPOSED to happen. it's no accident. the writers have set this up in such a way that some people will just never accept the fact that Will and Mike could be a potential couple in season 5, the idea almost feels impossible to them: they are basically the people who didnt believe Joyce. they've built it in a way that mirrors Joyce's experience. despite everything, Will was still found alive after he was seen 'dead' and even had his own funeral! sometimes, the impossible IS possible.

in conclusion, byler may feel unrealistic, what are the chances that these male main characters of this show will fall in love? the shows so popular, that just can't happen! well, you know what, people also believed Will wasn't alive, but Joyce did. and she was right.

byler shippers, you may feel crazy. you may feel out of your mind. but maybe we are right, and people will just never believe it until it truly happens.. there will always be the 1 in the 99 out of 100.

if youve made it this far thank you so much!

#byler #joyce byers #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #byler endgame #i hope this makes sense #byler nation #idk how to use tags #mike wheeler is gay

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oneinnocentprincess · 1 day ago

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Eleanor was struggling to keep focus of the actual conversation they had been having. She had been pulled so deeply in, only for him to pull slightly away at the last possible moment. He didn't really do anything, how was that driving her so much right now? His comment about her blushing made sense, it was just a lean. However, it managed to feel like dozens of things at once.

Before she could really figure out what that was, he was suddenly throwing another move at her. This time he did touch her, but it felt like now he had missed the target. So much yet so little was happening. This was nothing compared to the evening before but she was completely flustered. Her body wanted to move towards his, but she did not even know what she would even do once she got there. Eleanor just sat there, taking in these teases from him him.

How did this man know exactly what to say? She guessed after the many relationships he's had it comes easy at this point, but he even admitted to her they were not at the level this one was. His offer to her to tell him what she needed was dangerously tempting, but no words formed in her mouth. What on earth was this man planning? He had to have some kind of plan.

Before she could even try to investigate further, he was suddenly surprising her again, suggesting they just sleep. They hardly looked at the book and now he was leaving her with thinking over all these actions? It felt like she was being taunted but with no ill-intent. Clearly he had a motive, one she could not quite figure out just yet. Did he pick up on how much she was desiring him? If so, why was he going to sleep? What on earth was happening?

All sorts of thoughts circled her head as she laid back against him. How could he sleep with such ease when she had dozens of things to say--yet she could not imagine to say a single one of those things. Eleanor kept replaying his movements in her head before falling asleep--which did not help. Her dreams only continuously reminded her of him and all the pleasing he's done, of all the things she desired from him.

The young woman was stirring in her sleep to the point that she managed to wake before him, the feelings from the night not leaving. If anything, they only grew. He said she could ask him if she ever needed something, and she certainly was going to take him up on his offer. Eleanor adjusted herself, laying on her side as one hand rested on his bare shoulder as she leaned into his neck. "Oscar..." She mumbled into him as her body shifted, needing him. She laid a few kisses, hoping that would wake him up while her hand also gently rubbed the side of his arm. "I need you to do the mouth thing...please." She was nervous, lust did help mask some of it but she still was questioning what was and was not appropriate. He had mentioned there were not restrictions of time of day for this to happen, so this was fine, wasn't it? Was it rude to wake someone up for one thing? Her heart was pounding waiting for an answer.

Oscar didn’t need to say a word to know he’d gotten under her skin—the way her breath caught, the subtle shift in her posture, and the blush rising on her cheeks said enough. It wasn’t boastful pride that filled him, but something quieter, more intimate—a satisfaction in knowing he could reach her, stir her, without demanding or rushing. She was reacting to him, even if she didn’t yet know what to do with that reaction.

He let his eyes linger on the book in his hands, pretending to study the page, though he wasn’t reading a word. What caught his attention now was her—her silence, her breath, the fragile tension in the air between them. He didn’t need more than that to know the space they shared had shifted into something charged and delicate.

Turning his head just slightly, his voice was low and easy, touched with dry charm. “If you’re going to blush every time I lean in,” he said, “I might have to start making a habit of it.” His smile was soft, playful without arrogance, a quiet acknowledgment of what passed between them.

He leaned in again—but slower this time, eyes searched hers with deliberate patience, and then, without fully closing the distance, he brushed the corner of her mouth with his lips—light, unhurried, not quite a kiss, but close enough to linger in the space between wanting and restraint. When he pulled back, it was steady, his expression calm, though a glint of satisfaction warmed his eyes. “That one,” he murmured, “wasn’t in the book.”

He looked at her properly now, more composed, but still touched by something boyish at the edge of his smile. “It’s not a bad thing,” he added gently, “that I can affect you like this. I like knowing I’m not the only one unravelling a little tonight. And I hope you’ll keep telling me—if I go too far, or if I don’t go far enough. Tell me what you need. Whatever it is you need."

"Now, should we get some sleep? It's getting quite late, and I suspect you'll only have more questions tomorrow. I'd like to be well-rested enough to answer them," he teased.

#isles of man

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hey-itsdollie · 2 days ago

Note

HIII !! i have a angst/fluff request if you don’t mind !!

so my fav is karasu and i was telling my friend how i am not mediocre and how karasu should want me cos i do so much (basically flex all my awards and extracurricular activities) and then one of my friends said ‘honestly considering his inner struggles with himself he might think you’re out of his league 😭’

SO i was wondering if you could make something based on them being like kinda insecure END IT IN FLUFF COS I CANT DEAL WITH AN ANGST ENDING 😞 could you include karasu (obv), maybe otoya and rin and anyone else you want !!!!

THANK YOU !!!!!!!

His Insecurities

‧₊˚ ┊ The bllk guys have their own insecurities</3

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » karasu. otoya. rin.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ angst/fluff, fem reader, mentions of insecurities, friends to ???

── .✦ Tabito Karasu

The jealousy ate him alive sometimes. The foul insults slipping past his lips faster than he could even think sometimes. Only realizing what he had said once he was having to follow up with what he was saying.

Karasu hated it. The thought of being mediocre scared him. He talked a big game–yet where were his winning scores? They were nowhere.

Whether it was simple grades, sure he was smart but if someone got a higher grade percentage–his paper would be hidden, a random high number blurted from his mouth as he faked a proud smirk.

A small backhanded comment being left where he stood as the other person was forced to just think about what he said to them. It was a defense mechanism–one that he couldn’t really pinpoint where it had started–or why.

More often than not Karasu would try to hold back with his comments. Not wanting to anger one of his close friends or come off as rude to random people he met on the street.

And when it came to you, god you were like the final boss for him.

High scores, many different extracurriculars, he wasn’t sure there was something you couldn’t do. When he saw you there was not one insult he could think of to make himself seem better. It was as if he couldn’t one-up you even if he tried.

You were beautiful, talented, and smart.

He was plain, mediocre, and a liar if you thought about it. He was nowhere near your level. Karasu felt his walls shake and struggled to repair itself when he was around you.

It got to the point where when you were around others, he would beg internally for nothing on his snarky comments to be revealed to you. Why would someone like you have the time to spend with him? A liar. A jealous filthy liar.

Unbeknownst to him, you already knew of his insulting comments. You knew yet you never questioned him about them. He was kind enough to you and others. Seemingly the insults never went further than choice of words.

And as time went on you noticed he would actually compliment you–the complete opposite of insulting. From this you began to grow great affection for the dark-haired male.

Karasu would occupy your thoughts as you questioned what his type was. Thinking that it could be a possibility that he liked smarter girls, ones that weren’t mediocre. The hope in your heart was practically spilling out.

Oh how you wished to have the chance to be with him. To have the courage to simply turn to him one day and confess all your thoughts and feelings.

Meanwhile, Karasu had begun to notice all your actions. The way you complimented him more, the way you’d make not only a bento for yourself but also for him.

You even went as far as buying him new cleats for his birthday, something he had brought up a few times but not enough to be remembered.

You were far more than mediocre and Karasu was starting to mentally feel okay about that. The jealousy turned into pride.

He was proud of you–proud of every accomplishment of yours whether or not it was big or small.

── .✦ Eita Otoya

Otoya was a known ladies man. A man who cheats on every girl he could get his hands on.

Of course, besides you.

Otoya always ignored those who tried to reprimand him on his way and outlook of dating. Why play with girls’ hearts when he could actually form a connection.

In reality he truly did form some connections. But if the relationship had gone past the comfortable line he had put–well, that would signal the immediate end to it.

The male would use the excuse that he “didn’t want to be locked down to one girl”. Something even his best friend seemed to give him a hard time about.

But Otoya didn’t really know when it started happening. The more and more he saw girls the less and less thoughts of dating went to his head. The mere thought of getting in a relationship drained him enough to not even give it attention.

Perhaps it was due to his best friend that had recently gotten into a relationship. The happy smiles and grins on his face, the constant small facts of his relationship that would be brought up. Otoya was too much of a coward to admit he was jealous.

He wanted that for himself–wanted to have a couple photos as his phone background, wanted to wake up to “good morning” texts like every love sick fool his age.

Yet it got to the point where he truly didn’t believe he could find that. Practically everyone knew of his past–the way he’d play with you for a bit then drop you once he was bored. Otoya was known as a cheater.

Which was something he didn’t want to be known for anymore.

When Otoya first met you, he didn’t think much about where your friendship could go. If it would turn intimate or stay mutual. That probably crossed his mind once or twice, but it never overstayed it’s welcome in his thoughts.

As your friendship grew Otoya found himself doing things he wouldn’t normally do. He started missing your texts–waiting for the “delivered” icon to turn to “read” as if he was waiting for a huge surprise. He found himself missing you, seeing you in every place he went.

If he saw a plushie at the mall–immediately thought of you. When a song on his playlist would play he could immediately tell if it was one you introduced him too.

Otoya was in denial–something everyone could start being able to tell. Especially his best friend.

“Eita, so is she another–you know, play thing?”

Otoya stared up at Karasu blankly. “Play thing? No way!”

Otoya often found himself getting upset when either Karasu or anybody assumed he was playing around with you. He would never do that to you. He refused to let himself do that.

He cared for you.

He cared for you so much that it hurt.

The mere idea of you being crushed over something made his heart drop, and the idea–the small chance that he could easily screw things up. Ate him alive.

But when he spent time with you, you never brought up his past. Or made nasty comments. You simply spent time with him–listening to his sometimes weird stories, laughing at his odd jokes and impressions, you noticed him.

You noticed a version of him that many had forgotten–including himself.

You brought out the best in him and he could never thank you enough for that.

── .✦ Rin Itoshi

Rin wasn’t one for making connections. Perhaps it was due to his past of being considered an “odd” kid or perhaps it was due to what had gone down between him and his brother.

Knowing him he probably put the blame on the latter.

The constant fear, almost anxious feeling he got whenever the two of you seemed to be moving along to a relationship that is higher than friendship–something more intimate than he was used to.

The small voice in the back of his head that repeatedly reminded him of how his own brother left him for a reason he did not understand. From how things currently stand he probably would never know.

Was he not enough to keep a relationship with? A connection?

Rin tended to hide those thoughts and feelings behind a cold facade, his face almost never contracting into an emotional expression besides annoyance or frustration.

It was a mystery for him on how you–one of the few people he acknowledged as a friend–seemed to stick around. You were everything he wasn’t.

You were bright and always had a smile on your face. Animals seemed to come to you with no beckoning, children came to you for questions even when you didn’t have the answers. He heard people speak highly of you; something he only got very little when it came to soccer.

His advancements were outshined by his older brother.

But in the end, even when it got hard and he would lock himself away. Cursing out any of the other players for getting in his way. You seemed to always be welcome–whether it was just a small call through the phone or a small hang out at his place.

Oh how he was jealous of you–even if he wouldn’t admit it–Rin adored you.

He adored the airy feeling you brought to his gloomy atmosphere. The bright smile that made him forget everything else in the world. Along with the small nonsense you would ramble about that would end up circulating in his mind, even when you weren’t around.

Oh, how Rin adored you.

A friend. A relationship he has yet to fully indulge further into.

“Rinnie!”

The male shook his head out of the entanglement of thoughts, as he raised his gaze. His eyes found yours as you stood in the doorway holding a white grocery bag in hand.

“I went to the convenience store, bought a ton of the new snacks they had!”

The black-haired male nodded and made room on his bed for you. Pausing the long forgotten soccer video he had been struggling to study.

“Hey hey, Rinnie–”

“--Hm what is it?”

You leaned towards him with a bright smile, your eyes holding eye contact with his easily. “Have you seen that new sci-fi movie? We should totally watch it!”

It wasn’t until you turned away to set up the movie that Rin’s lips curved up into a small barely noticeable smile.

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #dollie's diary #bllk #karasu x reader #karasu tabito x reader #karasu tabito #otoya x reader #otoya eita x reader #otoya eita #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

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sunflowerhae · 15 hours ago

Text

Late to love you P. ll.

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: fluff, lots of angst, classic she fell first he fell harder, yearning (like a lotttt), language, jealous haechan (regretful bastard), drinking/partying, spoiler they kiss

Notes: long awaited! Thanks so much for your patience yall, you guys were hounding me for part 2 (thank u for supporting me it means a lot and keeps me accountable🥹) I’ve been really in my yearning era I.E. watching a lot of pride and prejudice/jim and Pam edits on TikTok so…this one is gna be juicy lmfao. also yall were wanting me to really make haechan suffer and honestly tbh..maybe I took it too far bc haechan really crashes out in this my bad. I just crave angst and sadness idk I have issues.

Playlist (ofc cause I’m me) (but fr yall I don’t play about yearning music so give it a try!!)

2/2, Previous, Masterlist

The air in Eldhollow always smelled different after winter break—crisper, like the snow had bleached the scent from the stone paths and old trees. Students filtered back onto campus wrapped in scarves and cloaks, dragging trunks behind them, some still pink-cheeked from travel, others bleary-eyed from a week of last-minute essays and spell revisions.

Haechan sat across from Jeno in the corner of Witch’s Brew & Co., nursing a still-steaming cup of butterbrew and watching the way the snow melted against the enchanted windows. He liked this café—too much, probably. But after nearly two weeks away, something about being back in its soft lighting and clove-sweet air helped quiet the static in his chest.

“Well,” Jeno started, the spoon that occupied his tea swirled around the rim of his cup on its own, creating an ambience that sounded closer to nails on a chalkboard, “you look like someone who got fat off of sweets and neglect.”

Haechan snorted into his cup. “Thanks. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

Jeno leaned back in his chair, accidentally kicking at Haechan’s boot. “How was your break?”

Haechan shrugged, eyes still on the frost that crept along the glass outside. “Fine. Loud. Spent most of it at home trying to stop my little brothers from turning the cat into a footstool.”

Jeno laughed. “Did they succeed?”

“The cat is now… wary.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been chaos, as always—his younger siblings were walking explosions of magic and sugar, and his mum was constantly ten seconds from combusting. But beneath the noise had been something quieter. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, not even to Jeno, but he’d spent too much of the holiday thinking about her.

Y/N.

She’d said she needed space. Had thanked him for the party, then disappeared before he could find the words to make things right. And he had respected that—tried to. Tried to pretend he didn’t see her in class (one might call what he did staring, but that’s beside the point). Tried not to wonder what she was doing, who she was with. Tried not to read into every dream that still started with her voice and ended with him waking up too warm and annoyed with himself.

“So,” Jeno said casually, as if passing comment on the weather and not practically reading Haechan’s mind, “I heard Y/N might be seeing someone.”

Haechan’s heart stopped, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just brought the mug to his lips and took a slow sip, like the words didn’t sink like stones in his stomach.

“Really?” he said, voice flat with practiced indifference. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Mina mentioned it, said she got it from someone in her advanced potions class who was friends with y/n so… rumor, probably. But still.”

Haechan hummed low in his throat, noncommittal. He didn’t say more.

Jeno watched him over the rim of his glass. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Haechan said lightly. “It’s not like I ever dated her.”

“No,” Jeno said, slow and careful, “but you’ve been different since that party, so I wondered.”

“She said she needed space,” Haechan said, finally turning his gaze from the window to his friend. “So I gave it to her. What else am I supposed to do?”

Jeno didn’t answer right away. He just tilted his head a little, studying him the way only someone who’d known him for years could. “Maybe not nothing.”

Haechan didn’t reply. He didn’t think he could even form a sentence if he tried, because it wasn’t just that she might be seeing someone—it was that someone else might be seeing her. Her laugh. Her weird little rants about ghosts and magic theory. The way she curled her hair behind one ear when she was nervous, or how her voice got sharp when she talked about something she loved. The fact that she’d once looked at him like he was her whole world… and now might be looking at someone else the same way.

It burned.

He knew he didn’t have a right to be jealous. She didn’t owe him anything—not after the way he’d treated her at that party. He’d panicked; Fumbled every chance he had with her. Now he was alone, watching the price of that cowardice play out - having to get updates about her from fuckass Jeno of all people.

Still, the idea that someone else could be close to her now—could be the one she reached out to when she was upset or excited or bored—settled in his chest like a curse. In her own words, she’d once wished he saw her; now that he did, he was terrified he was too late.

As Jeno wandered off to place another order, Haechan sat in silence, fingers curled around the warmth of his mug, letting the rumor echo over and over again in his head.

Y/N might be seeing someone; and even worse —it might be true. And if it was, he wasn’t sure how he’d stop himself from crashing out entirely.

—-

The lecture hall buzzed with quiet tension, the kind that came not from the professor’s voice — which was calmly explaining magical jurisdiction clauses — but from the weight of what she’d just announced; the thing that caused y/n’s heart to pound in her chest so loudly she feared others around her might catch on.

“The Department of Experimental Magic is looking to take on four students for a six-month internship,” Aldwych announced, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard. “They’ll be hand-picked from this course, based on your written thesis proposals and your demonstrated skill. This is not the time to coast. I repeat—four.”

She sat two rows behind Haechan, though she wasn’t thinking about him - not consciously, anyway. She was too busy imagining what it would feel like to be chosen. To finally be seen for more than what she seemed like. To be recognized for what she was — sharp, quietly clever, resilient.

But still, every time he shifted in his seat, every time he tilted his head to whisper something to Mark beside him (who was not enrolled in this class mind you, just came for some emotional support so haechan didn’t stare at y/n), her eyes flickered to him on instinct like a compass drawn north; Stupid compass.

She was supposed to be over it.

After all, she’d spent winter break curled up in a too-small armchair by the fire, pretending she wasn’t haunted by the memory of Haechan’s voice in that kitchen. You’re all I think about. As if it had meant something. As if it hadn’t been followed by days — weeks — of silence.

He hadn’t reached out once. She knew he was trying to respect her request of space, but really when had Haechan not done what he wanted? If that was the case, y/n deduced he simply didn’t want to reach out, so she decided to match his energy and move on.

So why did it still ache?

Professor Aldwych dismissed class with a flick of her hand, the words “Start thinking seriously about your proposals” echoing through the hall as students gathered their things and filed out. Y/N took her time, not really in a rush to face the biting wind outside. She finally managed to leave the lecture hall, starting her walk to find something to curb her hunger, when she felt the presence of someone falling into step beside her. Tall. Warm. Familiar.

“Hoping you don’t apply so I have one less person to compete against,” Haechan said lightly, his voice smooth like sunlight on the edge of a storm.

Y/N stumbled in her reaction, turning to see him standing now just a half-step behind her. He was dressed in a warm caramel jumper and dark slacks, one hand shoved in his coat pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly like he hadn’t expected her to actually stop and subject him to such an intimidating gaze. His hair was swept back haphazardly, a little tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it on his way here.

Her breath caught. “What?”

He offered a crooked smile, his boyish charm still peaking through despite his clear apprehension. “For the internship.”

“Oh.” She forced a casual shrug. “Yeah I’m applying. Obviously.”

“I figured,” he said. “You were always good at this stuff.”

She frowned, but stayed quiet. Instead, she just turned and started walking again, trying not to act like she cared if he followed or not; he did, of course. The two stayed quiet for the moment, listening to the ambiance of the institute around them as they walked together in beat. Y/n couldn’t deny that it was nice to walk with him; to pretend everything was okay, if only for a moment.

They reached the top of the stairs, students pressing around them in both directions. Y/n stopped again, this time further to the side as to not bother her fellow students going about their lives. She turned to face the man that refused to leave her head, and for a moment — a brief, too-quiet moment — the crowd seemed to fade. Y/n hated that even now - even as she was so angry with him and confused by his actions - he still had the ability to make her tune out the rest of the world; to make her so vulnerable with just one glance.

Haechan ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to say hi earlier. In class. But…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Y/N nodded, staring ahead. “Yeah.”

He looked over at her, his voice quieter. “You’ve been on my mind, you know. Even over break.”

She still didn’t look at him, but she wanted to. It was easier for her not to look at him, though; to pretend he didn’t make her stomach drop everytime he gave her a smidge of attention.

“Like a lot,” he added, and for once, it sounded like the truth. She finally gave in and glanced sideways — and his eyes were already on her, Unflinching and wide as he stared at her side profile like he was trying to memorize it.

“I thought you forgot about me,” she said. She meant it as a joke, but it was cold and quiet - she knew it didn’t land like one.

“Never.”

And then, just as something fragile started to crack open between them; just as y/n fully turned her body and haechan inched forward, maybe a bit unconsciously-

“Y/N!”

Giselle’s voice rang sharp and bright from the foot of the stairs. She was weaving through students with purpose, her long coat billowing behind her and her eyes set on her target with determination.

Y/N blinked, stepping back instinctively. She wrapped her arms around herself to self soothe, her face red with embarrassment at being caught. Haechan didn’t move - it was as if nothing between the two changed. He stayed in his spot, his eyes on y/n, his brow was furrowed and his gaze held something in it that made y/n ache for him - he looked at her like she held his heart in her hands. She tried to ignore the sick feeling it gave her, and turned towards her roommates figure that closed in on the moment.

Giselle arrived with a small grin, hand slipping through Y/N’s bent arm like she belonged there — like she was entirely oblivious to the strange, simmering thing happening between the two of them. Haechan ached at the sight, longing to be so carefree to wrap his arm in hers, even just once.

“There you are,” she said, giving Haechan a quick, unreadable nod before turning back to Y/N. “Did you still want to stop by the archives before they close? We’ll have time if we leave now.”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t have any plans with Giselle right now, but knowing her roommate she probably saw y/n and haechan and came to “save the day”. It endeared y/n, but also upset her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She didn’t blame her friend, of course, but a large part of her was sad she no longer had a reason to talk to Haechan; to be in his presence and burn under his stare. Her feelings about him came in waves, one after the other. She felt like a child again, and that itself scared her too - he made her feel unlike anything she’s ever experienced. She looked at Giselle - her eyebrows sat raised on her expecting expression as she started tugging y/n the opposite way from the evil, bad - hot - guy who broke her best friends heart before even having claim over it. Y/n submitted, letting herself slowly get dragged away as she caught Haechan’s eyes one more time. He didn’t try to stop her, but he didn’t leave either. His tall frame looked smaller as his shoulders hung heavy with his hands shoved in his pockets. He gave her a look that made her feel like she was breaking something by walking away.

Y/N swallowed, her voice low. “I’ll… see you around?”

“Yeah,” he answered dejectedly, accompanied with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good luck with your proposal.”

She nodded, turned, and let Giselle lead her down the hallway.

Behind her, Lee Haechan stood alone, one hand still tucked in his coat pocket, the other now taken out to drag across his face in silent desperation. He watched her go like he already knew he was losing something he didn’t know how to ask for, a sigh escaping him as he finally turned and went about his day.

—-

Y/N’s flat smelled like incense and burnt sugar — courtesy of the kitchen candle Karina had tried to charm into smelling like caramel and instead singed halfway to the ceiling. A couple of half-melted candles flickered on the windowsill now, doing their best to compete with the warm glow of the fireplace that danced across the room. It was late — the kind of late that only came after laughter had stretched too long into the night, and the world outside had quieted into a hush of winter fog curling along the windows.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the couch, a wool blanket over her lap and a warm slice of cheesy garlic bread in one hand. Giselle was sprawled upside down across the other armrest, mumbling instructions at Yangyang, who was rapidly failing to defeat one of the bosses of resident evil on their secondhand Muggle gaming console.

“This is a horror game?” he said flatly, eyes wide. “Why does it feel like I’m being hunted by a vengeful bug?”

“It’s the mouth,” Xiaojun chimed in from the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest as he munched on seaweed crisps. “No villain can be taken seriously when bugs fly out of their mouth.”

Giselle groaned. “Would you two shut up and let me focus? Ethan’s basically my boyfriend at this point.”

Karina snorted from the kitchen, where she was levitating another round of butterbeer into mugs. “Giselle, you break up with Ethan every time you reach a cutscene.”

“Commitment issues,” Yangyang mumbled. “Tragic.”

Y/N laughed — a real one, breathless and warm. For the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest had dimmed to something dull and distant. It was nice, she realized, to not be thinking. To not be dissecting every word, every glance, every breath Haechan had taken around her like it was part of a riddle she’d been solving since she was eleven.

But even now, in the haze of pizza and laughter, his name found a way to crawl back into the room.

“So,” Karina said, not-so-innocently, as she passed a mug to Y/N and took the spot beside her. “Speaking of commitment issues…”

“Oh no,” Y/N said immediately, shrinking into the couch.

Giselle rolled onto her stomach and scooted closer to her roommates like a shark smelling blood. “You and Haechan.”

“There is no ‘me and Haechan.’”

Karina raised a brow. “No?”

Y/N took a sip of her drink. “No! We only met a couple of times, honestly. It’s not like we kissed or anything.”

The room went silent.

Yangyang accidentally drove Ethan right into the villain and died instantly - not noticing as his attention was focused directly on y/n.

“You haven’t kissed?” Giselle hissed, whipping her head around. “What the hell have you two been doing this whole time? Playing Wizard Chess with your feelings?!”

“It’s complicated!”

“No it’s pathetic,” Karina corrected. “Beautiful, tragic, deliciously slow-burn — but also pathetic. You like him. He likes you. And you’re both just… stewing.”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “You’re acting like I planned this.”

“You kind of did,” Xiaojun said gently, tossing her a cushion. “You had, like, an eight-year crush. It’s giving… long game.”

Y/N peeked through her fingers. “What am I supposed to do? He had years to notice me. And now that he has, it’s like… it’s too much. I don’t know what’s real.”

Karina’s voice softened. “You’re scared.”

Y/N didn’t deny it.

Because how could she explain the way it made her dizzy to be seen by someone like him? Someone who had always been golden and loud and unreachable. Now that he was looking — really looking — it felt like the floor kept tilting beneath her feet.

“I need to pee,” she mumbled, rising from the couch, blanket still tangled around her ankles as she shuffled toward the loo.

The hallway was quiet, the only light coming from a dimly lit scone on the wall. Y/N closed the bathroom door behind her and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling her knees up.

She breathed;

In.

Out.

The questions started to return — soft and cruel. What does he want from you? Why now? Are you just something new? The truth is maybe y/n was being sensitive and insecure, but she couldn’t trust him. They barely knew each other, after all. Y/n got used to staring at the back of his head for years, usually paired with a girl next to him. Haechan had always been untouchable to her, and it seems no matter how much time has gone by, old habits die hard.

A soft knock broke the spiral that quickly formed. Then, “It’s me.”

She cracked the door open to see Xiaojun leaned against the frame, a little crooked smile on his lips. “You good?”

Y/N nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. Just overwhelmed.”

He nudged the door further open and stepped in, settling onto the edge of the tub across from her. “Want some unsolicited advice?”

“Always.” She managed with a halfhearted laugh and a scoff thrown in.

He held up two fingers. “One: Don’t let your fear make decisions for you. Two…” He paused. “There’s this guy I know. From home. He’s sweet. Works at a bookstore. Really into magical theory and mushroom soup.”

Y/N blinked. “This is a setup?”

“I’m just saying — if you ever wanted to stop waiting around for Haechan to figure his life out, there are other people who’d be thrilled to take you on a date.”

She tilted her head. “You think I should move on?”

“I think,” Xiaojun said gently, “you’ve been standing in the same doorway for a long time. Maybe it’s time to walk through. Or close the door.”

The silence stretched. Y/n has never tried to move on - she hardly considered it moving on in the first place, for that would imply you once had something to lose. Y/n never had Haechan, not like how she wanted. She wondered internally if she even had the ability to move on from him - which scared her.

Xiaojun smiled. “I’ll tell him you’re thinking about it.”

He stood, ruffled her hair, and let the door click softly shut behind him. Y/n was thankful for her best friend now, because he always knew when to comfort and when to leave. She sat still, staring at the tiles beneath her feet. The house had gone quiet again, like it was holding its breath; waiting for something to sigh about. Y/n wondered when she would give up on this fantasy she had; When she would stop being the mouse that runs around to give the cat some amusement.

—-

The tea house was trying too hard.

It was called The Silver Thistle—a cozy, upscale café in the center of old-town Eldhollow, wedged between a wand boutique and a tailor’s shop for enchanted robes. It had floral wallpaper that changed with the seasons, velvet booths that refilled your tea cup without prompting, and harp music that played softly from nowhere in particular. All very charming. All very exhausting.

Haechan had been here before, but never for this reason.

He sat across from a girl whose name he should’ve remembered—but didn’t. Something with an L? Leah? Liesel? She had a high laugh, glittering earrings, and a voice that had now spent twenty uninterrupted minutes explaining a disagreement she’d had with her roommate about who stole whose gillyweed-infused conditioner.

“I told her,” the girl said, pausing to twirl a curl around her wand, “just because your hair smells like lakewater doesn’t mean it’s yours, babe—obviously.”

Haechan nodded. Or at least, his body did. His mind, on the other hand, had long since checked out.

Y/N would’ve hated this place.

Too frilly, too staged. He could almost hear her voice now, dry and unimpressed: It’s trying to look whimsical, but the whimsy feels bought. She’d roll her eyes at the music, flick her spoon at the ceiling charm in mock rebellion, and call it “tea for people with too much disposable income and too little taste.”

God, he missed her.

He missed how quiet she was at first, how it made you lean in. He missed how she got passionate about odd things—like ghosts and monsters alike. He missed how her lips twitched before she laughed, like she always had a secret that she would never let you in on.

Now she was a secret again.

He’s barely spoken to her since the start of term; the thought makes him sick. That awkward conversation after class had been their only moment, and it had ended with someone else pulling her away and the silence growing larger than ever between them.

And now here he was, sitting in a shop that annoyed him just for existing, across from someone who wasn’t her. He laughed silently while thinking that if she were here with him, he’d probably hate it less - he hoped his date didn’t notice the misplaced chuckle.

“—and then she said I was being toxic, which is so rich, because if anyone’s toxic, it’s—”

Nope. He zoned out again while staring at the table. Honestly, it pissed him off how much she had changed him. The haechan before y/n wouldn’t have hated this place, he probably wouldn’t care because he’d be too focused on the girl in front of him. The haechan before y/n would have made this girl feel special, would have remembered her name and made a point to mention is so that she knew he knew - because he cared about that stuff. Before y/n, Haechan cared about a lot of things; now all that mattered was one thing - something he couldn’t have.

He could sit here and get mad and cry about the fact that he changed, but really it didn’t matter to him. He wanted to change, he wanted to be a better person - for her. Even if they didn’t work out, Haechan wanted to be someone who she’d be proud to say she almost had something with.

A hand landed on his wrist, pulling him out of his daydreams with a startle. The girl had leaned forward, her fingers sliding boldly up his arm like she’d done it a hundred times before. Her smile was syrupy. Practiced. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” she said, batting her lashes. “You thinking about me?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

Because no - he wasn’t thinking about her.

He hadn’t heard a single word she’d said.

His mind had been drifting to Y/N’s eyes—the way they went soft at the edges when she was deep in thought. Her laugh, quieter than most. The way she pulled her sleeves over her hands when she was nervous. The little mole just beneath her ear. Her voice in his head was louder than the girl sitting directly in front of him.

He pulled his hand back, gently but firmly. “Sorry,” he said, voice cracking like an old broomstick. “Was just… distracted.” At least he didn’t lie.

The door to the shop opened behind him with a faint chime. He didn’t pay it any attention at first—not until he saw the girl across from him suddenly glance toward it, then blink and look down quickly, like she’d seen something awkward.

And then he felt it; A shift in the room. A little electric charge beneath his skin. It was as if his body just…knew.

He turned, and there she was.

Her coat was slightly damp from the cold mist outside, curls falling loose from her braid. Her cheeks were flushed pink, probably from the chill—or maybe, he realized with a jolt, from seeing him.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.

Not long enough to say anything. But long enough for everything to rise up inside him—regret, want, a pain that ached like a bruise, and his lunch. Her wide eyes stared at his for less than a second, yet he felt everything in them. He used to roll his eyes and scoff when lovebirds would say that time slowed down when they locked eyes, but he gets it now. It seemed that lately whenever he looked at her, time just didn’t exist. There was her, there was forever. He couldn’t tell if she felt the same way, frankly he hoped she didn’t because it hurt so bad to break that eye contact, he’d hate for her to experience it - he tries to ignore the fact that she has probably felt it tenfold when it comes to him.

She said nothing, of course. Just broke the eye contact as quickly as it came, turned, and walked back out. The bell above the door chimed again as she left, this time much too loud.

“Who was that?” the girl across from him asked, blinking at him, puzzled. “Friend of yours?”

Haechan didn’t answer. He was already standing up.

The velvet booth squeaked beneath him as he pushed out of it too fast, nearly knocking over his tea. The girl gasped, “Wait - what’s going on? Are you leaving?”

He paused. Was he about to - what - chase after her? What good would that do? Haechan realizes that every time he opens his mouth, he makes the situation worse. Besides, he knows he would look stupid. And while he doesn’t really care about looking stupid when it comes to her, it would make him feel like shit later when he ultimately gets rejected and confused even more - when he feels desperate and alone once again. And nevermind all of that, haechan would rather feel all of that and be able to say they at least talked, than sit here dumbly and feel like shit anyway. He would still have chased after her - if it didn’t affect her; If it didn’t clearly upset her even more. The truth is, ever since their tiff in the kitchen, one sentence y/n said had chased haechan, finding him in the darkest corners of his life. “I used to wish you’d just look at me” How much had she suffered because of him? How much had she felt alone? In his heart, haechan knows it’s not his fault, and yet - he can’t stop the guilt from consuming his senses. So, he’ll let her walk away; he’ll let himself stare at her back as she retreats, wishing she’d turn and look at him again.

He slowly sat back down.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, jaw clenched tight. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Right…”

But he didn’t care what she thought.

Because all he could see now was Y/N’s back as she retreated. All he could hear was the echo of the bell. All he could feel was the fire spreading through his ribs, lighting every nerve in his body with dread and longing.

And, of course, she had seen him with someone else.

Of course it had been too late - again.

—-

The share house sat at the edge of the village, tucked behind a crooked lane of lantern-lit homes and hovering broom racks. It belonged to one of the older students—a Transfiguration major named Minsung who always hosted these gatherings when his roommates were out of town. The house itself was sprawling in that charmed, nonsensical way: walls rearranged themselves to accommodate new guests, rooms stretched or shrank depending on the crowd, and the kitchen door insisted on teleporting you directly to the back garden if you weren’t paying attention. Warm, golden light poured from every window, shadows dancing against the grass as laughter and low music pulsed through the walls.

Y/N knew Haechan would be there. She’d known before she even accepted the invitation, because Xiaojun had warned her - casually, almost in passing - that the mutual friend he wanted her to meet was “in the same circle as Haechan, by the way. But I swear, it’s chill.” And she’d smiled then, playing it off with a joke. But after that chance encounter at the tea shop - Yknow, the one where she watched, heart in her throat, as yet another girl leaned in too close to the boy who consistently stressed her out while making her feel like the only girl in the world (obviously a lie) - Y/N had made a decision.

Tonight, she would not be haunted by someone who had every chance to know her and didn’t. Not again.

The living room was crowded but cozy, with enchanted string lights drifting lazily above everyone’s heads, twinkling in time with the beat of the music. There was a floating tray of pumpkin cocktails gliding through the crowd, and near the fireplace, two students were having a mildly heated argument over a wandless levitation technique—each attempting to prove their theory by lifting increasingly heavier objects off the table, until someone lost control and a couch pillow combusted into glittering smoke. No one seemed to care.

Y/N stood near the bookshelf with Xiaojun, who wore his usual easy grin and held two cups of chilled cider. He handed her one and nodded toward the tall figure across the room.

“That’s him,” he said. “Kai, stormy disposition, but hilarious. You’ll like him.”

She didn’t get the chance to answer before Kai spotted them and made his way over, his eyes kind and curious, his energy warm. The conversation started slow but natural—he complimented her charm necklace, she teased him about his shoes—and soon enough, they were laughing in tandem, their words tumbling over each other like old friends reunited. It felt easy. Not at all like the quiet, suffocating emotion she’d felt standing next to Haechan in the hallways the other day.

But still, she could feel it; That weight. The invisible string stretched taut across the room, pulling at her spine. She didn’t need to look to know he was there. She could feel his stare like a spell grazing the back of her neck. And when she did finally glance, just for a second, over Kai’s shoulder—she saw him.

Haechan stood half-shadowed near the kitchen archway, drink in hand, smile gone quiet. Jeno was saying something to him, gesturing animatedly with his arms, but Haechan wasn’t really listening. His eyes were locked on her.

He’d been fine when he arrived. Better than fine, even. Mark had joked that he was finally over his weird little crush, and Haechan had laughed it off, pretending it didn’t ache to hear it said like that. He’d greeted his friends, complimented the music, tried a sparkling sage cocktail that Renjun swore by. He was doing everything right - Until she walked in.

She wasn’t even doing anything—just standing there, laughing with Xiaojun and Kai, of all people - and it undid him completely. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was more like… gravity. A terrible, helpless tilt of the world where she was suddenly the center and everything else blurred at the edges. And she was smiling, glowing, alive. With someone else.

He hated himself for it—hated the way his heart clenched every time Kai leaned a little too close, hated the way he was suddenly counting every second she didn’t look at him. It wasn’t fair. He had his shot and he blew it. And now she was moving on, the way people do.

Still, he couldn’t stop the ache. Couldn’t stop picturing the way she used to look at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—like she was memorizing him just in case she never got the chance again. And now he was the one doing it. Watching her from across the room and carving every detail into the back of his mind. He didn’t even register Yuna beside him until her fingers brushed his arm. “You look like you’re somewhere else,” she said, voice flirty and light.

Haechan blinked. “Sorry. Just tired.”

She giggled, oblivious, and kept talking—about her potions class, her recent trip to Brighton, how she was thinking of dyeing her hair a new shade of copper. He nodded politely, answered when prompted, tried to be present. But his eyes kept drifting back to Y/N.

And then she laughed again, head thrown back as Kai mimicked someone’s wand technique, and it cracked something open inside him.

He looked away - Shut his eyes to physically stop the tears from falling; Exhaled slowly. He’s never felt romantic jealously before, but it was making him want to rip Kai’s head clean off his body, so he can’t say he loved it.

He couldn’t keep doing this.

And yet—he knew he would.

Because no matter how far she drifted, no matter who stood at her side or how many people she let in before him—he wasn’t going anywhere. He was in it, All the way in.

And he had no idea how to climb out.

—-

The air outside was cold in that sharp, bracing way that only February evenings could be — not bitter, but enough to sting the lungs on the first breath. Haechan leaned against the low stone wall behind the share house, his head tipped back to watch the wisps of his breath curl into the starlit air. The party continued inside, muffled through the thick walls: laughter, bass-heavy music, the occasional sound of a spell cast mid-conversation.

He didn’t know why he came here tonight. He hadn’t had a reason to say no, sure, and maybe part of him — the part still pretending he wasn’t unraveling — thought that if he kept moving forward, going out, meeting people, pretending to flirt, pretending to care, then something inside him might eventually click back into place.

It hadn’t.

He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been outside until the door behind him creaked open again. He didn’t turn, but he heard the soft, familiar intake of breath, the kind of sound that wrapped itself around his ribs before he could stop it. Haechan took a deep inhale, bracing himself.

“I saw you leave,” she said, her voice calm but unreadable.

He turned slowly to face her. She looked warm in her oversized coat, cheeks flushed from the heat of the party or maybe the night air. Her hair had fallen slightly from where she’d pinned it back, and her hands were tucked into her sleeves like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay.

He nodded once. “Just needed air.”

“I figured.”

Silence stretched between them — thick, familiar, weighted. And then she took a step forward, uncertain but firm enough that he noticed.

“I saw you at the tea shop the other day,” y/n said, and her voice was so steady it made his falter. “You looked busy, or I would have said hi.”

His throat went dry. “It wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

He didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t thought of that girl once since that afternoon, hadn’t remembered the color of her dress or what she’d ordered or what her laugh sounded like. All he’d remembered was how, for a few seconds, he locked eyes with y/n. And all he’d felt was panic - hope; Then emptiness.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to move on.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to the snow-dampened stone at her feet. “From me?”

He looked at her with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe she even thought that, before letting out an airy and empty laugh, clearly finding nothing funny, “no, I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

Y/n rolled her eyes slightly, unbelieving. “Sure, haechan.”

His eyes searched hers, desperate to find something more than contempt. “I mean it. I’m actually starting to get worried. I… I think about you all the time.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the one who always ends up waiting?” she asked, her voice tight with restraint. “Like I’m the one who’s ready but still not enough?”

The words hit harder than he expected. He stepped closer without thinking, his voice cracking just slightly. “You are enough. It’s me who’s not.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m tired, Haechan. I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that might never be real.”

A pause. Then she added, quieter this time, “Xiaojun introduced me to this guy tonight. He’s nice. If he asks me out, I think I’ll say yes.”

Haechan’s breath caught in his chest.

The words were fire in his throat. He wanted to say don’t. He wanted to say wait. He wanted to scream and kiss her and beg her to understand that every girl who smiled at him looked wrong, and every quiet moment was a dull ache unless she was in it. But he didn’t. Instead, what came out was sharp, defensive, cowardly.

“Then say yes.”

Her expression didn’t shift. She didn’t flinch. She just nodded, like she’d been expecting that answer. Like she’d been bracing for it all along. For a long moment, they stood there in the frozen dark, breathing in sync but out of step.

Then, softer this time, she spoke again. “I think…we’re just two people who want something different.”

His eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“I don’t know if you even want to be,” she whispered.

That hurt more than he could admit. But still, he nodded. Slowly, painfully.

“I want to try,” he said. “I just… I think I need to figure myself out first. Without dragging you through it.”

She looked up at him — and he hated how much kindness and love was still in her eyes, even now, even after everything.

“Then let’s not do this halfway anymore,” she said. “Let’s be friends. Really friends. And if something’s still there when we’re both ready…”

He swallowed, the words thick in his throat. “Yeah. Okay.” He couldn’t say anymore. How can you explain that you hate that idea more than you hate anything else, without sounding crazy? He was sick of the idea of hurting her, so if this would make her happy - so be it. Haechan has let go of any last self respect he once held; y/n could ask him to stab himself, he’d ask her to point to where she wants the knife to go.

She turned to leave, but before she stepped back through the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

“I still care,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes. He felt the tears prickle before they dropped, which was inevitable. He turned his head away from y/n, praying she didn’t see. She did, of course, but said nothing.

“I know,” he replied. “Me too.”

Then she was gone.

And Haechan stood alone, the night pressing in around him as he finally let the tears fall freely. He could care about not being able to get them to stop later, for now he wept silently, the party inside suddenly feeling very far away.

Y/N arrived twenty-five minutes early.

The Ministry of Magic’s central internship wing was much larger than she’d imagined — tall ceilings charmed to look like overcast skies, floating brass lanterns drifting slowly through the corridors, their glow flickering like fireflies. Dozens of young and old witches and wizards moved through the space with practiced ease, parchment portfolios tucked under arms, polished shoes clicking over glossy floor tiles. Some looked wide-eyed and thrilled, others already jaded — yawning, muttering, glancing longingly toward the coffee cart parked near the fountain in the atrium.

Y/N clutched her folder of documentation and tried not to look too starstruck.

She had spent the whole morning preparing. Ironed her blouse thrice. Tried on three different skirt options before settling on the first option; a sleek navy one with a modest slit and paired it with her best cream silk blouse, gold-rimmed specs perched neatly on her nose. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, some pieces in the front pulled out and curled softly, giving her the same imaginary blanket of protection her hair had always given her at times of stress.

This was it. Her first day.

To be honest, y/n knew she’d get into the program. She felt like she was about to burst with the sheer rightness of it all — the hours she’d spent studying, the long nights in the library, the aching uncertainty after Hogwarts. This internship was the start of something, and she wasn’t going to waste a second of it.

“L/N?” a brisk voice called. She turned to find a severe-looking assistant holding a clipboard and a wand that seemed to glow faintly pink at the tip.

“Yes!” she said, almost too eagerly.

The assistant didn’t blink. “Office assignment’s been made. You’re in Department 3A, Magical Records and Registry. Filing, classification, and correspondence management. Two-intern rotation. You’ll meet your partner shortly.”

Y/N nodded quickly, committing every word to memory as she was handed her badge and directed down a long corridor. Magical doors swished open and shut with a mechanical whoosh, some charmed to change color depending on occupancy. She found her section quickly — Department 3A — and a gold-plated plaque on the door read:

MAGICAL RECORDS – OFFICE 47A

She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her blouse, took a deep breath, and turned the handle - freezing the moment she acclimated herself to the picture in front of her. There — standing by the far window with his back to her, sorting through a stack of Ministry-bound parchments — was Lee Haechan. In a suit.

A suit.

And not just any suit. A perfectly tailored, Ministry-standard, dark charcoal three-piece that hugged his frame like it had been custom-fitted. His white shirt was crisp, the sleeves pushed slightly up to reveal his wrists, and his tie — loosened ever so slightly at the collar — was a deep forest green. His hair was swept off his forehead, a rare sight, and it made him look older somehow. Polished. Sharp. Completely and utterly lethal.

Y/N didn’t breathe.

For one unholy second, she completely forgot where she was — the nerves, the job, the entire Ministry of Magic — all wiped clean from her mind as she stood frozen in the doorway, pulse skyrocketing.

He turned.

When he saw her, his mouth parted slightly, his eyebrows lifting in visible surprise. And then he smiled — small, soft, unguarded — the kind of smile that made her knees lock.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slightly amused, “guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Y/N blinked. Her brain refused to reboot.

“You’re—you’re my partner?” she managed, somewhere between confusion and panic.

“Looks like it,” he said, tapping the parchment stack against the desk and crossing the room toward her. “I was ten minutes early and still thought I’d beat whoever it was. Guess you win the punctuality award.”

She was going to pass out.

It wasn’t just that he looked good. He always looked good. But this was a different kind of good — the kind that made you wonder why workplace dress codes didn’t come with warnings. The kind that made her want to disintegrate into mist and hover unnoticed in the corner so she could watch him from a safe, non-humiliating distance.

But no — this was her life now. Eight weeks. One office. One Lee Haechan. And one chair between them.

“Is that okay?” he asked, more gently now, watching her carefully. “Me being here?”

Y/N felt her throat tighten, then quickly relaxed her shoulders. She summoned a practiced smile — the one she used in oral exams and networking events. The truth was, y/n didn’t really know. Obviously things were awkward after that night one month ago, when the two agreed to be “friends”. You could look up the word friends in a dictionary, these two would be no where near it. They hadn’t really spoken in any depth since the party. But I guess you could say they were… okay. Pleasant. Something bordering on friendly had grown between them again — a shared wave here, a murmured “how’s your day going” there, exchanged like delicate truce offerings in the middle of busy campus life. Y/n missed him, honestly. She had only briefly had him in her life - if you could even call it that - but she missed it. She missed that he made her laugh like no other in class, and she missed being able to run into him on campus and get nervous about the “what if”’s and not the “what now”’s. While a secret part of her would do it all again for the time spent with him, for now it was very awkward between the two, but that’s life isn’t it? They would be working in close proximity to each other, so what more can she do?

“Of course,” she said breezily, walking past him toward the desk. “Just surprised, that’s all.”

Haechan hummed behind her. “Surprised in a good way, or bad?”

She paused, then slowly turned to meet his eyes.

His gaze was steady. Playful. And something else — something she couldn’t quite name, but it felt close to longing.

“Ask me again after lunch,” she replied, and for the first time that morning, she felt something warm curl in her chest that had nothing to do with career goals.

He laughed — low and quiet — and pulled out her chair for her, like they were about to have a formal dinner instead of sort and file wand permit applications.

The chair was warm when she sat. Too close to his. The kind of close where if he leaned even slightly, his elbow would brush hers.

Merlin help her, this was going to be a long eight weeks.

—-

The Department of Magical Records prided itself on being ahead of its time — which, of course, meant it had managed to integrate a total of one Muggle invention into its workspace.

The coffee pot.

It sat proudly in the break alcove like a trophy of innovation: a scratched-up, temperamental old machine that sputtered out more steam than actual coffee, and whined like a dying pixie every time someone dared to press brew. Y/N, having grown up with one leg in the muggle world, quickly grew accustomed to its quirks, especially after getting a laugh out of watched Ningning threaten to hex it at least twice in the past week. But this morning, it was Lee Haechan’s turn to suffer.

She hovered near the corner of the room, having just finished organizing her week’s paperwork into color-coded folders (a little excessive, maybe, but it soothed her brain) and giving herself a break. Her eyes flicked up from their place at her hands to watch her surroundings, and what she saw nearly made her laugh out loud.

Haechan stood in front of the machine like he was facing off with a cursed artifact. One hand was gripping the edge of the counter; the other poked at buttons with growing disbelief. “Why,” he muttered, half to himself, “would anyone choose to drink this trash when actual magic exists?”

The machine let out a particularly violent hiss.

Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Haechan didn’t turn to look at her, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said, still staring down the pot. “You’re just gonna stand there and laugh while I risk my life for caffeine?”

Y/N finally let out a quiet giggle. “It doesn’t like to be insulted.”

“It doesn’t like to work.” He jabbed a button again, only to have the entire machine rattle like it might explode. He recoiled dramatically, flinching back into the counter. “See? Attempted murder.”

She was full-on laughing now, the sound soft but so unguarded it warmed the tiny alcove. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, finally glancing at her with that slow, familiar grin — not flirtatious, not quite. Just warm. “But it got you to laugh.

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly, not because she didn’t want to keep smiling, but because something in her chest flipped over at his words. It felt like the Haechan from before — from before the confusion, before the pain, before everything got too complicated to name.

They stared at each other, and for a beat, neither of them moved.

And maybe it was the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar lingering in the air, or the way the early sunlight cut through the Ministry windows and danced along the collar of his shirt, but Y/N forgot — just for a moment — why she was trying to stay away from him.

Haechan, to his own surprise, didn’t say anything else. He just looked at her, all of her, with that quiet intensity he’d never shown anyone else but her. The silence wrapped around them like a thread, not pulling tight, but holding steady.

Until—

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” a voice barked from the doorway.

Heechul, the 40-something office clown who truly had no shame. He strolled in, looking like he hadn’t slept since the last full moon, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and a stack of scrolls under one arm. He glanced between them once, then raised a perfectly judgmental brow.

“Seriously?” he said, making a beeline for the fridge. “You two realize I have eyes, right? Functional ones. You’re not subtle.”

Y/N straightened immediately, stepping back toward the door that led to the main office. “I was just—he was struggling with the coffee machine.”

“Struggling is generous,” Heechul muttered, pulling out a container of leftover kimchi stew and tossing it onto the counter before mindlessly muttering a heating spell that made the soup bubble.

Haechan cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. The machine started it.”

Heechul didn’t reply. He just smirked as he leaned back into the fridge, clearly enjoying the squirming energy in the room.

Y/N picked up her coffee mug — practically cold now — and offered Haechan a short, polite nod. “Good luck,” she said softly, motioning toward the still-hissing coffee pot before walking quickly back to her desk.

Haechan didn’t say anything. He just watched her go. He watched the way her hair swayed behind her, the way her fingers curled slightly around her mug. He knew she was still putting distance between them again. And he didn’t blame her; not after how messy things had gotten.

But for just a moment — just one perfect, ridiculous coffee-stained moment — it had felt like something was healing. He sighed as the machine in front of him sparked again, pulling his attention once more.

—

The Monday staff meeting ran long. The conference room was small — too small for six people and a self-writing chalkboard that refused to stop squeaking — and far too warm for a group that had just survived the longest week of the quarter. Everyone sat around the circular table, steaming mugs in hand, eyes tired but attentive. Y/N fiddled with the clasp of her fountain pen beneath the table, her notes already organized into sections and footnoted in crisp, meticulous script.

Across from her, Haechan leaned back in his chair with a sort of forced ease. His hair was neater than usual, his tie askew in the charming way that shouldn’t have worked but did, and his brow held the faintest pinch of exhaustion. He wasn’t fidgeting — not exactly — but Y/N could tell from the subtle twitch in his jaw that something was eating at him.

Yuta stood at the front, hands in his pockets, effortlessly poised. He didn’t raise his voice. He never had to. His presence alone held the room in careful balance.

“I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge good work,” he began, nodding toward the team. “Particularly the interns. Filing errors are down to near zero, communication logs are ahead of schedule, and the transcriptions from last week’s audit were returned with minimal corrections.”

Y/N felt herself sit a little straighter, cheeks warming when Yuta’s eyes landed on her.

“Y/N, exceptional work on that last file review. I passed it along to Records last night — they were impressed.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, a small, grateful smile curving her lips.

He gave a nod, then let his gaze slide — gently, but pointedly — to Haechan.

“Lee Haechan,” he said, still measured, “you’ve also demonstrated promise. Your spell transcriptions are better than most third-years in the department.”

Haechan exhaled, some tension lifting.

“But,” Yuta continued, and the room shifted, ever so slightly. “There’s been a noted… distraction. One I won’t name, because I believe in discretion. But something’s interfering with your consistency — and you’re too capable to waste potential that way.”

A silence fell. No one moved. Not even Winter, who had been doodling runes in the corner of her planner. Heechul sipped his tea a little louder than necessary, and Ningning’s quill stilled.

Y/N didn’t glance over at Haechan; She didn’t have to.

She could feel it — the flicker of heat that rolled off him in quiet waves. Not embarrassment. Not shame. Just… frustration. The kind that brews behind the eyes and settles in the bones.

Yuta moved on, addressing an upcoming audit, but Haechan didn’t move again for the rest of the meeting. When they were finally dismissed, he was the first to stand.

Y/N followed him a few moments later, closing her notebook gently. The rest of the office filtered out into the hallway, talking softly, their voices muffled against the enchanted privacy charm Yuta always set after meetings. But Y/N didn’t follow them right away.

She found Haechan standing near the break alcove, his arms folded tightly across his chest, staring out the window at the drifting clouds. The faint light of morning hit his profile — golden over sharp cheekbones and downturned lashes.

She approached slowly. “Haechan.” He didn’t answer, barely moved except for a small tilt of his head in her direction.

“I just…” She hesitated. “That was unfair. You’ve been working hard.”

“I know I have,” he said, voice quiet but edged, sharp in a way it hadn’t been toward her in a long time. “But I guess it doesn’t matter if I don’t look like I’m working hard, right?”

She blinked. “Yuta’s just trying to keep you—”

“I don’t need you to explain him to me, Y/N.”

The words landed with more bite than he intended, and instantly, regret swept in after them.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t argue. She didn’t retreat. She just looked at him — really looked at him — the way she always had. Quiet, but unblinking. Seeing more than most ever did. Regardless of her feelings for him at the moment. Y/n felt like she understood Haechan’s frustrations. She imagined the pressure he could be put under to do well. After all, his father had been wanting him to find a home at the Ministry for so long now. She wondered if he had been talking to anyone about his work - his struggles - or if he buried his feelings under the desire to be effortlessly good at everything he tried. Y/n hadn’t wanted to hug him more than she did now, but that wasn’t an option. So instead, without a word, she reached out and placed a single hand on his shoulder.

It wasn’t much - Barely a touch. But it grounded him immediately. The pressure in his chest loosened. His shoulders dropped. He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye; her face calming him almost instantly

“I didn’t mean to snap,” he said softly. “I just… I’m tired. Of messing up. Of being told I’m messing up. Of trying not to look like I care about things I do.” Her hand didn’t move as he talked, he prayed it never did.

“You’re not messing up,” she murmured. “You just… care too much. And people notice.”

Her words followed with a pause from both parties. Their eyes met, just for a second, before y/n broke it while taking her hand off his shoulder, much to the man’s dismay.

Still, in the soft weight of the moment — in the low hum of the building around them, in the rustle of parchment and the far-off buzz of a misfired spell — everything settled.

They didn’t say anything else; there was nothing left to say. Because sometimes, even in an office of six, surrounded by scrolls and quills and ticking clocks, two people can find a silence that feels like a secret.

—-

The mid-morning lull had settled over the office like a fog. The kind that blurred productivity and made everything — even refiling enchanted document folders — feel sluggish. Y/N’s quill hovered above her parchment for the third time that hour, the sentence in her head dissolving before it ever reached the page.

Across the room, Ningning stood from her desk with a stretch, slipping her wand into the side of her coat and shooting Y/N a sidelong glance. “If I stay in here one more minute, I’m going to start levitating Heechul’s paperweight just to feel something. Coffee run?”

Y/N blinked up at her, grateful. “God, yes.”

A few minutes later, the two stepped out into the corridor, enchanted memo notes fluttering past them like lazy butterflies. The Ministry’s lower-level café was two floors down, nestled beside a sleepy hallway of offices that rarely saw foot traffic. A string of floating glass lanterns guided their path, casting dappled light over their footsteps.

Ningning was already mid-rant.

“I mean, seriously,” she said, brushing her sleek black hair out of her face. “He’s cute — I’ll give him that — but half the time he looks like he doesn’t even realize how loud his brain is being. You could light a fire in the bin and he’d still be staring at your elbow like it’s made of gold.”

Y/N bit back a laugh, “My elbow?”

“Oh please, you’ve seen how he looks at you,” Ningning said, like it was common knowledge. “Like he’s memorizing the weather forecast written in your freckles. Honestly, it’s not even professional. He’s distracted — and he distracts you. I’m surprised Yuta hasn’t put you both on opposite ends of the building.”

Y/N tried to play it off, although she couldn’t stop the red from flooding her cheeks, “He’s not that bad.”

“Really?” Ningning arched a brow. “Because last week, he dropped his entire stack of paperwork because you laughed at something Heechul said, and he was trying to see if you were looking at him before even picking a piece of paper up.”

Y/N opened her mouth — probably to deny it, maybe to change the subject — but Ningning plowed on.

“And don’t get me started on the way he talks to you. He doesn’t talk to anyone else like that. He’s careful. Soft. It’s like watching someone try not to fall off a broomstick they’ve already jumped from.”

Y/N couldn’t help it — she laughed, the sound warm and wide and surprised.

Ningning grinned, smug.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is, you’d be better off not falling for someone who can’t make up his mind. If he really wanted you, Y/N, wouldn’t he have done something by now?”

That stopped Y/N in her tracks. She blinked, heartbeat tripping, and before she could think better of it, the words slipped out.

“That’s not fair.”

Ningning slowed beside her, brows lifting slightly. “Oh?”

Y/N’s voice was softer now, more guarded. “He’s… figuring stuff out. He’s not cruel. He’s never led me on. And it’s not like he doesn’t care—he does, he just doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Ningning tilted her head, amused but not unkind. “That sounds like someone who’s spent a lot of time thinking about a boy she’s not dating.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, fully embarrassed now. “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“Too late.” Ningning nudged her with a shoulder before starting to walk again, her tone lighter now. “Look, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone anything. Not your attention, not your time, and definitely not your hope. But if he makes you feel like the version of yourself that you like best — even when things are messy — then maybe that’s worth paying attention to.”

Y/N glanced over at her, startled.

Ningning shrugged, casual. “I don’t like him, sure. But I’m not the one who looks at him like you do.” She dropped the subject there, starting a new tangent about how the guy at the coffee stall better give her the right creamer this time. Y/n was barely listening, too busy soaking up the advice that Ningning handed her.

When they stepped back into the office, the light had shifted, a warm stripe of sun filtering through the tall windowpanes. Winter was humming softly behind the reception desk, and Heechul was muttering under his breath at a stack of misbehaving scrolls. Y/N didn’t notice any of that — the moment she stepped over the threshold, Haechan looked up from his desk. His eyes found hers immediately, like there had never been a moment where he wasn’t waiting for her to return.

And he smiled — soft and unguarded, just for her — before turning back to his quill.

Y/N felt her pulse thrum gently in her chest.

She walked slowly back to her seat, Ningning already halfway through reciting the latest gossip of her own love life, although Y/N could barely hear her. That smile was still burned into the backs of her eyes; The one she knew no one else had seen.

And for the first time in days, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more:

To stop thinking about him—

Or to hope he’s truly thinking of her just as much.

—-

The sky above the Ministry of Magic had dipped into a deep, velvety indigo, and the streets buzzed with quiet as the magical city around them prepared for the night. Candles flickered to life inside lamplit sconces. Shopkeepers pulled their curtains shut. Owls dotted the rooftops like soft, feathery shadows.

Y/N sat alone on the edge of a worn stone bench just outside the Ministry’s east entrance, her coat draped around her shoulders and her hands limp in her lap. The world moved without her, slow and golden, but she felt as though she was underwater. Her eyes were rimmed pink. Her lips tugged downward despite her best efforts.

It had been a long day. Too long. Between a pile of paperwork, a missed quiz in her Magical Applications class, and a friend group slowly unraveling because she couldn’t keep up with every group outing… it all stacked up, heavy and clumsy and cruel.

She hated how familiar this ache was — the quiet kind, the lonely kind. She hated how close it came to feeling like high school again, like the version of herself who was forgotten the second the room grew too loud.

She sniffled once. Then again. Pressed her thumb beneath her eye with the sleeve of her coat. She told herself not to cry. Told herself it wasn’t that serious. That she had grown since then. That she was strong.

Then she cried anyway.

From across the courtyard, Haechan stepped through the Ministry’s grand archway, his tie half-loosened and his bag slung low on his shoulder. He paused mid-step when he saw her — alone, backlit by moonlight, looking so small and so still that something caught in his throat.

He debated for a moment - stopped where he stood and looked back and forth around him. He could walk away; leave her the space she clearly wanted. Merlin knows the last thing she probably needed was to see him.

But then she sniffled, just once. It was soft and quiet; left faster than it came. The sound of it, however, caused Haechan’s feet to move before his mind could catch up.

He approached her slowly, his shoes making barely a sound against the flagstones. “Hey,” he said gently.

Y/N startled, her head whipping up in surprise. She wiped under her eyes quickly, but it was no use — her face was blotchy and tearstained, her lip bitten red. She looked up at him like she was embarrassed to be seen.

“Hi,” she managed, voice watery.

Haechan shifted his weight awkwardly. “Can I sit?”

She nodded, so he did — keeping a respectful space between them, the kind he didn’t want but knew she needed. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers tapping nervously. She was quiet, curled into herself. But something about the way she wasn’t pulling away — something about the fact that she let him be here — made him brave.

Suddenly she let out a, “sorry,” Haechan looked at her in surprise at the sound of how soft her voice was, it reminded him of how quiet she was in highschool - an old version of her that he knew for a fact she tried to move on from. He said nothing, so she continued, “just a little stressed.”

“You don’t have to talk,” he said quickly after a beat, she seemed relieved at this, “But… I’ve got a story, if you want a distraction.”

Y/N glanced sideways at him, her lashes still damp. “A story?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded casually, but she could see something in his eyes that felt akin to nerves. “You remember the Yule Ball?”

She said nothing, but her eyes got slightly wider, just enough that only someone truly looking would notice; Haechan, of course, did. She softly nodded once, indicating for him to keep going.

He drew in a long breath, already embarrassed to be admitting this but too far in now to go back.

“I went with Kim Yunjin. You remember her? Tall, smart, kind of intimidating?” Y/N nodded faintly. Her memory of that night and Kim Yunjin was probably a tad different from his. She remembered sitting at the stairs, watching the two of them heavily making out - the reminder made her sick. She prayed he would shut up about Yunjin, not wanting to hear about the love of her life with another girl while at her lowest.

“I thought I was the man,” Haechan said, shaking his head at himself while chucking under his breath. “Got a date with someone everyone liked. Had a new set of dress robes, hair done, whole thing. We danced, drank too much punch. I was halfway through…convincing…her to sneak upstairs with me when I heard a noise - loud, like a bang. I looked up…” His voice slowed. He looked out at the empty street, a faraway look in his eyes.

“…And I saw you.”

Y/N stared, saying nothing but sitting motionless and wide eyed at the man next to her.

“You were sitting alone on the stairs. I think you were trying to hide, I couldn’t figure out why. You were wearing gold and green, and I remember I liked the way your hair was curled. I liked that it looked like a cloud.”

He was fully turned toward her now, elbows on his knees, gaze earnest.

“You looked like you were part of the magic. Like the castle made you. And for some reason, in that moment, everything stopped. I remember Yunjin was looking at me, but I couldn’t even see her anymore. It was like… you’d stepped in from another world.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, finally breaking from her silence, “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” he said, too quietly to be joking. “I’d never seen anyone sit so still and look so much like a force of nature. You looked… sad. But not in a way that made me pity you. Just… distant. Untouchable. I felt stupid even looking.”

She swallowed hard. Her fingers were curled into the edge of her coat.

“I remember helping you with like…a purse or something, and wanting to stay with you; learn your name and just…everything about you.” Haechan admitted, “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to be an asshole to Yunjin. I thought about you for weeks after that, though. Looked for you everywhere. I told myself I’d dreamed it - it was honestly a little embarrassing,” He exhaled, laughed under his breath, “it didn’t click until pretty recently that it was you, if you can believe that.

“And now I’m sitting beside you. And you’re nothing like the girl I imagined. You’re smarter. Stronger. Messier, in the best way. You make stupid jokes when you’re tired and keep a stash of fizzing lemon drops in your drawer even though you say you don’t like sugar.”

Y/N’s lip trembled.

“You’re loved, Y/N. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. I know it gets hard to keep up with everything. But people are proud to know you. They’re lucky to. And any friend worth having will wait for you to come back — no matter how long it takes.”

The tears fell all at once — quiet, wracking sobs that she couldn’t even begin to hide. And without thinking, without caring if it made sense or if it changed anything, she reached for him — grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled herself into his arms like gravity had given up. Haechan caught her without hesitation, prepared immediately like he was waiting his whole life for it.

His hands curled around her back, anchoring her, his head tilted against hers as she cried. She fit against him so perfectly it made his lungs ache. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just held her, fiercely and gently all at once, like she might disappear if he let go.

And in that moment, with her arms around his ribs and her face buried in his chest, all Haechan could think was: please don’t let this be the last time. He didn’t care if it was complicated. He didn’t care that they were still figuring things out. Right now, she was in his arms. And if this was all he got — just this quiet second under the streetlights — he would memorize it forever.

—-

The Ministry atrium had been temporarily transformed.

Soft pink and red streamers floated midair like enchanted ribbons, curling lazily above a collection of cocktail tables dressed in lace. Bewitched roses opened and closed to the beat of a faint jazz spell humming through the walls, and somewhere near the punch table, a pair of second-floor interns were attempting a love charm on a champagne bottle to make it pop on cue. The room smelled like sparkling cider, perfume, and cherry blossoms — and if Y/N squinted, she could almost pretend it wasn’t her workplace.

She hadn’t planned to come. Had told herself it was silly, that she’d rather read. But then Ningning had pulled out her one nice dress robe and demanded she not waste it. Winter had given her a look, too — the one that said you’re young, it’s Valentine’s, stop pretending you don’t care.

And so here she was — in a deep crimson dress that dipped just enough at the collar to make her feel self-conscious, with soft sleeves fluttering at her shoulders like something from a Muggle vintage film. Her hair was pinned back loosely, her lips lightly glossed, her smile gentle. She laughed at something Heechul said, swirling the mocktail in her glass.

Across the room, Haechan couldn’t stop watching her.

She was radiant. Not in a flashy way. Not in a way that stole attention — but in a way that settled beneath the skin, that wrapped itself around his ribs and stayed there, warm and unshakable.

He’d been lingering near the snack table for the better part of twenty minutes now, pretending to be deeply invested in some chocolate-covered strawberries, while in reality his eyes kept finding their way to her. She glowed under candlelight. She glowed always, honestly.

The first notes of a familiar song filtered through the room — echoing from an old record player tucked into the corner.

“Every breath you take… every move you make…”

The lyrics settled over the party like a spell. Something haunting. Something possessive and strange and romantic all at once. Haechan laughed a bit, feeling as though this song perfectly described his life as of late; always watching, always wanting. He couldn’t even deny it was creepy at this point, he’d long since accepted that he’ll never be back to normal, thankfully.

A younger guy — probably from the Spell Drafting department — made his way over to Y/N, all long limbs and too much cologne. Haechan watched him say something. Saw her blink, laugh nervously, then nod before the man took her hand in his and lead her to the dance floor.

It wasn’t anything dramatic — just a slow shuffle, hands politely in place. Her smile was small. The boy said something again, and she tilted her head in response. It looked more awkward than romantic, and still Haechan burned.

He didn’t even want to be this guy. He hated this part of himself — the one that spiraled. The one that imagined what the other guy was saying. The one that couldn’t tear his gaze away from the way her hand rested on someone else’s shoulder.

He clenched his jaw. Looked down into his drink like it might help.

“Planning to light him on fire with your thoughts alone?” came a voice beside him; startling him before he looked at the intrusion.

It was Yuta — standing casually, hands in the pockets of his dark gray slacks, a wine glass balanced perfectly in one hand. He raised a brow.

“I—what? No,” Haechan muttered, taking a sharp sip. “I’m just—watching.”

Yuta hummed. “Exactly. Watching.”

Haechan frowned; He hated that he was that easy to read.

Yuta didn’t look away from the dance floor. “Let me tell you something, kid,” he said, in that mild-mannered voice that always sounded five steps ahead. “I’ve been in this building for seven years. I’ve watched a lot of people fall for each other. It usually goes one of two ways: they say something, or they waste years thinking about saying something.”

Haechan didn’t respond.

“Now,” Yuta continued, “I don’t know what the relationship between the two of you is, and frankly I don’t care. What I do know is that the only times I’ve seen you look truly happy is when she’s looking at you - every other time you still seem content staring at her until she does.”

“We’re just friends,” Haechan started before stopping himself, not wasting his breath when even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m your boss. Now, I really like y/n. She’s a hard worker and everyone in the office really likes her too - you, they probably tolerate,” Haechan rolled his eyes, but let his boss continue. “But for some unknown reason, she likes you. She very obviously likes you, and I’m willing to bet she’d much rather be out there dancing with you than Hyunjin from Fines and Sanctions. And yet you’re here, sulking over some other guy touching her waist for ten seconds instead of doing anything about it.”

There was a pause, then Yuta took a sip of his drink and said, “Stop being a pussy.”

Haechan choked. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me.” Yuta looked smug. “You like her. She likes you. Now go do something about it.”

Haechan was shocked at his bosses reaction. This was the most the two of them had ever even spoken, and it was so scrutinize Haechan’s love life (or lack thereof). He was reeling from the whiplash, but still took the words in - because Yuta was right. How long had the two of them dragged this out? How much longer did Haechan need to get his shit together before he’ll stand up and realize he is genuinely obsessed with this girl, and there’s only one way to get him out of that? Haechan watched her, like usual. He took in her gaze - bored and disinterested. I mean for god sakes, the man had let her yearn after him for 7 years, and now he’s pouting because she danced with someone else? Haechan was tired of this, he wanted to do something about it, finally.

And for once… he didn’t second-guess.

He set down his cup. Straightened his jacket. Ran a hand through his hair - Then he crossed the room.

Y/N didn’t notice him at first — too busy nodding along to whatever her “Hyunjin” was saying, too busy politely pretending to be present. But then she felt it. That shift. That familiar tension in the air — the sense that someone’s gaze was tethered to her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

And there he was — Lee Haechan, hands in his pockets, eyes locked onto hers like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Her breath caught.

He stopped just a few feet away and nodded to the boy. “Mind if I cut in?”

Hyunjin looked startled and lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Instead, he deferred to Y/n. She blinked — flustered — then nodded before the guy awkwardly stepped aside and melted into the crowd.

It was quiet between them for a beat before Haechan reached one hand towards her figure.

“Dance with me?”

She stared at it, then at him; Her heart thundered. Then she took it.

He pulled her in gently — not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth between them; definitely closer than she was with Hyunjin. His hand settled at her waist. Her fingers curled around his shoulder.

The music pulsed softly as they swayed to the beat, too lost in each other’s presence to care about how well they did.

“You look beautiful,” Haechan said quietly.

Her eyes lifted to his. “You’re late.”

He smiled — soft and sad and knowing.

“I know, angel,” he said. “I’m trying to be on time now.”

She swallowed, lips trembling just slightly. “Why now?”

He met her gaze head-on. “Because I couldn’t stand watching someone else hold you. Because I should’ve said this months ago, and I didn’t. Because I’m scared—really scared—but I’m more scared of never trying.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rested her head gently against his shoulder. Let herself breathe in the scent of him — cedar and coffee and something warm she couldn’t name for sure, but she thinks it might be honey.

And as they swayed beneath floating roses and flickering candlelight, Haechan closed his eyes. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like he was chasing something already gone - He felt like she was right here.

They had danced for three songs.

Three whole songs where Haechan’s hands rested on the small of her back like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go, where her arms stayed wrapped gently around his shoulders, thumbs brushing the soft wool of his sweater. They barely spoke. They didn’t have to. The music did it for them. The way they swayed, the way they leaned into each other like gravity had chosen them as twin moons — it was a conversation all its own.

But it couldn’t last forever.

Not when there were things unsaid.

Not when her heart was beating so loud in her chest that she could barely hear the music anymore.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and close and wrecked. “Look at me.”

She did. Slowly.

Their foreheads were nearly touching. Her eyes were wide, glassy. His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how. Everything in her was shaking — every bone, every nerve, every memory of him that had built up like sediment over years of longing.

And then he leaned in - And she turned away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a simple turn of her head. But it felt like the room spun sideways, like the floor dropped.

Haechan blinked. “What—?”

She stepped back. “I can’t do this.”

His chest tightened. “Why not?”

“Because it’s too much.” Her voice cracked. “Because I’ve wanted this for so long that it hurts. Because I don’t know if you mean it. Because every time I think you do, you pull away.”

“I’m not pulling away,” he said, stepping toward her again, desperate. “I’m here.”

She shook her head. “Then why does it feel like you’re always just out of reach?”

She turned and walked out, her shoes clicking too fast, her shoulders trembling.

He followed her without thinking.

—-

She was standing outside their office floor again, leaning against the wall just past the lifts, arms wrapped around herself like armor. She was crying quietly. Not sobbing — not yet — but she was close.

And Haechan saw it and broke.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, slow and careful, like approaching a wild animal that might run if he moved too fast.

When he finally stood in front of her, he looked like hell. His hands were shaking. His eyes were already red.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice raw. “I’ve never done this before.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “Done what?”

“Love someone.” His voice cracked. “Be this… undone by someone. I don’t know how to act around you. I don’t know how to breathe when I’m in a room with you and you’re not mine.”

He laughed bitterly through a tear. “God, you have no idea, do you? How much I think about you? How many nights I’ve stayed up just wishing I could go back — go back to Hogwarts, to the Yule Ball, to every moment I didn’t notice you — and just… fix it. See you.”

She stared at him, silent and stunned — and Haechan stepped closer.

“I’ve tried to forget you,” he admitted, voice shaking. “Tried to pretend you didn’t live in my head every second of every day. That your voice didn’t echo every time I read something clever. That your smile didn’t ruin every other girl’s for me. But it didn’t work. It never worked.”

Y/N covered her mouth with one hand, trying to contain the sob building in her throat.

“I love you,” he said, finally. Fully. Tears slipping down his cheeks now. “I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much that I ruin myself pretending I don’t. And if you don’t feel the same, if you never do, that’s fine — I’ll live. I’ll move on. I’ll— I’ll do anything. But please, please just tell me. Tell me if there’s no chance. Because I can’t keep living like this, like I’m one kiss away from the rest of my life and I’ll never get to have it.” He barely choked the end out, getting caught in his own emotions.

The silence after that was heavy. Crushed and sacred. It lasted for a good beat before it was y/n that decided to break it.

She surged forward and kissed him like she was made of fire. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t soft or quiet. It was chaos and stars and every last dam breaking all at once. Her hands clutched his face, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and they kissed like the world had been holding its breath for years just to watch this happen.

Sparks didn’t just fly — they exploded.

He kissed her like he’d spent years in the dark and just found his way home.

And she kissed him like she’d been waiting a lifetime.

They didn’t break apart for a long time.

When they finally did, their foreheads touched, their breaths uneven, their cheeks damp with tears.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sob all at once, pulling her in again and pressing his lips to her forehead like he could anchor himself there.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he murmured.

“Just promise it won’t take that long next time,” she whispered.

He smiled through his tears. “I swear.”

And in the dim light of the empty office, with the whole world asleep around them, two hearts finally found their rhythm — after all the years of missing each other by inches.

—-

The invitation had said “casual get-together,” but the nervous energy buzzing in Haechan’s apartment told a different story.

Y/N sat beside him on the couch, their fingers laced together under the blanket they shared, hearts pulsing with synchronized anticipation. They were surrounded now - the council was open for judgment. Jeno sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, laughing at something Yangyang had just muttered under his breath. Mark and Karina were deep in conversation near the snack spread, somehow already bonding over a mutual love of obscure wizarding documentaries. Renjun was animatedly trying to explain a new spell to Giselle, who kept asking the wrong questions just to mess with him. Xiaojun had taken over DJ duties, his laughter filling the space with something light and easy.

The two friend groups weren’t close - not yet - but they were getting there. That much was clear in the effortless way conversation flowed, the laughter that bounced off the walls, the natural orbit they all seemed to fall into around one another.

Still, Y/N could feel Haechan’s nerves thrumming in his hand. She glanced at him, gave his fingers a squeeze, and he exhaled slowly.

“I think now’s the time,” he murmured, leaning closer.

She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Haechan cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his soft cream sweater. “Okay, uh—sorry to interrupt the chaos—”

“Oh no, whatever will we do,” mark bit back sarcastically - haechan was too nervous to fight back, but made a mental note to slap him for it later. Everyone chuckled, quieting just enough to hear him out.

“So… Y/N and I have something we want to tell you,” Haechan continued, and though he kept his tone casual, Y/N could feel the way his thumb nervously swept along the back of her hand. “Well uhhh, we uhm….well I know it’s sudden but it kinda just happened and uh…”

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh at her boyfriend’s clear discomfort. She wondered how she could ever think this loser was too cool, but the truth is it didn’t matter. Regardless of who he was, the look of love in her eyes would still be there. She looked around as he spoke, her eyes flicking across the faces in the room before settling on his, “We’re together,” she said softly, her smile blooming. “We’re dating.”

Silence.

For a beat too long, the room went quiet—stunned, but not cold. Just suspended.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Yangyang breathed, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Does this mean we’re all gonna be hanging out more? It’s like the merging of the friend groups.”

And what followed can only be described as absolute chaos.

Giselle gasped, leaping forward. “I KNEW something was happening during that Ministry internship! There’s no way the two of you could have been stuck in an office together and NOT have something!”

Jeno threw a pillow across the room, watching successfully as it hit Haechan square in the chest and dropped to the floor. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve taken bets.”

Karina, stunned, blinked once before grinning wide. “Wait, wait, wait. Haechan finally grew a pair and asked you out? You two were seriously acting like a romance novel.”

Renjun, for once, just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’m happy for you, man. I am. But if you hurt her…” He tilted his head slowly. “I will make you disappear.”

Xiaojun, from across the room, raised his glass. “And I’ll help.”

Everyone burst out laughing, but Haechan simply grinned, eyes crinkling as he held up a hand in surrender. “Fair enough. I’d deserve it.”

Y/N was glowing. She felt it—warm and golden and real. Watching her friends laugh with his, seeing their worlds blend together like two streams finally merging—it felt like everything was aligning, like she’d stepped into the right chapter at last.

A little while later, after the conversations had splintered off into smaller pockets, Y/N slipped away toward the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe through all the joy pressing at her chest. She barely made it down the hall before Haechan appeared behind her, surprising her by wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around.

“You following me?” she teased, spinning on her heel and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He shrugged, eyes soft and full of love. “You looked too pretty not to.”

She rolled her eyes harmlessly, stepping out of his grasp and into the small hallway nook, before tugging him with her by the collar of his sweater. “They’re getting along,” she whispered like it was a secret.

“I know,” Haechan whispered back, enjoying being this close to her and feeling her arms on his chest. “Jeno and Xiaojun just agreed to hang out without us. I don’t know whether to be proud or scared.”

Y/N laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned into him.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He cupped her cheek gently, voice hushed and sincere. “It’s real. All of it. You and me and this—whatever it is. Whatever it becomes.”

She kissed him softly, a kiss full of promise, of magic. The kind that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because the sparks were already there, humming between them like a current they had finally stopped running from.

When they pulled apart, forehead to forehead, Y/N smiled. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

Haechan grinned. “We’re gonna be better than okay.”

And in the warmth of the hallway, surrounded by laughter, music, and the beginnings of something bright, they believed it.

54 notes · View notes

dilly-dahlia · 3 days ago

Text

vii. Fair Frights and Car Lights

pairing: Gene x Reader

content: pdh, drill team!reader, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine, drug mentions, harassment, blackmail,

summary: Nothing could be more fun than a day at the Fall Festival, especially if it was spent with people you cared about. Even if some parts were less than ideal, the world has a funny way of making things turn around.

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

The Problem With Popularity masterlist

previous part

You were on the phone with Katelyn. She was obnoxiously singing “Cotton Eyed Joe.” Except she didn’t know any of the words, so it just came out as a bumble of gibberish until she finally got to Cotton Eyed Joe. It was getting increasingly harder to focus on getting a solid line of eyeliner when she was being so distracting.

“Katelyn. Please, for the love of all that is good, be productive.”

“I believe that singing “Cotton Eyed Joe” while you’re doing your makeup is productive,” Katelyn replied. She set her phone down for a second, giving you a nice view of the One Direction poster on her ceiling, before she picked it back up. “My dad gave me a Twix.”

She held up the opened candy bar to show you before taking a bite. You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s fantastic.”

“Hey, so”—Katelyn paused, reaching up to cover her mouth so her chewing wasn’t too disruptive—”why are you dressing so nice?”

“This isn’t nice,” you instinctively responded. There wasn’t really much thought behind the response, and it was obvious that Katelyn could see right through the indifference by the absolutely expressionless face she gave you.

“Y/n, you’re wearing makeup. To the Fall Festival,” your friend pointed out. You didn’t know what to respond with but a shrug because that was unusual for you. You normally didn’t because you had yet to actually buy waterproof makeup and there was an abnormal amount of water themed games at the festival. Not to mention there was almost always a face painting stand run by creative elementary schoolers that didn’t have to do much to convince you to sit and let the scribble on your face.

“How do you know-”

“You literally told me at three in the morning, oh, my god, Katelyn. I like Gene. We had a whole conversation about it,” Katelyn said, cutting you off before you could even voice your question about how she came to the conclusion she had.

You were left gobsmacked. Of course she had to actually use her brain and put two and two together to establish your subconscious reason of why you wanted to look nice. You hadn’t even considered that fully—you’d just put together an outfit and brought out your makeup bag without really thinking about it.

You weren’t sure why you were surprised Katelyn was able to piece together the puzzle you hadn’t even known was jumbled. She was one of the most critical and blunt people you’d ever met.

“Okay, so the whole thing with Gene is irrelevant,” you said. Katelyn hummed in disagreement, but didn’t make another comment. “I am just really feeling the makeup today.”

“Right.” An annoying scuffing and shuffling came from Katelyn’s room as she flopped onto her bed and got herself comfortable. “Anyways. You look hot. Do you think that perhaps you and I could go to the festival next week. Because you so rudely made plans with Sasha, Gene, Zenix before I asked.”

Katelyn playfully scoffed while you rolled your eyes. “I didn’t know you wanted to go with me!”

“We go every year, Y/n.”

“No, we went last year. That’s the only time we’ve gone. I’ve only lived here a year.”

Katelyn groaned. “It’s the principle.”

“Y/n! Your friends are here!”

You cursed, staring at the unblended dots of pink on your cheeks. In your rush to put down the blush stick and pick up your brush, you accidentally swiped a line across your left cheek.

Stupidly, you thought you could make it work. You hurried to grab your brush and blend the crap out of the pigment on your face, but immediately realized that you would only look sunburnt.

“Julie, I’m not ready,” you yelled back at her. You saw her pop her head into the room through the reflection of your mirror. When she caught sight of you, she struggled to bite back a laugh.

“Are you joining a sunburn contest in New Orleans or something?” she asked, ducking her head when you threw your unused eyebrow pencil at her. “Hey! What do you want me to do about it?”

“Distract them, or something!”

“They’re not my friends!”

“Julie, please.”

Julie let out a long, loud groan. She dragged her feet across your carpeted floor, back out your door, and shut it behind you.

A long moment of silence passed. You were working hard to remove the obvious blush from your cheeks, but you couldn’t tell anymore if the blush was gone or if your cheeks were irritated because you had been rubbing at them.

“So back to you and Gene-“

“Katelyn, if you don’t shut up then I am going to pour hot coffee over you on Monday.”

—

Julie really hated this.

She wasn’t an entertainer like you. She didn’t know how to make people laugh or read a room all that well. The only time she had really hit the nail with the latter was because the other person was having a full blown mental breakdown.

Yeah. Julie never did so hot in social situations. Any situation, really. She sucked less when she was on her room or was working with her hands or was talking to—

“Y/n’s still getting ready,” Julie blurted. It was out of nowhere. She had been standing in the hallway entrance, fidgeting with her fingers and a frayed edge of her sleep shorts, just looking at the trio of friends in front of her. “She got up late.”

She saw Gene smile. She only knew it was Gene because of the number of football games she got dragged to where you always talked with him. It was obvious to her you liked him, but she hadn’t said anything.

The one with red eyes and brown hair scoffed. “See? I told you guys we shouldn’t have stayed up so late. We barely made it here before ten, and she’s not even ready.”

“Zenix, you were the one rushing us out the door,” Gene reminded. He looked down at his phone, but had glanced up while he spoke.

“Because you would’ve been complaining about being late if it weren’t me. At least if I’m the one complaining then I don’t have to hear about how-”

“Hey.” Sasha offered Julie a wave, sidling up next to her. Julie tried to continue eavesdropping on Gene and Zenix, but she was already confused with what they were talking about. “How’s it going? How’s school?”

“Oh. Fine,” Julie replied. She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

Sasha hummed, some of her silver earrings clicking against each other as she slowly nodded her head. Her silver hair was straight and sleek, as it always was, and the light of the kitchen shone off the glossy strands. “Any boys? Girls? Romantics interests, if you will.”

Julie’s eyes widened. Her mind immediately went to the guy she was talking to, the things she’d done for him, but she hadn’t told anyone about him. Not even Aphmau or you or any of her other close friends. She hadn’t let so much as a hint leave her lips. As far as Julie knew, no one but her, him, and two of his friends knew what she did.

Julie faltered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s for a brief moment before she shook her head. “No. No, there’s no- I’m not interested in anyone.”

She had always been a terrible liar. Her tongue always knotted up and caught around the words and she could never get out a straight sentence. And she knew Sasha didn’t buy her lie because the silver-haired girl raised a perfectly manicured brow.

Lucky for Julie, she wasn’t questioned further. Sasha fixed her expression to be more neutral before crossing her arms. “Yeah, most of the people at Phoenix Drop high are jerks. I mean, look at those two.”

She jerked a thumb in the direction of Zenix and Gene. They were still bickering, but Julie couldn’t be sure if it was still because of their arrival time. Julie couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew how her sister felt about the older one.

“Y/n has questionable taste,” she stated. She made sure her voice came out loud enough that Sasha could hear, but not so loud that her comment would alert Gene.

Sasha laughed and clapped her hands in what Julie assumed to be relief. “Finally! Someone else said it. I swear, she first told me she liked him and I was convinced it was about his money.” She shook her head, turning her gaze back to Julie. “But honestly, compared to some other people, Gene and Zenix aren’t all that bad. They’re just . . . weird. Nothing like Balto and his friends, though.”

Julie stiffened at the name. Sasha pretended not to notice, but she took note of the reaction and stored it in the back of her head for later.

Sasha continued, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. The three of us have definitely gotten high or intoxicated before, but . . . Irene, we’ve never taken drugs to parties. I mean Balto goes all out. He gets everything. Grass, fent, roofies . . . He’s insane.”

Julie’s skin was starting to crawl. She could feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck, and she reached up to swiftly wipe it away in an attempt to make her less hot. “Uhm, why hasn’t he been caught yet?” she asked, her voice quiet and small.

Sasha took a second to give Julie a once over. She took note of her body language. Julie was avoiding Sasha’s eyes. She was fidgeting excessively with her gold necklace and Sasha only noticed then that the letter B hung from the jewelry.

She furrowed her brows, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to pop her hip. “He gets other students to do his dirty work,” Sasha simply said. She watched again as Julie reached up and wiped the back of her neck. “They take the fall and Balto gets off scott-free. Administration can’t actually prove that he’s the one dealing and providing the drugs, so they can’t do anything to him. Plus he uses his parents money to bribe them.”

Julie hummed. She cleared her throat and pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. “Um, I’m gonna go check on Y/n.”

Sasha nodded, giving Julie a soft smile. “See you later, Julie.”

“Yup.” The word came out as a squeak. The next second, Julie was turning around and physically forced herself to walk down the hall casually.

Once the brunette was out of sight and, presumably, out of earshot, Sasha turned to Gene and Zenix. Her smile fell and she raised her brows.

“She’s the one Balto’s got,” Sasha said, stepping closer to the two boys so she could speak quieter. She cursed under her breath. “Why is he preying on a little freshman?” Both her friends shot her a knowing look, Zenix’s gaze switching between her and Gene. Sasha rolled her eyes and lightly hit his shoulder. “Gene’s over blackmailing Aphmau. And Y/n, for that matter. He’s trying to be all high and mighty for her, remember?”

Zenix nodded, but Gene scoffed and shook his head in response. “I am not trying to be high and mighty for Y/n. I . . . just realized that maybe I shouldn’t be preying on little freshmen as a senior.”

Sasha glared at him. “Right.” Whatever got him to that conclusion, she supposed.

“Okay, so Julie.” Thank Irene Zenix was there. He could always be counted on to keep a conversation at least somewhat on track. “She’s the one selling for Balto?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha admitted. She spared a glance back toward the hallway, making sure no one was coming down it. “I don’t know if she’s actually dealing or selling for him, but she and Balto are definitely involved. She stiffened when I said his name and she’s wearing a necklace with a B on it.”

“Couldn’t that be her dad? His name is Bernie, right?” Zenix asked. Sasha deadpanned. Sometimes he was really good at keeping them on track, but other times, like this, Sasha wondered if Zenix lacked common sense.

“You don’t- No, Zenix. The B does not stand for Bernie.” She didn’t even know how to start explaining why it didn’t stand for Bernie, so she brushed it off.

“So Balto and Julie are dating?” Gene asked. His arms were crossed and he was staring off at an empty space on the wall across from him.

Sasha shook her head. She was sure they weren’t dating—not officially, anyway. “No. If they were dating then Balto would’ve told us. He explicitly only told us what he did the way he did to mess with us.”

“But why?”

“He could be trying to get to Y/n,” Zenix suggested. So he could figure out puzzles. “She’s pretty, popular, friends with lots of people. Balto could be trying to do what you were at the beginning of the year, Gene, and bring the whole friend group down.”

Gene pursed his lips. He didn’t regret getting to know you, he just wished the initial circumstances were different.

But why you? Because Balto liked to break people, that was why. He was similar to Gene in that regard. He would see a bright light in someone, the way lights reflected off their eyes, and he would be hit with the urge to dull it. The overwhelming desire to ruin their life.

You’d gone through enough of that. Gene refused to let it happen to you again, and he wouldn’t let it happen to Julie either.

“So what do we do?” Sasha asked. Her voice was low and her heart pounded in her ears. She felt like they’d be interrupted any minute. “We can’t just-”

“Sorry!” Your voice bounced around the living room like a bell. You emerged from the hallway wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a gray tank top. Over it, you wore a maroon cardigan with big sleeves and your hair was pinned out of your face. “I woke up late.”

“It’s alright,” Gene replied. He gave you a charming smile. One that turned up and showcased his perfect teeth. “The three of us almost didn’t make it on time either. We wouldn’t have rushed if we’d known you weren’t ready.”

“Oh, you guys didn’t have to do that,” you said, walking over to the front door and slipping on a pair of flats that matched your cardigan. You grabbed your purse from the hook by the door, checking it to make sure you had everything you needed. “I wouldn’t have minded waiting.”

“That’s what I said,” Zenix mumbled. You didn’t hear him, but Gene did, and he gave his friend a glare. If looks could kill, then Zenix might have been vaporized.

“We didn’t want to keep you waiting.” You found it odd that Gene put a special emphasis on we. The fleeting thought that he was the one that didn’t want to keep you waiting crossed your mind, but you were quick to stop on that idea.

“Regardless, I’m sorry that I caused so much trouble.” You slung your bag over your shoulder and smiled at them. “Ready?”

Gene’s car was nice. You assumed as much, but you had only ever seen it in the dark so you were having a very different experience seeing it in the daylight. And you had never seen the inside before. It was a Ford, though you didn’t know what model. It wasn’t a truck with a bed, though, and you were glad for that.

You might have been stereotyping (you definitely were) but every single person you met that drove a truck was always stuck up. Or they were the type to have very cookie cutter values about what the world should be like.

Regardless, you stepped into the back seat with Sasha and marvelled at the cleanliness, the only thing marring the image being the magazine that was upside down on the middle seat. You weren’t sure why, but it surprised you.

“Are you going on rides, Y/n?” Gene asked. His sapphire gaze met yours through the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Maybe,” you replied. “I don’t know. I don’t really like how all of the ones at this festival just go in circles.”

Sasha groaned. “I know. It’s actually terrible.”

“You just have a weak stomach, Sash,” Zenix piped up. Sasha leaned forward, magazine from the center seat in hand, and whacked Zenix over the head.

“Shut up. You’re the one that threw up last year after the Hurricane.”

“I also had, like, two burgers, a third of a funnel cake, plus half of a hot dog that you didn’t eat beforehand,” he retorted, reaching back to swing the magazine back toward Sasha.

“Well it’s your fault for eating so much.”

You laughed at the exchange. The more time you spent with them, the more it felt like you were slowly becoming a more significant part of their group. It might have worried you, considering that people might start whispering about the association and pinning you as a Shadow Knight, but you found that you didn’t mind.

You were comfortable where you were—with the three students the entirety of Phoenix Drop High knew as delinquents. You weren’t worried about anything.

—

You looked over your shoulder. All day it seemed as though someone had been following you. He had dirty blond hair. You couldn’t make out any defining features except for that, but he was wearing a green and brown striped shirt and baggy cargo pants. Every time you looked at him, his gaze was quick to flit away like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

You turned your gaze forward again, nearly running into Gene. You reached a hand out to stop yourself and warn him before you fully walked into him. He turned around at the touch, and you were quick to lower your hand.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted.”

Zenix and Sasha had stopped. They were squinting at one of the food truck signs, trying to read what it said and debating whether or not that’s what they wanted to eat. From what you could tell, it was a local restaurant that primarily sold carne asada tacos and cheese curds. An odd combination, but it seemed to work for te owners. There was a long line around the truck.

“You okay, bunny?” Gene could obviously tell there was something bothering you. He obviously didn’t know what it was, but he hoped you would be truthful with him.

You nodded instead. “Fine.” But you glanced over your shoulder again. The blond had moved. He sat at a table now. He was on his phone, but its camera was pointed toward you and you shifted uncomfortably. You glanced around, wondering if you could call him out, but realized he had positioned himself strategically so the action looked natural.

Gene’s gaze followed yours. When he caught sight of the blond, his eyes narrowed.

“Fucking creep,” he mumbled. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and moved your body so you were on his other side and he obscured you from the camera’s view. He looked back at the blond. “Shit, I think he’s in our physics.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah. He sits close to Mr. Vega’s desk, I think.” Gene’s gaze flicked to yours, and he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. No one’ll mess with you if I’m here.”

You chuckled at his attempt to lighten the situation. “Because you’re so scary.”

Gene scoffed, splaying a hand on his chest. “I’m offended, bunny. I’m plenty scary.”

You smiled at him. He was right, though, because from the corner of your eye you saw the blond pocket his phone and stand. You watched him walk in the opposite direction and visibly relaxed.

Gene’s arm slipped off your shoulder. You wished for a moment that he would’ve kept it there, just to have him close to you.

“I’ll take care of it Monday,” he said casually. Carelessly, as if he hadn’t just thrown around an indirect threat. Well, you didn’t know if it was really a threat, but knowing Gene it was probably something of the threatening sort.

Your eyes widened. “No! Gene, it’s fine. Really. He didn’t even do anything.”

Gene hummed mockingly, raising a brow. “He’s a creep, Y/n. He was obviously taking pictures of you. He’s probably gonna go home and . . .” Gene trailed off. You wished you were able to see his thoughts, because he looked as though he caught himself thinking something he didn’t want to say. He shook his head. “Never mind.”

You pressed your lips together. You weren’t clueless to what he was going to say. Obviously he was gonna go home and use the pictures of you as material to jack off. It wasn’t something you wanted to think about, though. And you didn’t want Gene to think about it either, so you changed the subject.

“Do you wanna get a table?” you asked, nodding to the designated eating area. “I think Sasha and Zenix decided what they want to eat.”

Gene nodded, and the two of you looked for an empty table the four of you could sit at. You sat across from Gene and used your purse to save the seat next to you for Sasha. Gene set his wallet on the table where Zenix would sit.

His gaze shifted over your shoulder. You looked back to see what he was looking at, but saw nothing. You wondered what had caught his attention, since he seemed focused on whatever it was. When you turned back to ask, his hands were on the plastic table and he was pushing himself up.

“I’ll be back. Bathroom,” he said, but the dismissive way he said it made it sound like a flimsy excuse. He gave you one of his charming smiles. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

You laughed and he walked away. He left his phone, you realized, and considered calling out to tell him. Before you could fully bring the thought to fruition, though, a drink was placed in front of you.

You lifted your gaze, hoping to see either Sasha or Zenix or someone else you knew, but your breath caught. It was the blond. He gave you a smile, which you tentatively returned, before he seated himself in the spot Gene had.

“You’re Y/n, right?” he asked, crossing his arms against the table and leaning forward. He knew your name, so you couldn’t come up with a random one to say. You nodded. “Cool. Charlie.” He motioned to himself. “We have the same Physics period. I sit kind of close to Mr. Vega’s desk.”

Your smile was strained. Of course Gene was right. Why wouldn’t he be? “Really?”

He nodded. “I just wanna say; you are a smoke show. I mean . . .”

You swore your eye twitched as he used his hands to trace a figure in the air, but you couldn’t be sure. It astonished you that some people thought it was okay to just go up to someone and . . . say something like that.

“Thank you,” you bit out. You tone had an obvious edge, and you were being overly hopeful in thinking he would notice it.

“Yeah. You gave me notes one time at your drill practice and—” he whistled. You were sure your eye twitched that time because you were fighting the urge to reach over the table and sock him in the eye. He might like that, though. “I should’ve asked you out then. I’ve regretted not doing it because we have this, like . . . spark.”

No we don’t, you almost said, but you bit your tongue.

“Like, you’re always smiling at me.” He looked at you dreamily and you blinked in disbelief. Did he think smiling was interest? And you could barely even remember this guy—clearly he was making some fantasy up in his head. “So, do you wanna, like, go out or something? Maybe like coffee?”

You pressed your lips into a tight smile. “I’m really busy, actually. Y’know, with the drill team and all my classes. Plus my job.”

You didn’t have a job. You were lying straight through your teeth. The only things you ever got paid for was the occasional craft because you had picked up a random hobby or babysitting something for someone else.

You shook your head as if you were inconveniencing yourself. “Yeah, I’m just so busy. I don’t really have time for dating.”

He scoffed and leaned back in the foldable chair. His charming smile had morphed into an expression of disgust you had seen on crime TV shows when the suspect was being interrogated. “You’re really missing out, you know that? I’m a nice guy—do you realize how much courage I had to build to come over and even ask you out.”

“I’m sure,” you replied dryly.

He gave you a once over, scoffing again and rolling his eyes. “You aren’t even that pretty. And you’re a bitch, too. I’m way nicer than Gene.” He said the name like a slur that left a nasty taste in his mouth. Charlie pushed himself out of the seat and knocked over the drink he had brought you. You flinched back. “And I bought you a damn drink. I used my own money on some ungrateful brat. Don’t you think I deserve to take you out?”

“She doesn’t owe you anything, fucker.” You didn’t need to turn or even fully process the words to know the voice belonged to Gene. And you didn’t—you kept your body forward and tried to keep your face straight.

You were thankful that Gene had come when he did. You didn’t need a savior, per se, but it was nice when someone backed you up.

—

Gene watched over your shoulder as Aphmau and Laurance stumbled out of the photo booth. Well, Aphmau stumbled. Laurance cooley stepped out of the booth without a care in the world, but both of their cheeks had reddened.

Gene couldn’t help it. He might not have wanted to blackmail Aphmau anymore, but he was a curious person.

He pushed himself out of his seat, giving you an excuse about going to the bathroom. He knew it was flimsy and half assed, but he also knew you wouldn’t question him further. He took the long way to the photo booth, walking in the direction you were facing and circling around so you couldn’t see him.

He was glad no one had snatched the printed photos yet. He picked up both lines of film, looking them over. There were four identical photos on each. In the first, Aphmau and Laurance were sticking their tongues out to the camera. In the second they were smiling and in the third they looked at each other as if they were discussing something serious.

And in the fourth, their lips were locked. Laurance’s hand was on Aphmau’s jaw to keep her in place and the girl’s eyes were wide as saucers. Gene raised a brow at the picture. Turns out Laurance had the guts to go for his best friend’s crush again.

Gene pocketed both strips, glancing around and spotting the raven haired freshman waiting by the bathrooms. She was on her phone and Laurance was nowhere in sight, so Gene assumed he was the one in the bathroom.

He strolled over. Aphmau heard his footsteps and glanced up, her eyes widening when she caught sight of him. She straightened and moved like she was going to walk out of the way, but Gene caught her before she could. He didn’t grab her, but he was close enough that he could tower over and intimidate her.

Aphmau was frozen. Gene would have been able to feel her nervous energy even if he wasn’t directly in front of her.

“What do you want, Gene?” He could tell she was trying her best to sound big and strong, but her voice came out as a squeak. It amused Gene, and he had to bite back an amused smile.

“Relax. I don’t want much.” Gene pulled both strips of photos out of his pocket and held them up. Aphmau looked at them with furrowed brows for a moment, trying to figure out what they were, before her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her mouth fell agape.

“You’ll catch flies,” he said and shut her mouth. Gene really couldn’t help but tease her. He’d hardwired that part of himself into his being since he was in middle school.

Aphmau looked over her shoulder, no doubt making sure Laurance hadn’t come out of the bathroom. When she met Gene’s gaze again, her eyes were glassy.

“Please don’t tell Y/n,” she begged, her voice quieting. “Or Garroth. Or . . . anyone. I-I don’t want to be the reason their friend group splits up. All of them have been friends for way longer than I’ve been in the picture and I feel terrible going behind their backs, but— Gene, please. I’ll do any—”

“Calm down. I’m not asking you to do anything.” He held out the photos to her, which she tentatively took between her fingers. “I just came to tell you that I’m done. And to maybe keep a closer eye on your belongings.”

Aphmau’s waterline became so overfilled with tears that they started slipping down her cheeks. It wasn’t a waterfall, and she wasn’t sobbing, but it was a gentle stream that stained her shirt when the tears dripped off her face. “What do you mean done?” She asked it like she was afraid this interaction was a dream.

Gene shrugged. He took a step away from her and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Done blackmailing you.” Aphmau was still confused. Her dark brows were furrowed and Gene could see the gears turning as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re Y/n’s friend. She cares about you.”

She still wasn’t able to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but she gave him a slow nod all the same. “Okay . . .”

“I still don’t want you to tell her about any of this,” he added.

“What? Why? Don’t you think you should be honest?”

“Because—” Gene cut himself off. He realized how ridiculous this scenario was. This girl was standing in front of him—one he had blackmailed and almost destroyed the social life of. Yet she wasn’t screaming or in the slightest bit upset at him. She almost seemed alarmed, if anything.

But that wasn’t the most confusing or surprising part. Aphmau was a passive person. She wasn’t a fan of conflict and seemed to have bad anxiety based off how much of a people pleaser she was. She kept quiet if she thought what she wanted to say would cause a problem and tended to stay as neutral as she could. That was why Gene had decided for her to be his target.

No, the strangest part to Gene was that he almost seemed inclined to share his emotional woes with this same girl. One who was fourteen. Sure, there was only roughly three years between them—four if you were counting by graduating years—but she was practically a child.

Yet he felt like he at least owed her the short explanation she requested. Even if it put a crack in his armed exterior and showed vulnerability.

He didn’t tell her without complaint.

“Irene, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he mumbled, along with a few other silent profanities. Aphmau didn’t hear anything outside of a jumble of words, but Gene started talking again before she could ask. “I like her. I like Y/n, and it’d be nice if she liked me back. I don’t think she’d be very happy finding out I blackmailed one of her friends.”

Aphmau’s eyes widened. Obviously, she heard every time her friends teased you or argued with you about your relationship with Gene, but she hadn’t really thought it was something serious. “Oh.”

Gene hummed in faux amusement. “Yeah. Oh.”

She hadn’t meant it like that—like it was something embarrassing he should be ashamed of. Because he shouldn’t. But she didn’t really want to establish what she truly meant. Gene would be fine if she didn’t elaborate, right?

After a moment of silence, Gene blew out a breath. He looked like he needed a cigarette. Actually, now that she was thinking about it, Aphmau hadn’t seen Gene smoke in a while.

“Listen, I know you probably don’t like me”—Well that’s an understatement—“and you have no reason to do this for me, but don’t tell Y/n, Aphmau.”

“What’ll you do if I do tell her?” Because she was leaning toward that option. You’re nice. You’re kind and sweet—you were the first one that really made Aphmau feel like she was part of the group. She didn’t want you to end up with someone like Gene.

“Nothing. I’m asking you as a favor.”

Aphmau blinked at him. She looked over his shoulder because she couldn’t stand looking directly into his piercing gaze anymore. If she’d spent any longer staring at his startlingly blue eyes then she might’ve started confessing every lie she’d ever told.

She did consider his offer. His not offer, really, since neither of them were really gaining anything. Well, he would get a Y/n that still looked at him through rose-colored lenses and ignored everything bad he did. Aphmau wouldn’t get anything, but was it really worth the trouble if she told you?

You were sitting at one of the plastic white tables not too far from where she and Gene were. What caught Aphmau’s attention, though, was the guy with dirty blond hair that sat across from you. He was leaning forward, head in his hands like you were the most interesting and exciting thing to happen to him since his birth. You, however, were sitting at the edge of your seat looking ready to jet from the area as soon as you could.

Okay, Aphmau decided, she wouldn’t tell you about Gene blackmailing her. She figured you already knew about him blackmailing people and you still decided to be friends with him, so who knew if her telling you would even change anything.

She would, however, try and do Gene one better. She wouldn’t be an active helper for him, but if the chance arose then she would give him a nudge in the right direction.

“There’s a guy talking to Y/n,” she told him. She kept her gaze on where you were, just in case something did happen and she either needed to sprint over or alert someone else. “A blond guy.”

Gene’s head whipped around so fast Aphmau was shocked he didn’t break his neck. He cursed (not so loud that it disturbed anyone but loud enough that a nearby mother glared at him before running off with her toddler) and took a step away. He hesitated, though, and looked back at her. His expression was riddled with guilt.

“Aphmau, please.”

She had never seen him look anything but cunning, and pleading was probably the last emotion she’d ever expected him to show. Especially to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already jogging over to where you sat.

He might regret telling Aphmau later—maybe he should’ve just told her he was done with the blackmail and left it at that. Or even better, just stop talking to her at all and pretend it never happened. But she was still your friend, and if you ever did reciprocate his feelings, then he would be seeing her again.

But he didn’t let himself worry about that now. This annoying blond—he knew his name was Charlie Matts because his girlfriend, a girl that had been in Gene’s homeroom class since they were in sixth grade named Moriyah Rose, posted about him nonstop—had been watching you all day. He had some nerve coming to talk, probably harass, you when he had a girlfriend.

“And I bought you a damn drink. I used my own money on some ungrateful brat. Don’t you think I deserve to take you out?”

“She doesn’t owe you anything, fucker.” Gene’s voice came out sharp enough to cut through steel. He didn’t look at you and you didn’t look at him, but Charlie did. His pale eyes met Gene’s and slightly widened.

It was brief. Charlie fixed his face quickly enough that it would be useless to comment on his startled expression.

“She doesn’t owe you shit either,” he snarled. “You can’t come in and act like a white knight when you do shit like blackmail her friends.”

There was no way Charlie, of all fucking people, knew about Aphmau, but that’s where Gene’s mind immediately went. It wasn’t until after a smug smirk stretched across Charlie’s face that Gene considered he might have been talking about past years.

You did glance back at Gene after hearing those words. You hoped Charlie was just talking about what had happened with Laurance the previous year. He probably was, since Gene always got his way and whenever he blackmailed someone that information eventually made its way around the students.

Charlie huffed in amusement. “See? She doesn’t like you so much now.” He turned his gaze back to you, leaning down so your face was level with his. You instinctively pulled back, away from him and into the space Gene occupied. “This boy you’re obsessed with is nothing but a flat nobody who resorts to bringing other people down because he can’t make a name for himself.” He reached forward, and when his fingertips brushed against your jaw you recoiled so far your back hit the back of the chair. “Someone with a future as bright as yours shouldn’t be with someone who’ll end up in his parents’ basement.”

“Moriyah’s pretty, you know?” Gene cut in. Your breath caught at the humiliating tone of his voice, but it got Charlie’s attention and he wasn’t trying to touch your face anymore. “I wonder how she’d feel knowing the boyfriend she loves so much is trying to cheat on her.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Don’t bring Riri into this.”

Gene raised his brows, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Riri? Cute nickname.” He wrapped his hand around the back of your chair and used it as leverage to lean over you. “Listen, Matts. You can walk away from this with or without a girlfriend. Quit bothering Y/n, and I won’t tell Moriyah about your wandering eye.” Charlie didn’t say anything as Gene grabbed his shoulder with his free hand and squeezed.

“However,” Gene continued, lowering his voice, “if Y/n tells me one word about you harassing her again, then Moriyah will be throwing your ass to the ground faster than you can think of an apology.”

Gene’s smile widened as Charlie swallowed and nodded. He gave the blond an aggressive pat on the shoulder. “Wow, looks like you can be a loyal boyfriend. With a little motivation, of course.” Gene pushed Charlie away before taking back his seat across from you. “Now shove off, Matts. I don’t want to see you the rest of the day.”

Gene watched Charlie hurry away behind you. You didn’t, and instead lowered your head to watch your hands as you picked at your cuticles. After a minute or two, Gene reached over and tapped the table in front of you to get your attention.

“You okay?” His expression was no longer hardened. He was back to the Gene you knew—the one that was silently considerate and always needed to reassure those he cared about.

At least, you hoped he cared about you.

You nodded, forcing yourself to smile at him. “Fine.”

The air between you two was thick and tense. You weren’t lying—you really were fine—but Gene could tell that the encounter had at least shaken you up. He wasn’t sure what he could do to comfort you.

You let out a strained laugh. In an attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable tension, said, “Wow. You were scary.”

Gene let out a breath of amusement. He drew his hand back and gave you a soft smile. “Told you I was.” You returned his smile. A genuine one this time, which Gene much preferred over any forced one. Gene nodded to the spilled liquid in front of you. “Sorry about your drink.”

You shook your head and waved it off. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.”

That made the attempts to lighten the mood falter. Gene clicked his tongue and pressed his lips together. “I’m really sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s not your fault, Gene.”

“I know, but . . .” He trailed off. His tongue flicked over his lips as he gathered his thoughts. “You don’t deserve that. Ever.”

You smiled, and for a moment Gene had the foresight to see that it would be okay. He would be there to protect you, and in the case that he couldn’t (which he hoped was never) he would be there to help you through it however you wanted to get through it.

“Woah.” Zenix must have been getting sick. His voice was typically raspy, but for some reason his gravelly tone was more startling than usual. When you and Gene looked at him and Sasha, Zenix was motioning to the puddle in front of you. Sasha was quick to set down the food in her hands and gather the paper towels she had picked up. “What happened here?”

Gene rolled his eyes, letting his hand drop heavily against the table. “Fucking Charlie Matts.”

“Oh, my Irene,” Sasha gasped, starting to clean up the puddle. You helped, and the both of you were careful in making sure it didn’t drip off the table and into your lap. “Moriyah’s bitch ass boyfriend?”

Gene nodded begrudgingly. Zenix cringed and handed Gene a red and white striped food boat that had three tacos squeezed inside it.

“Gross,” Sasha mumbled. “Are you okay?”

You nodded but didn’t offer any other response. For a moment, you and Sasha just soaked the spilled liquid into the paper towels. Once the two of you had finished, Zenix was quick to take the soiled paper and sprint it to the nearest trash can.

“Charlie’s a dick,” Sasha said in an attempt to try and console you. Zenix came back just in time to catch the back end of Sasha’s comment, and he nodded in agreement. “I told him I was a lesbian and he said he could fix that.” She rolled her eyes at the memory, picking up one of the tacos from her paper boat and taking a quick bite. “And then when I got my septum pierced he literally went out of his way to tell me I ruined myself and that no man would ever want me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You tried not to—because that experience was just as bad as yours, but the laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it. You covered your mouth to stifle the sound and let an apology stumble from your lips.

Sasha shook her head, laughing with you. “No, laugh. It’s funny because how dense does he have to be? I told him I’m a lesbian—why would I want a man to want me?”

Just the way she said it made you laugh harder, and it wasn’t very long until the two of you fell into easy conversation. Zenix and Gene added a comment every now and then until the four of you were talking.

For the time being, at least, you forgot about Charlie Matts.

—

After getting off a ride that spun fast enough to slide him to the other side of the seat, Zenix jumped out as soon as it stopped and sprinted to the nearest trash can to vomit.

That happened hours ago. The sun had since dipped far below the horizon and now and Sasha and Gene were not letting Zenix live it down. You figured they wouldn’t for at least a week.

Surprisingly, the ride Gene led to drop everyone off at their houses was loud. You had expected everyone to be tired and not talkative (even if they weren’t necessarily active), but there was not a single moment of silence that passed between the four of you.

Gene dropped Zenix off first. He lived in a boujee apartment in the downtown area of Phoenix Drop. A passing comment was made by him about annoying tenants that didn’t pay on time, and you assumed his family owned the building.

Sasha was next. There was a row of fairy lights turned on around her porch and her mom sat on one of the outdoor couched with a cup of tea and two other people. They were talking happily, but as Gene drove away you saw Sasha get into a different car with the man and woman that definitely wasn’t her mother.

You had moved to the front seat. It had originally been taken up by Zenix, but you felt awkward sitting in the back now that both him and Sasha were gone. Gene had noticed your stiffness and offered that you take the spot next to him. You had agreed, but now silence stretched between the two of you as he drove you home.

It was tense. Gene had been generous and given you the aux. You chose your playlist of soft sounds (predominantly overtaken by Laufey and Suki Waterhouse) to relax yourself. Hopefully it would calm your pounding heart and let you talk to Gene like you normally did.

“I had fun today,” you decided to say. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Gene smiled. “Of course. You’re basically part of the Shadow Knights now.”

He gave you a cheeky glance that made you chuckle. “I’m not part of your little gang, Gene. Even if I wanted to be you haven’t put me through any sort of initiation.”

He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Fine, fine. Honorary member, then.”

You laughed. You let yourself lean closer, elbow against the center console and head in your hand, and look at him. Really look at him. Something about the quiet moment in the car was intimate, and you couldn’t think of a better time to see him the way you often did when he wasn’t looking.

There was a bump in his nose. It wasn’t large or particularly prominent—you honestly would have missed it if you weren’t looking at him so closely—but it was there. You couldn’t help but think that glasses would fit on his face perfectly. They would sit right on the bridge of his nose, just above the soft bump. Or maybe he would let them fall further down, closer to where the stud in his nostril was.

His eyebrows were thick and dark, but they didn’t look unruly. The steel of his eyebrow ring sparkled like starlight every time you passed under a street lamp. He had lashes long enough that they brushed against his cheeks each time he blinked and full lips. A newer addition—that you had noticed when he first got it but now realized he had changed the jewelry on—was the black snake bites.

You tilted your head, a fond smile playing at your lips. “Tell me about your piercings.”

Gene raised his brow. He spared you a glance, wanting to look at you as closely as you were looking at him, before turning his gaze back to the road. “What?”

You shrugged. Your mom had fun stories about hers, you wanted to know if Gene did, too. “I just wanna know about them.”

He gave an amused smile before giving a soft, almost disbelieving shake of his head. “I did my nose when I was thirteen. Self-pierced.”

You flinched. “Oh, my Irene.”

Gene laughed, and you revelled in the sound. “Yeah. It hurt like a motherfucker. I definitely did it wrong. But my older cousin Miguel had one and I wanted to be like him, so I took one of my mom’s sewing needles and ran it through my nose.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Gene.”

Your reaction made him chuckle. “Not fun. Both my parents were pissed and healing took longer than it should have.” You blinked at him. He ignored your look of shock and moved on. “My eyebrow I got semi-professionally. Miguel ended up being a tattoo artist and piercer so I was his first customer during his apprenticeship. He nearly put the needle through my skull.”

The sound of your snicker made Gene smile fondly before continuing. “And then I just wanted to get my lip done, so I did. Thought it looked neat. Better now that I have black hoops instead of those god-awful steel ones.”

You hummed. You knew he had other piercings in his ears—at least three more, if you were remembering correctly—but he didn’t elaborate on them so you assumed the stories behind those weren’t as fun.

“What about you, bunny?” he asked, raising a brow and turning toward you as he approached a red light. “Any secret jewelry.”

You scoffed. “No. My mom took me to get these when I was a baby,” you replied, bringing your hands up to squeeze at your lobes. “It was the same session she got her belly button pierced. The parlor she went to offered free piercings for babies. She figured why not and sent my dad to her house to get my birth certificate.”

“Wow,” Gene said, then furrowed his brows. When the green light reflected off his face, he took his gaze off you and continued driving. “How old is your mom?”

“Thirty-three.”

His eyes widened. “She had you at sixteen?” You hummed in affirmation. Gene lowly whistled. “So that’s like if you, right now, had a one year old.” You nodded. It was something you thought about often. And also an argument you sometimes used to get what you wanted. “Wow.”

“Crazy,” you agreed. “And then she had Julie when she was eighteen.”

“Shit.” You snorted at the reaction. Gene laughed, too, though his came out as a more I don’t know how to respond laugh. “Okay, Y/n’s Mom. Get it, I guess.”

You might have said more (despite not knowing what else you would have said considering that was all to say), but Gene turned onto your street and parked in your driveway faster than you realized.

He was quick to undo his seatbelt. “Let me walk you to the door.”

If he had said that a week earlier, you would have insisted that you were fine. You would have demanded that he stay in the car and drive off, and Gene would have settled for watching you enter your house before driving away. Now, however, you found that you wanted to spend more time with him. Even if it was just a fleeting second longer.

You nodded. Gene was opening the car door for you before you could even blink and realize he had already left the vehicle. An amused breath fell from your lips at his antics, and when you stepped out you stepped out slowly to extend the moment.

You walked slowly to your front door, too. The front light was on—a sign that someone was awake and probably waiting for you to return home—and you didn’t want your time with Gene cut short. So the two of you took your time on the short stroll up.

When you finally did reach the door, you hesitated. You took a second too long to decide to fish for your keys in your purse. Gene stayed right next to you as you did, even if you were deliberate in moving things aside until your keys found themselves in your hands.

You smiled up at him. You didn’t know how to stall any longer, so now you were just basking in his presence. “Thanks for the ride.”

Gene nodded. “No problem.”

Your gaze lingered on his for a fraction too long. It was noticeable, and you were silently berating yourself for making it so as you inserted your key into the lock.

“Y/n?” Your questioning hum came too fast. Too eager. Thankfully, Gene didn’t seem deterred. “I . . . Today was fun.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to say. You could tell as much, but you nodded all the same. You kept your hand on the key, key half turned in the lock, hoping he would continue.

He did. Albeit, he wasn’t very straightforward.

“Uhm . . .” He spent a moment just blinking at you, blue eyes widened just enough that you could see the gears in his head turning. “Would you . . . be opposed to doing it again?”

Your brows furrowed, but you tried to pull back the curious expression. “Of course. You, Sasha, and Zenix are-”

“Without Sasha and Zenix.” He cut you off gently. Like the fact that words were even leaving his mouth was an inconvenience to you. You lowered your hand from the doorknob to show that he had your undivided attention. “Just us, I mean. Me and you. At like, a park. Or something. Do you-” Gene faltered. The words twisted on his tongue, and if they had been something tangible, he might have choked. He cleared his throat, tilted his head, clicked his tongue. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing.

“Do you want to go out with me? On a date?” he finally asked.

Your eyes widened. You’d been expecting it after he had lost confidence in his words, but, Irene, you hadn’t anticipated he’d actually ask. You figured he might fumble and change the topic entirely.

The second it took for you to fully process his words seemed to take an eternity—for you, at least. You very clearly heard the crickets chirping and a too low branch brushing against the side of your house as the breeze blew through its leaves. You worried you took too long and that he might think your response was ingenuine.

But Gene smiled when you nodded and said, “I’d love to.” It was the downturned one you adored so much. To hide his growing excitement, he rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face and scratched the side of his neck.

“Alright,” he said. Already you could notice the confidence coming back to his words. “I will let you know the details, then. Does tomorrow work? I know you’re busy during the week.”

You smiled. A wide one that might make your cheeks sore if you did for too long. “Tomorrow works.”

He nodded. You finally turned the key and unlocked the front door of your house. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

If your smile could have gotten wider, it would have. Since it couldn’t, your body opted to make your cheeks warm. You turned your face as you opened the door and entered your house to hide it. “Goodnight, Gene.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You spent a moment with your forehead pressed against it, relishing in the euphoria of the moment, before locking it and turning the deadbolt. You only heard Gene’s footsteps retreating to his car after you did that.

When you turned, your dad was sitting on the couch and looking at you expectantly. He had paused his movie—some old western from YouTube he had likely turned on just to fill the space and keep him awake. For a moment the two of you just started at each other like he’d caught you doing something.

He nodded. “What’s the smile for?”

You tried to wipe it off your face. That turned out to be an impossible task. “Nothing.”

Bernie raised a brow. “Yeah, that’s what the voices outside said, too.”

Okay, so he might have heard you. However, he was sitting on the couch and looked like he hadn’t moved in some time, so you were hoping he only heard indiscernible mumbles.

You shrugged. “The voices in your head, maybe.”

You stifled a laugh as your dad rolled his eyes. You had already taken off your shoes at the door and had started shuffling across the living room before he told you to go to your room and get some rest. You sped up when he did, and the first thing you did was flop back onto your bed and stare at the ceiling.

To say you were lost in a daydream would have been an understatement. You were higher than cloud nine, whatever the idiom used to express that was. Your level of giddiness was through the roof and unrivaled by any coming of age teenage girl movie.

Even when you went to bed, when the tendrils of sleep pulled you into the depths of the darkness, your smile remained.

Everything would be alright, you thought.

dahlia don’t write a long chapter challenge. level impossible. sorry guys didn’t mean to make this almost 10k words uhm. it got away from me oops

but anyways. they’re going on a date now so hopefully that makes up for it 🙂‍↕️

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#sorry about the word count guys #dahlia’s dreams ☾#tpwp #aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #mystreet #phoenix drop high #pdh #gene mystreet #phoenix drop high gene #gene minecraft diaries #gene x reader #pdh gene #gene pdh #gene phoenix drop high #aphmau gene #minecraft diaries gene

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lovingdabeessss · 3 days ago

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Thank you for pointing out yang also helps blake out when she needs help or to chill, recency bias has the fandom thinking it's only ever going to be blake helping yang when the core of their relationship is "they protect each other" when one falls down the other picks her up and vice versa honestly amazing how healthy their relationship is

Thank you!!! I love when people think I do a good job talking about them

I thought it was important to bring up just because how HUGE yang reassuring Blake is

(this isn’t to downplay what Blake is to yang i just can’t talk about 2 things because then I’ll never stop talking)

It’s a big part of their relationship and dynamic and both of their characters and development especially in the beginning

It means a lot to who yang is as a person and who she is in context to Blake

Like I want to do nothing else but acknowledge just how important meeting and being with yang was for Blake

Blake just got out of a relationship that was incredibly manipulative and toxic

But the only reason she got OUT of it was because the person doing that to her was hurting OTHER people, it clearly took Blake a much longer time to realize what he did to HER was wrong

And then she teamed up with yang, a girl who’s so patient and supportive and kind to her and expects literally NOTHING in return

And it’s very important to me that I think that she started acting like that BEFORE she started to have a crush on Blake in any way

Yang did that because it’s what she could tell Blake needed, and that’s just the kind of person she is

Blake needed reassurance, she needed to believe she was more then just a dark void, that she deserved better then what she got and that’s what yang was for her

Nothing to do with romance or anything else, flat out just: Blake needed someone to do that and yang excelled in it

And there’s so many examples

Like:

Blakes drawing her abusive ex in a notebook yang sees but Blake clearly doesn’t want to talk about it? Yang lets it go, doesn’t ask any questions

Blake puts herself down when they talk about their motivations for being here? Yang says “you’re not the kind of person to run from a fight”!

Blake has a fight with Elon musk jr Weiss and reveals she was part of a group that while having a long history of being a group for fighting for faunas rights has recently started killing innocent people (under new leadership) and then she RUNS? Yang “abandonment issues” xiao long literally just looks for her, she isn’t mad her team partner left without a word, she doesn’t so much as mumble about the secrets or the white fang thing, she doesn’t comment on how it must make her feel to be abandoned like that, she even defends her to Weiss repeatedly

When they find her and Blake admits to something SO personal and big for her, to decide to go after and try and right the wrongs of the white fang and figure out what’s going on, yang supports her, casually and sweetly, like there should never be any doubt on what she was going to do, yangs just happy Blake’s expressing her wants

NOT EVEN MENTIONING BURNING THE CANDLE WHICH WAS A WHOLE THING ALL ABOUT THIS PART ABOUT THEM

Yang helped Blake immeasurably on her road to recovery

And I’m not saying that Ruby and Weiss and sun weren’t important too!!! They absolutely were!! Weiss and sun actually serve 2 different versions of the same thing Blake needed, and we all know why Ruby’s important relationship for Blake to have, I’m just saying all of them COMBINED couldn’t get Blake to stop destroying herself after several attempts and it took yang 1 conversation max AND got her to additionally go to the dance with a single sentence

Yang probably did the best job 1 person can do to help out someone going through something this huge and difficult

However Blake was going through a LOT mental illness is a big thing especially with all the trauma and just how fucking long she was in that situation for

A lot of things were conditioned into her and they worked really hard but new trauma tends to bring up old bad habits

As amazing of a job yang did at being there for someone who’s so traumatized

she was still just one person and Blake needed the bigger support system of her family to get to the healthy place she needed to be at to truly be the healthy person she is now

and to truly be the healthy person she’d need to be to be a healthy significant other for yang

but I doubt she could’ve even gotten to the point of willingly going back home without yangs help

Something I should probably make a different post about tho is

The point of “we’re protecting each other” is that they’re NOW loving each other by working together

Before they wanted to protect each other but they were working separately, they weren’t communicating about it and to a certain extent they weren’t respecting each other about it

That’s the POINT of it

It’s shown in how they fight Adam

The first time it’s Yang protects Blake and then it’s Blake protects yang

The second time they’re doing it together at the same time

That’s why it works

Also btw yeah I totally get the frustration, the bumblebee relationship is so awesome and so nuanced and amazing and people aren’t always gonna remember to express they’re cannon complexities

Even down to the simplest “we’re protecting each other” or the entire point of the song “all that matters”

Such is the nature of fandom

Anyway the reason for the recent bias is probably cause a lot of the more obvious helping each other and comforting each other things have been yang to Blake

And people have recently realized there’s a LOT that yang needs to be talked to about

So they’re making up for it in fandom

As fandom works

And it makes people occasionally forget just how prominent yang helping Blake is or just forget to mention it

#rwby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumbleby #rwby bumbleby

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binnabanina · 24 hours ago

Text

ᯓ★ WELIVE UPDATE

*live started : 9:05 pm EST*

"hi carats!!!!" binna greets excitedly, makeup already removed from whatever event she was attending today. at this point in her career, binna's schedule had just blurred together into one series of unfortunate - and somewhat fortunate - events. it was clear she was slightly tired, but this live would be the energy boost she needed to get through the rest of the day. "my makeup is already off, the acne goes crazy, I'm sorry!"

comment : girl what acne your skin is GLOWINGUH

binna covered her chin slightly, chuckling at the compliment. "girl, you are too nice. I have been lacking on my skincare recently so I'm glad everything still looks okay on camera." this was true, binna hadn't had much time for self-care lately. with more and more things getting piled onto the groups schedule, it can be difficult to have the motivating to keep up your daily routines, which in turn made binna feel a tad insecure, however she was grateful the fans still found it in them to show her kindness.

"this past who even knows how long it's been, has been so tiring for me." she says, brushing her hair back a bit. "not physically - y'all know I'm a stud - but just mentally, ya know?"

"still, here I am, just for you tonight... I'm divored, beheaded, live-e-e-e-e!" she sang, referencing SIX : The Musical. carats could tell she was not as high energy as she could be, but they also knew better than the average joe, that's just how binna is.

binna approached the camera, looking closer at comments. nothing seemed to strike her interest, until she saw what deep down, she was waiting for people to mention.

comment : binna. queen. baddie. explain THE photo dump - you know the one.

she looked beyond the camera, at seemingly another person in the room, although carats couldn't tell who. she snorted, and fans could've swore they heard a deep laugh in the back, though they couldn't place it.

"y'all are quick, huh?" she said, debating whether or not to dodge the question, but the messiness inside her told her to do otherwise. "just give me a second."

binna took out her phone, typing up an absolute storm. she was messaging two people, one being her manager. people could see the slight bit of worry etched onto her face - like she was about to do something she knew she wasn't supposed to, but was inclined to do it anyway.

the voice in the back spoke. "you don't have to say anything." carats were able to make out the words being said, but not much else. binna shook her head, smiling reassuringly. "nah, gotta give the people what they want, right?" she said, shrugging. "besides, I already posted the photos."

she took a deep breath, finally putting her phone down. she looked at the camera with anxiety, but her posture was more confident. "now, I ain't saying everything, but I will say - whatever anyone is thinking, you are probably right."

comment : ok so WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??

comment : may this live mark the start of the binhan vs. binhui saga

comment : bro thinks she's being mysterious but we see right through you (it's jeonghan, right?)

comment : chat just leave the girl be

comment : BINHUI IS COMING OUT OF HYBERNATION

comment : girl no it's so clearly jeonghan

comment : this isn't wattpad, binhui stays winning

comment : these comments have me wheezing

binna sat there, internally losing her shit at the comments. suddenly, almost going unnoticed, joshua had appeared the live as well, which carats assumed must've been the voice in the back. they couldn't look at eachother, or who knows what wild thing would come out of the others mouth.

"I don't know about you, but I ain't reading all that." binna said, making joshua cover his face. he shook his head, seeming to more about this situation than he was letting on. he gave binna a look that said, "you have done it now. you officially started a fan war."

one comment finally made binna stop laughing.

comment : binhui fans are dumb asf. it's so clear he's not that into her.

joshua must've spotted it too, because he immediately placed his hand on binna's shoulder. she looked tensed, though carats didn't seem to understand why.

"here's what I'll say," binna began. "it's just a photo. I get the speculations - I'd do the same thing - but at the end of the day, you guys don't know what's going on."

"oh, don't hurt em now."

binna gave joshua a side-eye that rivals seungkwan's, almost letting her angry bravado slip. it was difficult for her to keep any amount of chill around joshua without internally explode with laughter.

"easy, white chocolate." she retorted back, and she immediately covered her hand, as if she actively cussed him out on live video.

joshua locked eyes with the camera. "do we wanna keep going?"

"to be so honest, no."

joshua nodded, but not before getting a glimpse of the last couple comments.

comment : idc what anyone says, junhui and binna would be THE it couple

comment : fuck the haters, your stunning either way, keep shining diva

comment : ik jun is rolling around looking at these comments, if he's watching like a good bf should

joshua chuckled, looking at binna who was locked in on her phone. he got closer to the camera, whispering something before ending the live.

"if only you knew how right you guys were."

#kpop #kpop oc #seventeen #seventeen 14th member #weverse

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harukirisaki · 2 days ago

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Love Cut So Deep -Part 1

-[Harbinger's way of loving and why it hurts]

Part 1-

Synopsis: •{You never know why this person loves you, but you do know one thing, for every love you get. The pain will double}°

Reader gender: GENDER NEUTRAL

Note: <[the reader dynamic with the yandere is "wife" however the reader's gender is not mentioned. This is less than a feminine reader and more like the yandere insisting on the reader being the submissive one. Making this gender neutral for male and female readers.]>

Ft; childe, Scaramouche, Capitano,

Warning: abusive characters, mention of murdering (reader/someone) suicide thoughts, emotionally abused, physically abused, threats, suggestive comments, blood, mention of abuse, mentioning of child soldiers, limbs breaking, hand twisting, threat of non-con, vulgar language,

PERMANENT BODY ALTERATIONS (some part of reader's body are chopped off)

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE

A WEAK HEART, A PHOBIA OF ANYTHING IN THE

WARNING, ANYONE UNDER 18 WILL TAKE THE

RESPONSIBILITY ON THEMSELVES SHOULD THEY READ

THIS.

The puppet who longs for a heart.

Your eyes are filled with tears, just when you thought you could get yourself a nice quiet moment, then he came, the door slides open, revealing your tormentor, his purple eyes meeting yours and whether you realized it or not, at that moment. He thinks you are so beautiful it makes his nonexistent heart ache in response.

Perhaps it's the isolation that has gotten to you, but strangely enough, you don't feel like screaming at him, at least not yet. You stayed long enough with him to know when to yell at him at the perfect time so that his mood doesn't drop too much. After all, sometimes you get to yell and even hurt him and only get a gentle flick to your forehead. But other times... When you fail to judge your situation and get him pissed off real bad...

You still remember the way you screamed for mercy and when all he did was just insulting you, the pain of having your limbs broken by his cold, plastic hands forever filled your mind eternally.

Perhaps this is the price for stealing his heart? You don't know what day and date it is, it's been a long time since you got out of this inazuman mansion. Surprisingly, he was willing to tell you about his past, albeit, you are sure he actually left out some parts. Of course, at some point he will tell you everything but so far you only know about his origins from inazuma.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, "Why are you sitting still, mmh?" His tone makes your body tremble. But you decided today you don't want your wrist to be twisted. "My apologies... My lord," That's right, Scaramouche insists on this wife and husband dynamic. You are the wife, and he is the husband. In Inazuma, a wife is often expected to obey her husband. You would like to tell Scaramouche that such dynamic between you both is toxic but then again this is the same man that kidnapped you and forced you to live with him.

You walked to him and gently wrapped your arms around his neck. Slowly, you closed your eyes and gave him a kiss. You then break the kiss off and look at him, "Welcome back, my lord," you said to him. The harbinger merely looked at you and frowned, "That kiss," he said, "it doesn't feel right. Do it again, make it feel real" real? How can you make it real when you don't even love him? But then again do you have a choice? No.

You kiss him once again, this time tilting your head to the side a bit and letting your lips meet his and slowly you get your chest closer to him. You gently break the kiss off and look at him, "Welcome back, my lord," you say gently this time. "Much better," he mutters. Scaramouche walked into the room and sat on the floor, he looked at you for a second before he asked. "What were you thinking? You took quite some time responding to my words." His tone is sharp, "My apologies, my lord... I was merely thinking of nothing." You lied. And he knows it, this doll may not understand human emotion but that doesn't mean he can't understand human habits. "Really? Lying to my face? Mmh?"

"Speak up. Tell me what you think earlier" he grips his hand, it's obvious he is not going to ask twice. "I was thinking of you, how I am scared of you," you said to him. As fast as you can, you cannot bear the thought of looking him in the eye. Suddenly, a cold finger touches your side face, then the finger goes to your chin and lifts your head up, making you look at him. "Unless you want me to strip you and simply take you right here? I remember you crying the last time I even suggested that" your eyes widen and immediately you tremble. He looks at you, "My lord... Please... Please don't" you softly mutter. Anything but that, this doll has already taken your freedom, your time and perhaps even your chance at being truly happy. If he were to take you... The mere thoughts alone are enough to break you

"You're scared of me?" You nodded, "Yes, my lord," you answered. "You cried?" You nodded, "Yes, my lord," you answered him once again, "you hate me?" You almost nodded. Luckily, you didn't. But does that save you from his wrath? No. "You hate me?" He asked once again, and you shook your head. "Liar," he said. His other hand grabbed your wrist. You begin to tremble, "You're scared of me?" He asked. You nodded, "You cried?" He asked. You nodded, "You hate me?" You shook your head. His grip on your wrist tightened. Tears fall from your eyes, Scaramouche refused to hear what he dislikes. Hearing you hate him is something he doesn't want, but having you lie is something he also hates.

You weakly begged him to release you, "You hate me?" He asked. Quietly, this time. You had a feeling that this time, there's no right answer because every choice you made right there will just end up with the same result. This time, you made different choices, you nodded your head. Your soft voice filled the room, "Yes my lord"

You can barely hear your wrist bone breaking. Not when your SCREAM fill your ears instead.

The warrior who offered his heart on a silver platter

You run as fast as you can. At this point, all you can do is pray that those soldiers won't get you too fast, your legs begin to tremble from the cold, and you run outside with minimal clothing. Barefoot, short-sleeved shirt... It's snowing. Just half pants that hide your knee but below that is exposed... Of course, you can't run, but what you can do is to appreciate the fresh air and the cold of the night. Your last view outside was the lake. How you wish you could drown in it. You woke up in bed,

Is this hell? You thought to yourself that, after Childe was assigned to Fontaine, you were able to get a whole week by yourself. Of course, that will never happen, his subordinates are guarding you. Every day, you had to deal with one of the fatui to guard your door. During your meal, one of the guards would be assigned to watch over you to make sure you don't try to stab yourself with a fork again. What a shame, you thought to yourself once again, if only Childe weren't so fast... You could have probably rested in the afterlife. But then again, are you a good person in your life? For all you know... You might get sent to hell.

You finished your meal, it was tasty but you were too emotionally exhausted to care about that for now. You go upstairs and sit on the sofas. There is no one in the room, but you know those guards are always watching. You close your eyes and then you fall asleep, sleeping is one way of escaping reality. The reality where you are helpless. Maybe if you're lucky, this time you dream of a nice place, maybe a park. Where you could see the birds flying freely in the sky, the gentle breeze of the wind and maybe just maybe you could pretend that you're not trapped in the big mansion.

Unfortunately, every nice thing must come to an end. You woke up to the sound of the man who has been tormenting you for the last part of what? Years? Maybe... "My darling!" That cheerful voice instantly woke you up. He was covered in bandages, some of the bandages were bloody, showcasing his injuries, one of his eyes was covered with a patch. You wish you could gouge the other one just to make sure his dead blue eyes didn't look at you. Before you could say anything, he hugged you. After a minute or two, you pay his back

"Oh, I miss you so much," he snuggles against you and for a second, you thought about letting him be lovey-dovey with you. Is it from the isolation? Maybe. But suddenly everything turns cold when he whispers into your ear... "Did you try to escape again?" You swore a 10-year lifespan was cut in that time because of how calm his voice is which means Childe is pissed. You looked away, you couldn't bear the thought of looking into his dead eyes, usually he was smiling and teasing and yet those deep abyss eyes are enough to make you scared. You can't imagine what you would feel if you were to look into his eyes now.

"Hey, you tried to leave me again, didn't you? Those soldiers told me that you ran outside," you almost cursed those soldiers before realizing they also have no choice. It's either that they captured you or the risk of getting killed. That makes you feel at ease, hoping that at least some of them pitied you. But now you have to deal with this man. "I... " You couldn't mutter out more words. All you can do is just look down, Childe forced you to look up. To look at his eyes. "I give you everything you know? I give you money, a place to stay, everything a person could ever have wanted." Hearing that makes you want to reply with, 'but you didn't give me my freedom,' but you know it'll speed up the punishment.

"Why are you not talking? Do they cut off your tongue?" The way he casually said that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist, he was bandaged, and you were sure he was beaten pretty badly, and yet even in that state of injury. He was able to dominate you so easily. It hurts you, a lot.

"Maybe I should punish you right now, the little bunny wants to escape so badly." he hugged you, so badly that the bunny ended up getting lost. He buried his face into the crook of your neck. "And then the bunny found Mr. Fox, he began to sniff your neck, "I..." You tried to push him away. At least you want to save your dignity! "Aww, what a cute bunny you are," he smiles. He always does, suddenly everything stops and then he pulls you closer

"Tell me, which one do you prefer?" He asked, "Which one do I prefer...?" This is new, he doesn't always ask your opinion whenever he punishes you. But you would rather he doesn't because the answer itself makes you almost faint on the spot ."Yeah, which one do you prefer being chopped off? Your legs or your hands?" You can't even say anything because you know it's game over.

The next day, you don't even have time to process what happened. All you know is that, now... You really can NEVER escape him.

The knight in shining black armor who gives you his heart

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice although calm, hid a sense of rage. He watches you from upstairs. You tremble at the sight of him looking at you, although you can't see his face... His gaze pierces through your soul leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. "Dear," you flinch, you gripped both of your hands, and before you knew it, he was in front of you. You let out a gasp before his hand gently pulls you closer. "My dear, answer me." That was not a request, but an order. "I'm fine, i'm just a bit tired these days..." You mutter weakly. How pathetic, just before you were so willing to fight against the harbinger. To yell, to insult and blatantly destroy any of the presents he gives to you

But after he decided that he had given you enough time does he truly show how he could break your mind and simply cause you to be permanently traumatized

You still remember the scars and the blood that filled your sight, during that time you learned that fighting him is useless. He easily pulled you closer and hugged you. How gentle his touches were and yet how rough his love was. He gives you everything and expects so little in return... But the little thing he asked you is what cost you everything. Your freedom was a payment for taking his heart. You wished you could give it back to him, to make him love you less just a little.

"Why don't we spend more time in the garden, dear? The flowers are blooming today," he said. You don't even need to walk because all he has been doing for some time is to carry you wherever you wish to go. It was a sweet gesture of his to carry you after he punished you. But it is also a gesture of dominance, a silent act of reminding you that he was the stronger one in this relationship. He was gentle with you, but he also took his title 'The Captain' seriously.

As gentle as he was with you, he can also be as stern. As he walked down the cold wall with you in his arms. You close your eyes and begin to imagine that you're in bed, and that you weren't kidnapped and forced to marry your kidnapper against your will. The fantasy soon came to an end when Capitano stopped walking and slowly put you down on a bench. You looked down at the grass. Unlike the outside, the inside garden was warmer, the grass was greener, the flowers were blooming, and the atmosphere was drastically different compared to the outside.

Capitano then kneels down in front of you, and he takes out his coat and wraps it around you. You hate to admit it, but the coat covered your entire back, and if Capitano were to button it up, you don't think you would be visible to anyone! "Why are you doing this to me?" You softly asked. Your voice comes out a bit too weak for your liking. As he buttoned up the coat, you noticed his hands were gentle on your body. "Because I love you, my dear," he said, "you love me so much you kidnapped me and forced me to stay with you against my wish?" The captain simply nodded. "The world outside is dangerous, believe in me who wishes nothing but to keep you safe, my dear." You gripped your hands, "I was fine until you came along and made the judgment without confining me first!" Your voice goes higher. "Do you remember those fatui that caught you from escaping?" He asked. You gulped and nodded, "Some of them barely reach 16 years old, and yet they easily overpower you. So do tell me dear, how can I trust you to be safe if you can't even protect yourself in the first place?"

"That's not a good comparison... They have training and have served under the Fatui for what? Months or years possibly! Comparing me to them is unfair and simply nonsense" you defend yourself. You frown, and your heart beats faster right now. "But my point still stands dear," he said, sitting beside you. Your thighs meet his. Somehow it sparks something in you that you refused to acknowledge. "In teyvat, there are monsters, humans and abyss creatures who won't care about the unbalanced fight. Those things are stronger than your average Fatui members. Regardless of the unfairness in my comparison. My point still stands, you are incapable of defending yourself." Hearing his words caused you to look away. He was right, and you hate him for it.

"No, my dear," he replied softly, his tone shifting to something more tender as he gathered you gently in his arms. The warmth of his embrace wrapped around you like a comforting blanket as he began to walk, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot contrasting with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Each step felt both like a journey and a whirlwind, pulling you away from everything you thought you understood. "I simply took you before you get caught by it" he softly said. He treats you so gently, as if his mere touches could break you and shatter you into tiny pieces. It makes you feel so mad, as if he were the parent and you're the immature adult who can't think for yourself.

But what choice do you have? You can't confront him. Regardless of your feelings, you're trapped here, and if you attempt to escape again... "You won't get away this time, dear," he interrupts your thoughts, his voice steady and firm. "You have no grasp of this world." You looked at him, "You have no idea the monster that lurks in the dark, the evil who watches you waiting for the time when you let your guard down." You almost accused him of being one himself.

As he carried you to the room, you noticed the mansion felt even colder. Instinctively, you move a bit closer seeking warmth. He noticed that he opened the door and put you onto the bed. Unlike what most people said, you did not feel even the slightest excitement. How could you? This is the man who took you, forced you to be his spouse and insisted that you are incapable of defending yourself. The captain was gentle. But his gentleness feels like a joke. He sat on the bed. All he did was just watch you it was eerily too calm, too... Quiet. You can't see his face- but you know his eyes are looking at you- he was analyzing you, it felt inhumane.

You quickly come to understand that what will push you to the very edge of madness is not his gentleness that envelops you in a false sense of security, nor the tempestuous rage that simmers just beneath the surface—no, it is the intensity of his gaze. Those eyes, sharp and penetrating, each glance holds an unsettling power, lingering in the air like a charged storm, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, teetering on the brink of chaos.

#genshin impact #harukirisaki #yandere #yandere childe #yandere scaramouche #yandere capitano #yandere Genshin #yandere x reader #male reader #gender neutral reader #Haru'sWriting #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #tw abuse #emotional abuse

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aernx · 3 hours ago

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IT'S A WRAP ! ⌗ 이희승 ( oneshot ver. )

synopsis ⟢ wrapping is easy when it comes to dumplings. but when it comes to your feelings…not so much. after getting separated from your childhood nemesis, lee heeseung, you think your life will go smooth like butter (js like what BTS sang). but fate has other plans when he was forced to help around in your family’s dumpling restaurant.

◌ wordcount﹒ 13.1k

◌ pairing﹒ lee heeseung x fmr

◌ genre﹒ childhood enemies to lovers, hs au, takes place in their summer break, reader is taehyun’s (txt) older sister, tbh no srs hating js silly rivalry, crack , heeyn parents r silly

◌ featuring﹒ txt, chaewon lsrfm, enhypen, brief mentions of seventeen (ily joshua n hoshi)

◌ warnings﹒ profanities, harsh language, jealousy, heeyn hating eo, kissing, fluff, heeyn silly stuffs, denial, i think that's it, oh probably bad and inconsistent grammar at times, miscommunication (that shiii)

aerinotes ⟢ u guys don't know how much i giggled at the screen when i write this 😁 THIS FIC MEANS SOOO MUCH TO MEE I HOPE U GUYS GIVE IT SOME LOVE 💗💗💗 also MY FIRST EVER LONG FIC??? aerin long fic debut!!! so im sorry if there r lots of mistakes n it's kinda messyy n if the pacing is badd !! i'll improve next time guys TRUST‼️‼️

this was previously a smau but now the smau is discontinued. i can finally say goodbye peacefully to my heeyn 🙁 i’ll miss them <3 hope you guys enjoyed this! be sure to leave a like, comment n reblog to let me know watchu think abt it !! ENJOYYYY

"MOM YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT!?" It’s only been a week since you returned from your exchange student program in Japan yet your mom was quick to throw you a bucket of ice water on a hot summer evening.

“Which part of it is not clear, dear? Heeseung is going to start working in our dumpling shop this in this last month of summer and I want you to be his mentor tomorrow.” Excuse me what? Mentor?? “You know, teach him how to use the register, how to serve the customers, and later how to wrap the dumplings.”

No way there was no chance in hell that you were going to do this. Become Heeseung’s mentor? Hell no! You would rather give Taehyun your first born privileges.

Okay, maybe reasoning with her would opt her to change her decision. “Yes, I heard you for the first time but I can’t really place the reason why you want me to do this, mom. You know that we don’t…get along that well.”

Don’t get along that well? You scoffed internally at your choice of words, it was clearly an understatement, your mother knew that too.

You and Heeseung never got along. At all. Your mother and his mother were the best of friends so ultimately that means that he was there for good and you could not escape him. At first, mini-you was glad at the thought of having a childhood friend. Maybe you two could replicate the friendship of your mothers.

Yet at the age of five, where the two of you met for the first time and he stole your toy and decided to hide it from you, you knew from that moment that you would never get along. That first impression only triggered the competitiveness in you and it became a never ending game of chase. Of course, your mothers showed disappointment with the fact that their children did not enjoy each other’s presence, hoping that as they grow up, you and him would learn to overcome this little feud of yours.

Oh how they were wrong. Along the years that follow, your hatred towards each other only grew. Even though you both hated each other, he was still a big part of your childhood. And him being your neighbour didn't even help. You were so fucking bored of that face of his.

Eventually everyone got used to this relationship you shared with the boy and both parents didn’t try to do anything about it anymore. After all there was no point.

Although your feelings towards Heeseung were more on the negative side, you adored his parents, and your parents adored him too. Your families were close but you two weren’t. When you were younger, you would make it your life mission to get Heeseung to cry and he made it his to make you irritated. But as you both grew into adolescence your behaviour began shifting.

Now, instead of sitting by your side to provoke you, he would sit the farthest from you at the dinner table and you would do your best to ignore him at every family event. This never changed, even when you got into highschool. Both of you would try your hardest to let the other’s presence turn to ghosts, yet the tension around you remains haunting.

“Come on Yn, I know you don’t have the best relationship with Heeseung, as you guys are always fighting like cats and dogs,” Your mother muttered the last part quietly. “But I trust you with him, dear. Even though you both hate each other, you’re the one that knows him best there and I feel like he’ll focus more under your gaze instead of anyone else.”

Gosh why was your mother so persistent? “Mom, have you met us?” You can hear your mother’s snicker. “Then you should know that he won’t listen to me! There’s a reason why we don’t get along, mom. He’s gonna cause so much ruckus if I become his mentor. I find no problem with asking Taehyun to guide him instead.”

Your mother knew that you didn’t want to go forward with this. But it was really a last resort of sorts. And a little part of her wished that maybe this occasion would end your feud with him because she and Mrs. Lee always wanted their kids to get along well, just like them.

“Initially, I thought about that too. But Taehyun already has a lot of plans for tomorrow and you just went home like a week ago so you have lots of free time before your senior year starts.” She pointed out.

“Who knows maybe Heeseung changed these past six months without you. Maybe he even misses fighting with you everyday.” Chuckling, your mother gave you a knowing look as your face scrunched at the thought of that.

Hah! He? Missed you? There was no way. Heeseung was probably glad you were gone for six months. In fact he probably wished you were gone forever.

“Come on, my Yn. We’ll go shopping together with Aunty Lee and I’ll get you those concert tickets for that group you like so much. I’ll buy 4 for Chaewon, Yeonjun, and Soobin too. So you guys can watch it together.”

Your eyes lit up as her offer ringed your eardrums. One day of mentoring Heeseung for shopping sprees with your mom and Aunty Lee PLUS concert tickets for you and your friends?? Sounds like a fair deal.

“Ah…you know me so well, mother. You know I will never decline those.”

“You know it, darling.”

“You want me to-what?!” Disbelief, Heeseung stood from the couch and turned towards his mother who was currently sitting cross legged on her armchair.

“What did you expect?! I told you to stop sneaking around all the time and this is final! You are working in MANDU4U, Yn’s family dumpling shop tomorrow.”

Spending his summer break working? Are you fucking kidding?

“Bu-”

Mrs. Lee stood up from her chair, levelling her gaze with her son. “No buts! I already talked to your Aunty Kang and all you have to do is show your ass over there and work.” From the tone of her voice, Heeseung knew that he messed up. It was bad, like REAL bad. Maybe he should’ve listened to his friend's advice to NOT sneak out.

Mrs. Lee shrugged before continuing. “Think of this as a new experience. You’ll be learning new things and you’ll be earning money. I see nothing wrong with this. You don’t have any right to complain, young man.”

As much as Heeseung dreaded it, he knew no point in resisting. He was at fault and if it was in other circumstances he would stand his ground but he knew better. Oh well, at least she didn’t forbid him to hang with his boys.

And besides it’s not as if he’s going to meet her. He’s aware of the fact that she went back from that program a week ago. Of course he was, his family insisted that they also accompanied picking up Yn from the airport.

Did he come along? Yes. Did he have the option not to? Also yes. Did he know why he came along? Not really. Maybe he missed her and their fights just a little bit. Or maybe not. That question remained ominous as he himself didn’t even know the correct answer.

But was he glad with the fact that she was gone for the past six months? Of course he was! Well it was a bit more quiet than usual but hey! Quiet is good right? Yeah of course. Now that she’s back does he still hate her guts? For sure, yeah definitely.

“Also Yn will be your mentor and I want you to be on your BEST behaviour and do whatever she says.” Mrs.Lee abruptly added before striding out of the room trying her best to contain her smile.

“Mom WHAT?!”

You idly stood on the gazebo of your family’s shop, glancing back and forth towards your watch as the digital digits morphs into what seemed to be eight past twenty. Heeseung was supposed to be here at eight sharp but here you were, still waiting for his stupid ass to come.

It was only five minutes after that, the sight of Lee Heeseung appeared in your line of view. Fucking finally. “Heeseung, you’re late.” You aligned your body opposing his, blocking the entry of the door with your figure as he tried to brush himself through.

“Tch, it’s whatever. Let’s just get started.” His hand longed for the handles but you were quick to stop him. “Drop that attitude, Heeseung. I don’t want this as much as you do so you better not make this any harder on me.” Your grip on his hand opted him to fix his gaze with yours.

You tighten your grip on his wrist. Not caring whether it hurted him or not–which it probably didn’t. “Use that tone on me one more time and you’ll be scrubbing the bathroom floors instead of working behind the cash register.”

Heeseung clenched his fists in between your grasp on his wrist, a low attempt of wanting to break free. “You’re not my mother, you can’t tell me what to do.” He gritted as an annoyed expression washed over his features.

“You’re right, Seungie. I’m not. I’m your employer. And you-” Your point finger shoved his chest “-have to do exactly what I say."

Lee Heeseung hated it–hated this. That helpless feeling of not being in control. Especially when his arch enemy is the one stringing him like a puppet.

Kang Yn loved it–loved this. How couldn’t you when your arch nemesis had to grovel in submission for the sake of punishment from his mother. It’s fun really. It's like having a maid–you mean– personal assistant of your own.

“No Heeseung, that's not the right way!”

“Be more thorough when checking someone’s order!”

“Gosh this is tiring. Heeseung, get me a coffee.”

Ignoring some mistakes made, the first day of work went surprisingly fine. You taught him various things. Starting from how to work the register and basic manners to serve customers and he was actually going along with what you instructed. Gee, maybe your mom was right all along–you could be really intimidating sometimes.

“This is it for today.” You said, handing him a pen to sign his attendance. “Okay, Thanks.” He calmly received it before signing under his name. Along the string hours of work between you and Heeseung, the atmosphere remained tense. But much to your surprise (and a certain part-timer named Sunoo who went to your school) the both of you endured the entire shift without biting each other’s head off.

Sure there were some occasional fights here and there but the graph always dies down after, returning to its normal wavelength as the days progress. And you were quite happy with the outcome.

One; you did not let the intrusive thoughts win and slice his throat when he was on his break and two; you did not embarrass yourself in front of the customers by screaming frantically at him (although you did do it in private) You could say that this day was a success and you were proud of yourself. Ah you were finally free from him.

Or so you thought.

“So you’re telling me your mom told you that you’ll be mentoring Heeseung for the rest of the summer break?” Soobin questioned, making you groan against your pillows. You raised your head towards the window still, the sight of the moon greeted you in an instance, gracing your room with its incandescent glow.

"She made sure to leave that part the first time she mentioned, alright." You grumbled under your breath.

Chaewon patted your head as she noticed your current distress while Yeonjun and Soobin looked at you with sympathy laced upon their irises. It was currently near twilight in the nearing end of summer. From a distance, you can hear a few neighbours that stood up late making BBQ in their backyards, while some of the houses remained still and quiet.

The light on your window was like a singular lamp amidst a dark room to your unlit neighbourhood. It was summer break so your parents didn’t mind you staying up late. They even let your friends stay over with the exception of Soobin and Yeonjun sleeping on a spare mattress on the floor.

“Yn, I knew it was too suspicious that your mom was offering you THAT much just for one day of mentoring!” Yeonjun pointed out from his mattress below before joining everyone on your bed.

“At least you’re getting money out of this, am I right?” Chaewon said after smacking the poor boy with her elbows, triggering a laugh from Soobin as he saw Yeonjun’s current state.

“-Ouch! Gosh Chae that hurt!” He threw her a nasty glare and Chaewon stuck her tongue out in response. “Plus the fact that Mama Kang AND Mama Lee promised to take you shopping makes it too good to be true to just make that a one time thing.” Yeonjun shrugged before dodging another hit from Chaewon.

“Ugh I hate it when you’re smart sometimes, Junnie.”

“Don’t forget the fact that your mom promised to buy us all concert tickets!” Soobin reminded. “Work your ass off Ms.Kang. We would be thanking you for your services!” He stood from the bed, bowing 90 degrees to you causing the room to erupt in laughter.

“You all better be thanking me for this! I don’t know how I'm going to handle him for the rest of the summer! He’s literally my neighbour! I see him everyday. I can even see him across my window!” Once more, you buried your head on the pillows, gaze unconsciously averting to the blinds covering the glass panels.

“But you hadn’t seen him nor contacted him for six months right? Surely he changed.” Chaewon pondered earning a scoff from you. “Girl let me tell you, he did not.” You answered, emphasising the “not”.

Yeonjun laughed at your misery, opting you to throw a pillow at his face. The room had gone through its nth time of laughing fit before you all started to calm down.

As the room went down from its climax, Soobin’s question seemed to pique everyone's interest. “By the way if it’s okay to ask, how did you and heeseung hate each other like this? I mean the two of you never got along. Everyone knows that but like you both definitely seem more intense now like ever since you got offered to join the exchange student program.”

You sighed before answering. “Well it’s a long story but-”

“-I was supposed to get the offer to join the exchange student program.” Just a few meters from where you and your friend gathered, Heeseung and his friends were doing the exact same thing you were doing.

They all gathered on his mattress, sharing stories as the moon reaches its peak of serenity. “Ohh i get it, so from your point of view, it seemed as if she “stole” your future.” Jay nodded at his friend as the room was filled with collected hums and a few shocked faces.

“No lie I would’ve hated them too if someone did that to me.” Jake added, agreeing to his friend’s current situation."

Heeseung only shrugged and buried himself in the comfort of his pillows. “So what are you gonna do now, hyung?” The youngest of them questioned. “I don’t know. I mean there’s no point in defying my mom when she’s persistent. So I guess I’ll just go with it.”

“Do you still hate Yn because of it now? I mean it’s been six months.” Jungwon tilted his head, curious. “I…I don’t know. We’ve never gotten along since we were five so I don’t think our relationship changed a lot.” Heeseung raised himself from his pillows, now sitting upright.

“But it's not entirely her fault, is it? If you had been a better option for the program you would still be chosen regardless.” Jay knocked some sense into his friend.

“I guess I just blamed her for being better.” A strain smile settled on his lips.

“But to be honest I don’t really care about it anymore, you know? If i really did get that exchange student program, I would've missed so many moments with you guys, including how Niki literally got a girlfriend?? Earlier than me??” Their hearts warmed to Heeseung’s statement before laughing at his last.

The night on both sides of the window ended after crescent smiles and glee surrounding the atmosphere as the sun began to rise causing them to go to a much needed slumber.

“Hey, Noona. Looks like you're in a good mood.” You entered the shop with a smile as you greeted the smiling Sunoo. “Yes because you're the first person I see here, and not that brat.” You whispered the last part.

“Quite the charmer you are, Yn.” A familiar voice rang your eardrums. Speak of the devil. “Right, I was praying you would forget this whole thing and just go sulk in your room all summer.” You grumbled, not bothering to avert your gaze to align with your nemesis behind you.

You feel his presence drawing closer and closer before halting just a few inches from your back. Sunoo is long gone now, opting to prepare some stuff in the storage room.

“And make you look good, whereas I look like the rebel child? Keep dreaming, Kang.” He whispered, voice dripping with mirth.

You scoffed rolled your eyes in response, moving forward towards the register, leaving Heeseung to fend for himself at that moment.

This is going to be a long day.

One week has passed and you are now used to seeing Heeseung lurk around the area. Now that he’s already familiar with the register and serving people you have to go to the next step: teach him how to make dumplings.

At first, you were against the idea. But your mom insisted that Mrs.Lee wanted Heeseung to be more adapt than any other employee. Hence why he needed to master more than one skill to manage. So, you gave in.

Heeseung was ready to start his new routine. Coming to the shop everyday (excluding Sundays and Saturdays) at 8am and start preparing the register and other things before opening at 9am. He’ll be honest, the first few days, he was dreading it. But eventually, being surrounded with the busy yet calming atmosphere of the shop feels so comfortable? Or maybe because he was spending his summer productively.

But yesterday, Yn had messaged him to arrive at the shop an hour earlier than usual. Seven am?! That’s basically dawn in Summer! Heeseung dragged his feet towards the welcoming door, the sun greeted him with a morning glow as he slowly entered his demise.

“Morning, sunshine. Are you awake?” Sitting in one of the chairs, you chuckled, amused at his hunched silhouette.

“You’re crazy for forcing me to work this early on. This is basically child labor!” He sat opposing you, hands folded above the table as he buried his head in between his arms.

“Well your mother consented to this. Get up.” Your request was left hanging as Heeseung replied an audible “no”, prompting you to leave the boy behind.

Droplets of water trickled to the back of his neck, stirring him awake before he-hold on why was he wet? His fingers touched the source of coldness, his head jolted up meeting your gaze. ”You’re fucking crazy!”

“Thanks, baby. Awake now?” The smirk on your lips is evident and Heeseung swore that he was going to rip your face off.

“What are we doing?” Instead of answering, you hand a slightly-damp Heeseung an apron and ushered him to wash his hands before starting. “Just go wash your hands first.” He rolled his eyes before complying to your demands.

After finishing with such tasks he returned to his position beforehand. “All clean now.” He dangled his palms to align with your vision. Now that the two of you are clean it's time to start this mission. Wrapping dumplings.

Heeseung eyes lingered on the swift movement of your fingers. Quick hands easily wrap the ball of meat between a thin layer of dough. He shifted his attention elsewhere for a second and when he returned, you were already done with the process. The perfectly wrapped mandu sat in the heart of your palms, sitting proudly before him.

“That doesn’t look hard, let me do it.” The boy shrugged, earning an amused scoff from you. He took the initiative to try it for himself, but before he could reach the layers of thin dough, he felt a slight sting lingering on his arm. “Gosh! What was that for?!”

“Do you ever pay attention? Lace your hands with some flour before taking the dough so it’s not sticky, bambi.”

Bambi? Did you just refer to him as a Disney cartoon animal?! Well sucks to be you at least he was a Disney character. Not some meaningless being.

“Crazy bitch.”

“What did you say?!”

“I said I got the hitch!” Was hitch even a word? Probably. Or not. Heeseung grudgingly dipped his fingers into the bowl of flour before spreading a light amount in his palms. He then took a thin layer of dough and a little ball of minced meat mixed with onions and other dumpling stuffings(?). He placed the ball in the center of the surface before…before…uhm what was the next step again?

His hands froze mid air for a second. Should he ask for help? Oh and get roasted for not paying attention again? No thanks, his ego was too big for that. Right he’ll figure this out. This is Lee Heeseung we’re talking about. Lee Heeseung vs dumpling, let’s see who’ll win this game.

The tall boy recalled your hand movements, trying hard to remember the steps you did. Right it was uhm….take the left corner, then the right, unite them to the center? Yeah that right. Next is…squish the edges! He’s too smart and talented for this. Heeseung 1, dumpling 0.

The satisfied smile he wore was so apparent. The tips of his finger lightly pressed onto the dough in an attempt to link them together. Except it was not sticking. He kept on applying pressure, more and more as the seconds tick. Once he thought that it would hold, he settled the…ill-shaped dumpling on the table. With his hands on his hips, he turned to face your observing stance. Not bad for his first try. Or so he thought.

Five seconds of victory was cut short when the dumpling slowly–but surely–unwrapped itself from the shape Heeseung molded it to. Heeseung 0, dumpling 1.

The guise of his face showed it all–his mouth hung open, eyes deadpanning the dumpling like it was his sworn enemy–it was so hard not to erupt in laughter. You covered your mouth to contain your glee. This was too funny.

Your oddly timed coughing shifted Heeseung’s gaze to yours. At first the look in his eyes reeks of annoyance but the sound of your echoing laugh was enough to leave a ghost of a smile on his face. You didn’t get angry, that was a first.

Heeseung was shocked to see how calm you were after witnessing his failure. (except for the laughing part) “I would be a hypocrite if I got angry at you.” You started. “The first time mom taught me how to wrap these, I would always rip the dough.”

“Oh.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. “Let me repeat the steps again, slowly this time.”

The clueless boy watched your movements distinctly. He noticed how eased you were as you did the task at hand, focused yet you were doing it so effortlessly. He also noticed how you poke your tongue slightly when your fingers pinched the perfectly folded dumplings’ little details, and the little specks of flour that landed on the tip of your nose. There was something about you today that he couldn’t ignore.

Heeseung looked at your current expression, and suddenly you both were five again. You were sitting in his living room with a crayon tucked in between your fingers, your tongue slightly stuck out as you avert your attention to your drawing as your mothers chatter dissipates in the back.

Twelve years have passed yet you still look the same to him. The first girl that entered his life other than his mother, the first girl he fought with, and the first girl he ever loved. Not that he was ever going to admit that. But perhaps just for today, he would forget your fuse with him and pretend that everything is okay

“That’s how you make a perfect dumpling.” The curve of your lips was so warm and inviting and he felt a suspiciously warm feeling slowly settling on his chest. Well that was new. Maybe because it was too early in the morning that’s why Heeseung felt so out of it today. “Ehem, okay. I should be able to do it now.”

“Mom, I’m back!” You enter the living room, goals set to lay comfortably down at the soft cushions of your couch. “In the kitchen, sweetie! Come Yn, Aunty Lee is here.”

The smell of homemade cooking dragged you to your mother. “Hi mom, hi Auntie Lee.” Eyes crinkled as you smiled widely at the two most important figures in your life.

“Hey, honey. Hope Hee hasn't given you a hard time.” Mrs. Lee softly smiled. “Do you really need to ask that to know, Auntie?” Your joke (not) prompts the two middle aged women to laugh. “Jokes aside, I guess he's tolerable when he shuts up.”

“Yn!”

“Kidding, mom!” Not really.

“Anyways, we owe you a shopping spree. Let's go this weekend. Your shift ends at noon right, darling? What do you say?” Your eyes lit up at the offer.

Who were you to refuse?

Smell of dumplings and busy chatters crowded the shop, sunlight beaming through glass tinted windows as customers took over the vacant seats available. “Here’s your freshly steamed mandu, Auntie Park.” Mrs. Park was a regular, don’t get me wrong, she was lovely, but she could be a little…nosy.

“You’ve gotten much more beautiful since coming home from Japan.” She smiled knowingly. “Tell me, have you found any Japanese boyfriend, dear?”

Your eyes widened–not expecting her direct question. “ I can assure you, auntie. No boyfriends here.” The curve of your mouth formed upwards. “Is that so?” She squinted her eyes in suspicion, eyes darting to follow Heeseung’s moving figure a few feet away. “I see that Ha-eun’s boy is here helping. Is that one your boyfriend?”

Heeseung? You boyfriend? You grimaced at the thought. You would rather eat a raw dumpling.

“Oh auntie, literally anyone but him. Besides, I’m too busy studying and helping with the shop while dad is busy planning on opening other branches.” You chuckled, denying her assumption.

“What a perfect daughter you are! I bet Ha-yoon and Ji-woo are proud to have you as their daughter.” You were about to leave before hearing her continue. “You know, I have a son your age. You should know him, he goes to Decelis too. Park Jeongsong, are you familiar? Maybe I should set you guys up.”

She lifted her point finger to her chin. “I think you guys are compatible, he's mature….”

Park Jeongsong. Of course you were familiar. He’s one of Heeseung’s close friends and the only one that you tolerate. To be honest you were quite tempted at her offer. Jay’s got it all. Perfect looks, ridiculously sharp jawline, and most importantly manners (one that Heeseung lacked for sure). You scoffed mentally at the thought. But unfortunately, you were not looking for anyone to date for the time being.

“I’m sure he’s great, auntie. I’m just focusing on myself right now.” You politely turned her down. “Enjoy your dumplings, please tell me if you need any assistance.”

“Yes, thank you dear. I hope I wasn’t being too nosy. I’m still working on that.”

“Don’t worry about it, auntie.”

Mrs. Lee and your mother promised to pick you up right after your shift ends. It’s been two weeks since Heeseung’s arrival and you notice that he’s becoming accustomed to the work before him. Given so, this was your first time leaving him alone in the shop. Even though there were other workers, you still hadn’t completely trusted the boy.

“Double check the orders, got it.”

“-And shut the blinds when closing.” He repeated after you.

“Honestly, why are you so anxious? I’m not going to bomb this place when you leave, Yn.” Heeseung crossed his arms. “Don’t trust me enough, flower?” His glint is mischievous, teasing apparent in his tone.

“First of all, don’t call me that.” You shudder at the nickname. “Second of all, no I don’t trust you. What if this place turns to ashes when I return.”

“Okay, flower.” He was playing with you, you knew that. “I’m not even in charge of the kitchens, I promise I won’t blow this place down.”

“Hmm, okay.” Your pupils shifted left and right–as if you were looking for someone. “Sunoo, watch over him for me when I’m gone.” You untie your apron from the nape of your neck before nearing the exit earning a nod from the young boy.

The shopping spree was fruitful, they really went all out on this one. Insisting on buying you dresses, cute tops, pants, shoes, as well as a few accessories. You were grateful–of course–but you would be lying if you said it wasn’t tiring. Though as tiring as it can be, you were having fun.

You entered your house with shopping bags occupying your upper limbs, the weight heavy on your arms. Your mother had a few of her own too and you wonder how she was carrying them with grace. You both dropped the bags on the floor before entering the empty living room. “Huh, I guess Tae and your father have gone to sleep.”

To be honest, any sane person would. It was almost twilight. The three of you found a night market on your way back, compelled by the mannequins and price tags, the two women dragged you out of the car to have a look around.

“So, Yn, now that we’re alone.” Your mother settled on the couch. “Tell me-”

“-how’s everything going on in the shop?” Lee Hae-in met her son still sitting in the lounge room upon her return, his eyes glued to the show on tv. But now, the dark screen reflected two figures sitting on the cushions, a mother with the son she grounded.

“It’s not that bad, I guess.” Heeseung started. “At first it was-”

“-dreadful. I hated mentoring him. He did everything wrong and would make annoying expressions everytime I corrected him. I felt like I wanted to pull his hair out!” Your hands went up to your head in frustration triggering a laugh from your mom.

“Is that so? Now that we’re basically halfway there,-

“-How do you think about her now? About all this, I mean.” The Lee woman questioned, ears perked as she listened contently to her son before her. “Uhm, I guess we’re getting along more? I mean we don’t fight that often anymore. A few insults are thrown now and then but that’s just how we always are at each other.”

“That’s good to hear.” A satisfied smile graced the older Lee. “How about the shop? Are you doing your tasks well, dear?”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

The two older women were happy at their children’s answers. Just two more weeks or so and maybe just maybe this will mark the end of awkward dinners and uneasy tension.

“Heeseung, honey, I know you were upset with Yn after she won the exchange program instead of you. However, you’re almost an adult now. I think this is bothering her as well, why don’t you two take some time to talk about it?”

Heeseung pondered before answering his mother. Even though the tension has resided between you two for the time being, it was mostly due to professionalism to maintain poise in front of other employees and customers. If he wanted this to remain forever (or at least longer than the summer break) he would have to clear the air.

“I’ll think about it, mom.”

“Heeseug, I told you to be gentle with that!”

“Yn, I’m doing it exactly like what you told me!”

Shuffling noise and exclamation marks were the first thing Taehyun heard as he entered the shop at the break of dawn. “Gosh it's six am, they better not be fucking.” He grumbled under his breath before going into the kitchen.

“What are you guys doing?” Body leaned at the doorway, Kang Taehyun watched his hyung and noona–who claimed they hated each other–wrapping dumplings (more like wrapping each other) in a very close proximity.

Ha! Two weeks in, and they’re already getting closer. He was right. Now mom and Auntie Lee owe him so much cash for this.

You were quick to add some space in between you. The blood rushed to your face resulting to a pinkish hue. “We’re just preparing the mandus for today.”

“Riight. I’ll be at the register if you need me. Which you probably won’t.” He turned his back from the seniors behind him, the smirk on his face widened as he imagined how much money he’ll receive upon winning the bet with his mom and Heeseung’s.

flashback (few weeks ago)

Rays of sunlight occupied each corner of the living room as the songbird sang its morning praises. It was a perfect day to relax. Lee Hae-in and Kang Ha-yoon sat amidst thick cushions as they waited for their steamed milk buns to cook.

“You know, that was cheeky of you when you suggested this summer activity for Heeseung.” Ha-yoon started earning a light giggle from her dearest friend. “I have the biggest opportunity laid bare in front of me! I couldn't resist even if I could help it.”

“How long will it take for them to warm up to each other?”

“Two weeks.”

A familiar voice urged them to snap their heads in its direction, only to find the youngest Kang standing with his hand crossed over his chest.

“How are you so sure, Taehyunnie?” His mother questioned. The Lee woman also looked reluctant. “They've been hating each other for years, Tae. I don't think they will get along in two weeks.”

“Are you willing to bet on it, Auntie Lee, Mom?” His challenging tone was inviting. Who were they to deny a bet? Without a second doubt, the two women nodded their heads and smirked. “You're so on.”

With a final click!, the shop was officially closed for the day. Heeseung handed the key to you before taking something from his bag. “Yn, hold on.” His hand is placed on your shoulder, urging you to turn towards his direction.

“Hm? What’s wrong? You tilted your head, confusion written all over your face. The boy released the light grip he had on you before lifting up his free hand and unfolding his wrapped fingers.

A gasp escaped your lips at the item he held before you. There it was, a small lego figurine sitting on the center of his palm. And it was not just any figurine, but it was your favorite back when you were five. Your eyes wander into his own, the small smile adorning his face along with the swirl of emotion pooling in his vision.

You remember the day you lost it. How the world seemed to crumple beneath your feet as you lost–no–Heeseung stole the main character of your ultimate favourite lego friends set.

“Missed her?” He nudged the figurine towards you, a sign for you to take it and you did just so. “So you did steal her, huh. You denied it so much back then, I still remember.” You bite your lip in effort to suppress the curve that was slowly creeping in, but seemingly failed as you examined the small toy in your hands.

The plastic was old and details were worn out due to aging but aside from that, all the parts remained intact and well kept. Heeseung did not break it nor ruined it like you thought he would. Instead he took great care of it. Why?

“I recall, it was the first time we met. We were at my housewarming party and I really wanted you to play with me and Tae, but you didn’t.” The raven haired boy reminisced, the smile still etched on his face. “You kept playing with this lego set without any bother in the world. I really wanted to play with you but all you do is ignore me.”

“So you stole the figurine to get my attention?” You raised your left eyebrow, an attempt to guess where he was going. A small chuckle rang through your ears. “Well, it worked I guess but not in the way that I hoped. After that I just–I don’t know–kept annoying you because that’s the only way you’ll ever pay attention.”

His words settled heavily on your heart. All this time, your feud growing up was just a matter of attention. Guilt crawled from the depths, slowly leaking through your eyes. Heeseung was quick to notice. “Yn, that was so long ago, no need to be guilty.” His hands went back to your shoulders. Somehow, the warmth radiating from him felt nice–comforting.

“We could’ve been those childhood friends.” You whispered, rewriting memories inside your head. Echoing a “what if” scenario if you got along from the beginning.

“We could be now, if you want.” Dozens of stars are reflected in the dark pupils of Heeseung’s doe eyes and you can’t bring yourself to look away, not even if you tried. Your gaze shifted to his lingering hand on your scapula before urging closer in his embrace. Arms wrapped itself around his body, your movement slow and careful, giving him space to walk away. But he didn’t. He enveloped you further into himself. Your face is pressed against his chest, eyes closed. No words are spoken but the gesture speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry, Yn.” Heeseung broke the silence between you. “For everything I did to you since we were five.” He whispered, fingers trailing the strands of your hair. “And more importantly, for taking out my anger on you when you got accepted to the exchange program instead of me.”

“I’m sorry too.” You replied, head turning up to meet his waiting gaze. “I joined the program to spite you. Didn’t think I would get it, but I somehow did and made everything worse.” You unwrap each other from the embrace, solemn looks embroidered on your faces. A gulf of harsh wind swept through you, your body shivered slightly at the impact, instantly missing the warmth from the previous action.

“You deserve it, Yn. I was jealous, I could admit that now. If I had been the better choice, I would still be chosen regardless.”

“Oh, Heeseung.” Your frown is evident, denting your features and the boy before you feels the urge to wipe it off so badly as if it had no right to tarnish your perfect face.

“It's all in the past now, flower. We're good now, right?” Heeseung smiled and after, you feel a hand slip itself into your own, relinquishing the comfort from the hug. You looked at your entwined hands before offering a small nod.

“It’s getting late. Let's walk home together, yeah?”

A week has gone by in a blur of routine. Summer break is ending and no amount of complaints is going to stop the time from running. Heeseung now stands right in front of your door, heart palpitating and hands sweaty. It's been 5 minutes now and he's still contemplating whether he should knock on your door or just leave at this point.

After that night, your relationship with him began to shift. As you arrive at your designated homes, you two meet again across the windows of your rooms. Exchanging waves and passing short notes through the glass barrier before bidding good night. It was like straight out of a Taylor Swift music video.

Heeseung caught a smile corrupting his features before closing his mouth in shock. Did he just smile at the memory of you?? What. The. Fuck. He shook his head abruptly from side to side, almost as if he had a goal to remove something from his mind.

Just as he was doing so, the door suddenly swung open. “Heeseung?” A voice called out, confusion lacing her tone. “Auntie Kang, Hi!” The boy offered a flashy smile, almost blinding the middle aged woman. “What are you doing here, Hee?” The woman smiled at the sight of him and raised her eyebrow in amusement at his…enthusiasm?

Heeseung was happy in the early morning. This was a first.

“Are you okay? Why do you seem so happy? Too happy maybe.” Her eyes squinted in suspicion. “Whaaat? Nothing, Auntie! Just excited because dad said I could use his motorcycle today.”

Your mother hummed in understanding. Muttering how kids these days are so funny before asking the bambi-eyed boy, “What are you doing here thou-”

“Hee, you're here!” An excited voice called out, prompting the two figures on the doorway to look your way.

So this is what it's about. Mrs.Kang bit her bottom lip to contain the smile from seeping through. Noting the interaction in her mind to tell Heeseung’s mother for their planned brunch in a few hours.

Your mother wasn't oblivious, something clearly changed between you too. Gone were the two kids that used to chase each other in the courtyard, sabotaging each other’s items for revenge. You’re all grown up now and Kang Hayoon almost felt a tear drop from her left eye.

Call her dramatic but hey, Heeseung is as much like her child as you are. Just like you are a daughter to the Lees. And these two children used to be muttering curse words why chasing each other.

Kang Hayoon felt a wave of surging proudness. While your father is busy taking care of building another branch for the restaurant, you offered to manage the current one for the summer so your mom could rest. Even with your position as Heeseung’s mentor, you still insist doing so with the excuse that Heeseung is already well adapted with everything now.

You reached the door, giving your mom a quick kiss on the cheek and a goodbye before leaving with the boy. “Bye mom, it’s almost eight. We’re going to the restaurant now!” You greeted her from the motorcycle seat. “Bye, Auntie! We’ll be careful, don't worry!” He smiled once more and with a final wave, the two sped away from the driveway leaving the smiling woman on her porch.

“Hae-in needs to hear about this.” Your mother giggled before calling Heeseung’s mom on dial and closing the door as she decided that she could not wait for brunch to tell her.

To say Sunoo was shocked was an understatement. He stood behind the register, preparing the cash for change as he was met with his boss (you) and the intern (heeseung) got out of a motorbike together. His eyes were like saucers and his jaw was wide open. He’s so used to seeing you both fight in the mornings that it felt so…weird seeing the two of you all smiley.

“Fuck, I owe Taehyun 5 bucks now.” He whispered lowly, silently cursing at the bet he lost. The boy smiled and greeted you as well as Heeseung before returning to his current task, not forgetting to make those classic Sunoo bewildered faces behind the register and away from your prying eyes.

Taehyun arrives later with some special premade dumplings made by your mother. Passing by Sunoo as he received the cash with a swift motion in triumph. You and Heeseung are both too easy. He thought, suppressing the singular curve forming on his lips.

The restaurant thrives under your management. You silently thank your dad for teaching you these skills since you were little. Heeseung is currently working as a waiter (because you think he is still wonky at wrapping dumplings), busy tending to curious aunties with his charm. After your little heart to heart, you start to see him in a different light. The way his smile deepens as he is asked about his interests, the politeness seeping through his crinkled eyes when he excused himself and moved closer to you-wait what??

“You think I wouldn't notice you staring, flower?” You grimaced at the decor beside you, finding any mistake palpable in your surroundings, and ignoring the way your stomach fluttered at the nickname he just called you. Heeseung chuckled at your antics, finding you adorable.

“Staring? Hah! You’re so full of yourself, Heeseung.” Your false laughter echoed through the restaurant, turning a few heads from other workers before you threw them a glare to go back to work. “That was Jay and Jake’s moms. They were wondering how I’m doing.” You scrunch your eyebrows at his explanation. “Okay? I didn’t ask what you were doing, Lee.”

“Back to last name basis? You wound me, baby.” The bambi-eyed boy placed his hand on his chest, feigning a hurt look on his face. You rolled your eyes at him (and that ridiculous petname) before shoving him lightly. “Go back to work, employee.”

“On it, boss.” He replied, not forgetting to throw a wink at you before opting back to work. Fuck, what was he doing to you?

You’re pacing back and forth across your room, hands on your hips, and hair all disheveled. Chaewon laid comfortable on your mattress, elbows supporting her upper body as she watched your distressed state with amusement. “Yn, you’re going crazy.”

Tonight was an overdue girls night, meaning Chae is over at your house for the weekend. This day also marks the second last week of summer. That means one more week ‘till you are back to textbooks and exams. You groaned at the thought (and at Chaewon) before inching towards the window. Your eyes subconsciously reached the house across yours, revealing your beloved neighbor–shirtless–his ridiculously sculpted figure standing there on the other side of his window for the whole world (you) to see as he held what looked like shirts on his left hand and his phone on the right pressed on his ear as if he was calling someone.

“Uhm Yn, you’re gawking.” Your best friend peered behind you. Her hands on your shoulders as she took a peek of the sight before you. You hurriedly closed the blinds in reflex. “Damn okay, you don’t want me looking at your man. I’ll be respectful.” A sheepish smile kissed Chaewon’s face before turning her back on you and jumping back into bed.

“Chae, something is wrong with me.” You fall face flat to your bed, right beside your girlfriend. “Everytime I see him, I feel this weird feeling in my chest–and no it’s not the urge to pull out his hair.” You murmured, flipping your body to align with the ceiling before continuing. “Which is really weird because I used to always feel that way.” You pointed out, index finger up to enhance your stance. “But now everytime I see his face I just want to-want to-”

“Kiss him?” Chaewon’s smirk is glowing in her features, fully dripping with mischief. You sat up at her reply before turning your head towards your best friend, your expression shaped in disbelief. “Chaewon, what the hell.” You grab your nearest plushie–one that you stole from Taehyun’s best friend, HeuningKai–before (affectionately) beating the brown-eyed girl with it.

The sound of laughter filled the room like oxygen. “Yn, you can hit me all you want but you can’t deny it.” The raven haired girl said between her fits of giggle. “After that little apology session, you just want to kiss him pretty.” The wiggle of Chae’s brows urged you to throw the plushie right at her face. Your friend groaned at the impact before recovering as if it was nothing.

Suddenly, everything comes crashing down like an airplane with a failing engine. You paused abruptly, a huge thought bubble forming above your head. Fuck did you like him? Like, like–like him?? No, you can’t. You can’t be catching feelings with the boy you just made amends with a week ago. The boy you swore to hate since you were toddlers.

Chaewon read the expression on your face like an openbook before opting to sit across from you. “Yn, for what’s worth, he’s a really nice person. And he’s practically already family.” Her hands made their way to your shoulders. The feeling is familiar but different. Chaewon’s arms are lighter and more poised in contrast to Heeseung’s warm touch. Your head darted to your covered window, curiosity pooling in your heart at what he was doing and what he would think of this–of you.

“Imagine telling your family that you and Heeseung are a thing.” Your best friend started. “Auntie Lee and Auntie Kang are going to start jumping in glee and start preparing for your wedding with an eight week honeymoon plan to the Bahamas.” You rolled your eyes at Chae’s daydream. Though deep down, your heart swelled at the thought, offering a silent prayer as hope for the future.

“Ever since that day, he’s been, I don’t know, different.” Distress is evident in your sigh, storms of doubt clouding your thoughts. “Maybe I’m getting attached to him, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m spending too much time with that guy.” You place two hands on Chaewon’s shoulders before shaking her. “Chae, baby, loml, cleanse me, like right now.” Chaewon nodded at the request like a diligent soldier before shaking you with much more intensity.

“All cleansed now?” She asked, before stopping the vast movement. Your head is spinning, figuratively and literally, and you raised both of your thumbs toward the raven haired girl. “Fuck, I like him. I like Lee Heeseung.” You confessed against a pillow you found beside you, banging your head at the soft cushion before muffling your exasperated scream as Chaewon sat behind and patted your back in reassurance.

What a way to start girls' night.

Heeseung thinks you’re acting weird. You’ve been avoiding him lately–more than usual. Was it because he’s not improving with his dumpling wrapping skills? Or was it because that stunt Jake convinced him to pull, ending with him shirtless before his opened window across your own as he pretended to call someone, looking all important, while it was Jake on the other end, fully assuring him that this plan is foolproof. That it will make you go all drooling on him and finally fall in love.

The bambi-eyed boy mentally cursed at Jake. His plan definitely made you think Heeseung was some weirdo. Fuck, he just ruined all his chances with you and it’s all because of that stupid Austrilian.

Heeseung came true to his feelings one random night in the middle of a night ride with you. You both just finished closing up the shop, bidding farewell to your other workers before logging off for the night.

The boy noticed your tired demeanor, immediately slipping your hand in his before leading you to his bike. “What's the hurry, Hee?” You giggled softly at his antics, the sound speeding his drumming heart ever so slightly.

“Come on, I wanna show you something,” He unclasped your joint hand, and the warmth soon returned as he fixed your helmet on your head before adjusting his own.

Heeseung drives at a medium pace. Not too slow to bore you but also not too fast to risk your lives. The bambi-eyed boy passed your houses, earning a curious look from you. You watch as you exit the suburbs to a little road near the highway. The view from above was breathtaking, city lights cover the vast land like pieces of your lego city collection. You gasped at the beauty ahead of you. The dark haired boy stopped at the hook of the road, taking off his helmet and yours as his steps started inching towards the railings of the empty road.

You follow closely behind, basking on the beauty of the night. The city is still lively–it always is. A contrast to the sleeping stars that hung on the horizon, blinking in haze as humans are left to wonder from below.

Your hand is placed beside his on the railing. Gentle wind kissed the tip of your nose with grace, prompting you to close your eyes to enjoy the serene moment. “This is nice.” You whispered, releasing all the stress harboring on your shoulders and Heeseung hummed in agreement, his head turning in your direction.

The boy watched the sight before him with much intent. His focus shifted to the details of your skin, blurring the busy city’s whispers. Remnants of neon lights were reflected on your face below the moonlight. He noticed your lids fluttering before gazing at the stars above. “What a pretty view.”

Heeseung’s eyes remained on you, the city and sky distorted as he pinned his vision on you. “Yeah, it’s breathtaking.”

The two of you went home in comfortable silence. Your head slowly drowsing on his back before you fix your position to sit upright. Heeseung chuckled at your sleepy state before muttering, “You can sleep, flower. We’ll be home in no time.” His tone is soft on your ears and you hummed at him–too sleepy to voice a proper reply. And before you know it, two arms wrapped itself around Heeseung’s waist, prompting his heart to stop for a second before running at a faster pace. You settle comfortably behind him, your cheek pressed on his back as he drives with such carefulness and grace to your homes.

After returning to his own room, we wasted no time to call his closest friends, confiding to them about his newfound realization. He was in love with you, so badly.

Today was the day. The day where Heeseung is going to confront you. He’s tired of having to walk around eggshells around you, he wants to make things right, clear out any misunderstandings (and maybe confess if it all goes right). You texted him yesterday that you won't be needing a ride from him as you had to tend to other matters earlier than usual. As much as it disappointed him, he had no choice but to comply, not wanting to push past the boundaries you built.

Heeseung arrived at the restaurant much earlier than usual. He glanced at his watch, the time read 7:30. Seven fucking thirty. Gosh it was dawn for holiday mood Heeseung (even though it was 30 minutes earlier than his usual routine, BUT that was 30 minutes of sleeping wasted) The things he’d do for you. The boy sighed, fumbling with a copy of the key you gave him before.

He inserted the key towards the hole, turning it to the left in an attempt to unlock the door but failed in doing so. Heeseung paused before examining the handle, confusion glazing his features as his hand grabbed the knob before slowly pulling it down and opening the door with success.

What? Did you forget to lock the door before closing yesterday? No, he was sure you didn't. You were never that irresponsible. In fact you were probably never irresponsible at all. Did someone break in? There were no signs of force breaking in so that was not possible.

An echo of laughter rang through his ears, stopping Heeseung from his tracks. He peered his eyes at the sound that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Slowly, the boy made his way towards the source, curiosity tugging his heart.

The kitchen light was on and through the window, Heeseung could perfectly see two people standing at the dumpling-making-table-thingy. His eyes widened at the revelation, there was you talking to another man beside you. He's seen him before, but he just can't quite place who. It’s one of those boys you hang around with. Soobin and Yeongjum? Whatever it was.

The boy squinted his eyes, trying to make out who exactly was this person beside you. A distraction to suppress the gnawing feeling pooling in his chest as another line of laughter escaped your lips.

His heart ached when your laugh settled on his mind. A pang of jealousy hit him across the face. You never laughed that much with him. Well maybe it was due to your past rivalry, but it's all gone now, right?

Well maybe he was wrong because your words proved him otherwise.

“By the way, Yn.” The man before you called out, prompting you to hum in reply. “How's everything, you know? With the Heeseung thing and all.”

“It's been really tiring. With school coming soon and everything, ugh.” You sighed, the crease in your eyebrows deepening and Heeseung felt the urge to kiss it away. Though he grounded himself at his position, still behind the walls as he listened to your conversation.

“I’ve been avoiding him lately, Junnie.” His ear perked up at your confession, subconsciously leaning in to hear you more clearly. Ah yeah, Yeonjun. That was his name.

“Why?” Yeonjun asked, confusion wrapping his tone as his hands skillfully wrapped the dumpling before him. Your lack of answer shifted Heeseung's focus to the ridiculously perfect dumpling sitting proudly on Yeonjun’s hand and how quickly he moves on to the next one, wrapping with such professionalism as if he's been folding dumplings since he was born.

Heeseung’s annoyance was cut short as he heard your answer. “I don't know. I just…don't want him to get the wrong idea.” Your voice is small, barely heard, but Heeseung could hear the words clearly.

You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. That was it, that was basically a rejection. You don't feel the same. The bambi eyed boy felt his heart sinking in his chest. The same organ weighs fifty thousand pounds heavier than it usually was, dragging him down with it.

“Anyway, you're driving to the concert, right?” You questioned, tone picking up ever so slightly.

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows. Concert?

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He heard Yeonjun reply. “You've worked so hard to earn these tickets, we’ll have the best time there together, Ynnie.”

The boy behind the kitchen window resisted the urge to scoff. So that's it? You agreed to mentor him for a stupid concert date? Jealousy was a drug and Heeseung dwelled in it with no hesitation. He ignored the way his heart clenched at the thought of losing you. Well, you were never his in the first place.

They boy left the restaurant in the same manner he went in but with more passive aggression. Taking the keys with him before driving off back to his house. Fuck this stupid mentoring shit and Fuck these stupid frelings.

You remained unaware of the tragedy that happened outside as you continued to focus on preparing the delicacy. “Yn, you have to tell him.” Yeonjun’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You still, knowing exactly what he meant, while hands are still moving–folding the dough as if it ran an automatic program. “I don't know, Junnie. What if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings?”

“He would be stupid not to.”

Yeonjun was right, you had to be true to your feelings. Your friend left after he finished helping you with the dumplings, leaving you alone amidst your thoughts as the workers arrived one by one. You watch by the front door carefully, eyes focused to find a certain bambi-eyed boy. Concern clouded your mind, the clock strikes nine and Heeseung has yet to make his appearance.

This was weird, he was never late (save the first day). Well maybe because you’ve been going here together for the past few days, but he was never late even at the beginning. Did something happen to him? “Sunoo, have you seen Heeseung?” You turned your head towards Sunoo behind the register, eyebrows furrowed in question. The boy shook his head in response and you ignored the way your heart sank.

You grab your phone from your pocket, muscle memory automatically hovering towards his contact. These past few days you and Heeseung’s been texting more often, and though you hate to admit it, the feeling made you giddy to the heart. Your fingers typed on the keypad in a swift move, texting a quick “where r u it’s late” and a “r u okay?” right after.

The boy in question was laid in his bed. Back against the mattress as he wallows in heartbreak songs all morning. The ping from his phone urged him to open the screen, his chest heaved heavily upon seeing your messages. Why do you care? He scoffed after reading the message mentally. Just let that Yeonjun replace him or something. Heeseung suppressed his impulsive thought to type that in and settled with a lame excuse instead. “not feeling well, won’t come today. sry." Before turning up the volume as Mr. Loverman comes to play.

You frowned at his reply, a worried expression taking over your features. “oh no :( get well soon hee.” Your fingers moved before you could control them. “rest up. I’ll come over after my shift.”

Heeseung widened his eyes as he read your reply, clearly not expecting your last statement. He quickly sat up, thinking of yet another lame excuse to avoid you seeing him. Fuck this was bad, his plan surely backfired on him. “U CANT! Uhm it’s infectious, don’t come near me or u’ll get sick.”

Infectious? What? Is Heeseung okay? You spent the whole week maybe even month with him lately, and whatever it is he caught, there’s probably a big change you’ve caught it too. “Did u get covid or smthn?” You typed in, concerned for yourself too slowly creeping in. It’s been years since the pandemic, you were even surprised it was still a thing. “does it mean I cld have it too? Shld i get tested? Yk what imma get tested rn.”

“It’s not covid!” His reply made you pause on your tracks. “It’s nthn srs, u don’t have to come. Js focus on the shop.”

“Will u return tmrw?” You questioned, no effort in containing your curiosity. “Idk, we’ll see.”

Yeah right, “we’ll see.” Heeseeung scoffed at his own text. He’ll see if he recovered from heartbreak enough to be able to see your stupidly beautiful face. The boy locked his phone before opting to throw it to his bed as he continued to blast to a thousand more sad songs. Fuck you and your perfect self. Why don’t you just go take care of Yeonjun when he’s sick of something.

Friday comes in a flash. The sun has set twice since Heeseung’s disappearance and he thinks two days are enough time to sulk and return to his current summer disposition. It was his last day here anyways. After this, school will return and you both will just pretend the other doesn't exist as usual.

He makes his way past the front doors, mind unfocused as he ventures inside the restaurant. His tired eyes met yours, and for one second Heeseung forgets everything he eavesdropped that morning. “Heeseung.” You called out, surprise laced on your tone, clearly not expecting his return after disappearing from the face of earth. The boy resisted the desire in his heart to just run and hug you until you suffocate. But the remnants of your voice that haunted him till this day pulled him back. “I’ve been avoiding him, Junnie. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

Right, you don’t like him that way. He has to remind himself of that and drill it onto his brain. “Heeseung?” You draw closer at his silence. Your hand slowly made its way to his arm, touching the skin slightly before the boy nudged back, avoiding your grasp.

Oh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, whatever. I’ll just go to work now.”

You don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know what’s wrong. His tone is indifferent, cold, and weaved with a harsh emotion you can’t quite place. The boy passed by you, accidentally bumping your shoulder before starting his usual routine. You could almost hear your heart breaking in your chest, the feeling dragging you down as rain started to pour, the clouds diminishing the ray of sunlight left in your eyes and the sky.

The rest of the day is filled with awkward tension and forced professionalism. Heeseung is aware of his status in the restaurant so he maintained his poise. Though he can’t help but steal glances of you, managing the schedule and tending the customers with such light in your eyes, contrast to his gloomy vision. The pain in his heart is subduable but he hates it. It was stupid of him to fall for you in the first place. You were always there, not even 200 meters away from him everyday, yet why do you still remain so out of reach?

Yellow hue dissipates into serene blue, the stars finally waking up to light the dark night. Heeseung waits behind, leaning on his motorcycle as you close up for the day. This was it, his last shift and probably his last one-on-one interaction with you.

As much as Heeseung wants to avoid you right now, he doesn’t have the heart to make you walk back alone. After all the past two days has been enough.

The ride back home was quiet, awkward silence cut through the tension like knife slicing though a piece of room temperature butter. The boy stops in front of your driveway, waiting for you to remove your helmet before parking the bike in his garage.

“Thank you.” Your whisper graced his ear, your gaze finding him like a pirate longing for her lost treasure. “For the ride…and for everything.” Was what you said before turning your back on him and reaching towards your front door.

Heeseung was quick to return home, not forgetting to wipe the strain tear that escaped his right eye as he reached the comfort of his room. Gosh was he stupid.

“Babe, do you think Hoshi is going to notice me if I use this top or the other?” Chaewon stands in front of the full length mirror, opting two tops each on her left and right hand. The question rang pass through your ears, your focus all poured towards your window, gaze stuck on the glass panels across your own, his midnight blue curtains covering the interior, screaming at you like it held a “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS” sign right on your face.

Your best friend turned her head towards you at your lack of reply, eyebrows furrowed as she noticed your current predicament. She was quick to move towards your window and closed the blinds, bursting the rain cloud forming above your head. “Yn, spill the beans.” Chaewon’s voice is serious and compelling, and just like that, words start spilling from your mouth. You told how gentle and considerate he’s become for the past week, the occasional night rides, the conversation that continued till midnight, the little notes you passed from your window, and the fact that he suddenly started to act cold and weird on you since Wednesday.

Chaewon listened with much intent, her hands moved quickly to wipe your damp cheeks as the tears fell without any warning. Well good thing you haven’t started your makeup. “You have to talk to him, baby.” She started, hands gentle on the crown of your head. “I’m going to beat him up for making you cry.” She whispered lowly, triggering a chuckle from your throat.

“How? All he does is avoid me. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

The raven-haired girl hummed in response, the gears of her brain spinning. “Don't your families have a joint dinner together every last Sunday of the month?” You nodded slowly at her question, mind deliberately following where she was going. “That’s tomorrow, you’ll talk to him then. Steal him away after dinner or something.” She lifted up her arms to your shoulders before shaking them hard. “Let me cleanse you. For now, let's have fun, look at hot men dancing and doing fanservice. Forget ALL the drama.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as the light made its way back to your eyes. She’s right. Today you’re going to forget about Heeseung and that stupidly pretty face of his. Tonight you’re going to go to that SEVENTEEN concert and occupy your mind with Joshua Hong.

Family dinner is awkward as usual. Well for you and Heeseung, not for your parents and brother. Taehyun talking about something with your parents as you sat across the boy that’s been avoiding you. You dismissed the desire to look at his face because right now you are stuck in a perplexity. You don’t know if you want to punch him or you want to kiss him. Well you do know that you want to do it hard, either of the options doesn’t matter.

Your mothers left the dining room to prepare dessert and Heeseung excused himself to go to take something from his room. You took this as an opportunity, muttering “I need to go to the bathroom real quick.” before exiting the space to follow after him. Missing the way Taehun spoke to your dad and Heeseung’s. “50 bucks say that they’ll make out in his room.”

You sped towards the hall, taking his hand as you pulled him into his chambers. The bambi eyed boy felt like an intruder at his own living quarters, his eyes widened in shock, not expecting your actions. “Heeseung, let’s talk.” You start, voice sturdy and serious, cornering the boy before you with an arm beside his shoulder to block any escape route, his back pressing against the wooden door.

“What…what do you mean? Th-there’s nothing to talk about.” The boy grumbled, trying his best to not fluster under your gaze. Gosh why were you so close? Heeseung’s breath became shallow and quicker, the tips of his ears morphed into a crimson shade as he noticed your proximity.

Your eyes squinted at his sheepish reply. “Don’t act stupid, Lee. You’ve been avoiding me all of a sudden with like absolutely no reason!” A polished finger made its way to the dark-haired boy’s chest before he felt a light pressure at the contact. “You disappeared from the shop for two days–you’re welcome by the way for not telling our parents–and started acting like I don’t deserve your time or something.” You shove repeatedly at the same point, frustration swallowing you entirely and Heeseung? He just braced the impact like it was nothing to him.

Heeseung stilled as he waited for you to calm yourself, his gaze tenderly settled on you, in contrast to the emergency sirens that’s swarming his head like a busy ER hospital. Fuck, what was he gonna tell you? That he overheard you and Yeonjun and that he avoided you because he can’t handle a little jealousy and perhaps competition? Were you and Yeonjun even a thing? His mind is in scrambles and he can’t seem to get anything out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” You peer towards the floorboards, features flushing scarlet as guilt wraps the previous emotion away. Your finger is still on his chest and before you can lower it down, a warm hand enveloped your knuckles. Chocolate colored iris melt into your own letting a thousand emotions seeping through like an overflowing glass of water akin to an eternal fountain. “Yn, let me explain everything.”

So he did and you let him. Heart echoing in sync against your ribcage, his hand not leaving yours anytime soon as he rubs soft circles. You almost melt in his touch. Keyword: almost. Gosh Yn were you that touch starved? Or did you really miss him that badly?

“I overheard your conversation with Yeonjun last Wednesday morning.” He confessed, thumb caressing your skin in a gentle motion. You can hear the gears of your brain spinning before wondering, “Last Wednesday…Yeonjun…What? It was like half past seven, how were you there? You said you were sick.”

“Yeah, let me continue first.” You nodded at his statement. “I wanted to, uhm I don’t know, like surprise you by going there early?” Heeseung paused, silently questioning his past self. “Oh, I also got curious why you didn’t want to ride together that morning.” The boy spontaneously added. “First when I entered I was confused why was the door unlocked but then I heard laughs–your laugh from the inside and I guess I wanted to know who made you laugh like that.”

You soaked his words like a sponge’s first contact with running water. The pattern of his thumb movements is still softly caressing your epidermis, offering you a peace of mind as you sink in his explanation. “Then I saw you with Yeonjun all comfortable and I got jealous. I realise you never smiled at me like that or laughed that much with me around. I got so jealous that I just couldn’t see you or I’ll burst in frustration.”

He stopped stroking your palm and instead squeezed it firmly before fidgeting it with both hands. “I also heard about the concert date. So I found out you mentored me for a month to get a concert date with another man. He must be pretty special, huh.” His movements went to halt and you hate how your heart seemed to ache for more–more of his touch.

“Yeonjun and I are just friends.” Your whisper is gentle upon his ears, the implication of another statement relieved his whole body. You’re still single. “He was helping out because he lost a bet and well he was damn good at wrapping dumplings too.” You chuckled, mind drifting to that particular moment and as if on cue, Junnie’s wise words echoed through your mind. You have to tell him how you feel, Yn.

“Yn I-”

“Heeseung-”

You both started simultaneously startling each other with the synchronisation. “You go first, Hee.”

“Are you sure? You can go-”

“You look like you need to get something out that badly.” You attempted to joke, lifting up the heavy mood that surrounds you like a thick fog.

Heeseung took a deep breath as he stepped closer towards you. His back is not leaned against the door anymore and his gaze is stuck on yours. “Yn I…I like you. Fuck, I love you, even, probably, I don’t know.” The boy pulled your still joint hands, lifting it up before kissing the skin in a gentle manner, one that leaves you yearning for more.

“But I want to…figure it out. With you, if you don’t mind.” Your connecting gaze doesn’t break. You breathe in his confession like a drug, addicted to the true sound of his heart. The light in his eyes dimmed at your lack of reply. But before he could turn away, a force pulled him down from the nape of his neck as warm lips pressed against his own, soft but also fierce, not lacking of passion. Almost as if you’ve been waiting to do this.

The boy doesn’t wait to reciprocate, one of his hands slithered on your waist like it was meant to be there as the other cups your cheek, angling it sideways to deepen the kiss. You could feel it, all the raw emotion rushing through the action. And right now, this is all that matters. His lips are gentle on yours, moving with such care like you were the most precious thing in his possession. Years of tension and harbored feelings melted into the kiss, you pulled him even closer to you, like you can’t handle any remaining distance between you.

Heavy breaths echoed across the room as your faces deepened into five shades of maroon, your past actions finally settling into you. You couldn’t believe it. You just kissed Lee Heeseung. And he kissed you back. If you were to tell this moment to your five year old self, you swore she was gonna punch you in the face for having Heeseung’s cooties.

“So…uhm, I like you too?” You sheepishly smiled, still enveloped in his embrace. The warmth excluding him started to feel like home.

The boy before you mirrored your smile before quickly pecking your lips. You both laughed at the carefree moment. Finally after a decade and two years of constant fighting and suppressed feelings, you both came true to another.

“Come and give me another kiss, girlfriend.” Heeseung felt the corner of his mouth curling up, eyeing his love. The newfound status rolled out of his tongue like it was second nature, like he had practiced it a couple hundred times before.

The butterflies swarming your stomach still continued to linger and even increased tenfold. The tips of your ears showcasing the color of your favorite fruit–strawberries. But instead of melting into a mush (like you would prefer to tbh), you hummed in thought, leaning backwards with his hands wrapped on your waist supporting your back before replying, “Girlfriend?” Your eyebrow shot up. “Maybe after one date, then I’ll consider.”

Heeseung harbored no other emotion in his gaze rather than one reeking of amusement and love as he kissed the tip of your nose, amplifying the crimson shade of your facade.

"Okay, next Saturday, 7pm. Wear something nice, baby."

BONUS:

You and Heeseung made your way back to the dining table with flustered faces, (slightly) swollen lips, and a suspiciously good mood. Taehyun raised his eyebrows at the two older people before him, his gaze later shifted to the side, making eye contact with your dad and Hee’s before receiving two fifty bucks under the table.

Ah, what a good day. Now he just needs to collect the remaining money from Auntie Lee and your mom’s bet.

Kang Ha-yoon and Lee Hae-in watched as their children exchanged sheepish glances instead of muttering curses at the other, a surging proudness fills the air like oxygen, letting the two woman finally breathe in the air with no cut throat tension radiating from you and Heeseung.

They might’ve lost a hundred bucks and may or may not owe Taehyun a new PS5, but as awkward dinners turn into lively conversations (without any passive aggression lacing in your tones) the two women send knowing smiles to each other.

It seemed as if their plan had worked. A little too well maybe but hey, maybe they'll officially be family if this continues. After all, your mothers have always secretly fantasised about yours and Heeseung’s wedding without any knowledge that there is a bigger chance of it coming true.

The private pinterest board rotting in your mother’s account may be for good use after all.

Fin.

TAGLIST -> @jiwuu @xylatox @ttulixia @iboughtnjz @bubblytaetae @wintereals @manuosorioh @ddolleri

AERNX 2025

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen x you #enhypen #enhypen heeseung #enhypen imagines #enhypen x y/n #enhypen scenarios #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #heeseung x you

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blxksun · 13 hours ago

Text

brother's keeper • choso kamo

18+, minors and ageless blogs do not interact

★彡 synopsis you wanted short term fun, nothing serious, what's so wrong with that? choso will tell you, well show you?

★ → warnings/contents fem reader, reader x yuji (just a plot point), making out, fwb mention, slut shaming, degradation, choso is mean, no aftercare, fingering, protected piv sex, swearing, college au, fratboy!choso, overstimulation, sex as revenge?, alcohol consumption, y/n is down with hookup culture, nipple play, grinding, praise, dirty talk, let me know if there are any i missed.

★→ wc 3.7k

★→ an this is the first time i wrote something like this in a while, i didn't take it too serious and had a little fun with it. leave comments with your thoughts, and i kind of want to make a pt.2 but i'm not sure. anyway hope you enjoy reading!

it wasn’t really even entirely your intention. you just wanted to have fun and casually have sex with him. he was sweet, but you’re young, not wanting to be tied down just yet. it started at a party, he was a brother at the frat party you were attending with a couple of your homegirls for halloween and just having a great time. eventually though the scene became a little much and you went outside to just get some air and that’s where you met him, itadori yuji. he was sweet and greeted you in a manner that wasn’t very college boy of him at all. “hey i’m yuji, and you?” he asked as he noticed you walking near the seat that was near him. you glanced at him and offered a hey back and began lightly conversing as you sat.

“not your scene huh?” he asked as you slouched back into the chair. “it is, but right now no, what about you?” you replied and asked. he nodded his head in understanding, “i get that, i live here and I feel that way sometimes too”. you tilted your head at that in realization that this was no partygoer and instead one of the 12 hosts. “then why aren’t you just in your room?” you asked. he chuckled a bit at the question and he shrugged, “one of the rules when we party” he said.

“oh, so this is what you do instead, huh?” you asked. “yeah, what about you then, why not just leave?” he asked as he reached for his red solo cup. as he reached he seemingly focused on grabbing his cup. you took that moment to really take him in. he was cute and you wanted to have fun tonight, he wouldn’t be a bad choice. but you hadn’t answered the question you were asked. realizing how the air was silent by your lack of response you quickly remembered what he asked and answered, “i came with people and they aren’t ready to go”.

“makes sense, sometimes people can get sucked into this environment, it’s like that one scene in percy jackson” he replied. you laughed and asked him what he was drinking and he let you know it was something he mixed up, because he likes juice more than alcohol but he still wanted to get a little buzz. “want to taste?” he asked and you nodded.

“mmm, woah that will trick you into thinking you aren’t drinking at all” you said. he chuckled, “yeah that’s why it’s my only cup, i can make you some if you want” he offered. you nodded your head and he gestured for you to follow him back inside. you forgot you were at a party while you were chatting with him and the loud blare of music and flashing of light caught you off guard.

he brought you into the kitchen and you sat on the counter next to him as he made your drink for you. he offered to just go to his room, “won’t you get in trouble?” you asked. he looked at his wrist and shook his head, “nah, it’s about to be 2” he replied. so you agreed. once you made it to his room, you were shocked that it wasn’t messy, but instead looked lived in. he told you it would be alright if you sat on his bed and he sat in his bean bag chair. you continued chatting and hadn’t noticed that you had been sipping your drink as often as you had been. laughing, you showed him your empty cup and said, “what did I say”. he smiled, “i’m glad you liked it,” he said.

“they're about to kick everyone out soon” he informed you. you suddenly felt like you should be bold and make something of your college experience, after all that’s what you came for. “i’m sure you don’t want me to leave” you insinuated. he smirked and shook his head. “hey i don’t give alcohol and invite people to my room, under the guise of wanting sex” he said. you shook your head. “yuji, I want you to have sex with me” you say. “i don’t know, are you drunk?” he asks. you shook your head, “no, just like you a little buzzed, i know what I’m doing” you told him. he shakes his head, “come by tomorrow and i’ll have sex with you, just as an added precaution,” he says. your heart was beating out of your chest, realizing you just successfully made an attempt at someone. you smiled, “i’ll be here tomorrow” you said.

he smiled and got up from his beanbag, making his way towards you. “it’s okay if i kiss you right?” he asked and you nodded your head. he leans down as he stands over you to connect your lips with his. his lips were soft and had the slight taste of the fruit punch/alcohol concoction he whipped up in the kitchen. opening your mouth, you allowed him to let his tongue meet yours and the sound of wet lips smacking filled your ears. the kiss was deep and he let his hand come to your neck to keep you where he wanted you. you moaned in the kiss and got lost in your head about what tomorrow would be like. there was a pool forming in your panties and he let his knee lean on the bed between your legs.

you took advantage of it, the effect of his kiss, getting the best of you, led you to grind against it. he leaned away from the kiss to watch you and a string of spit kept you two connected. he smiled and licked his lips before taking his hand and using his thumb to wipe yours. Your eyes were blown with lust. he backed away and fixed himself in his pants before sitting back to the beanbag. “i’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. before you could respond the president, or at least you assumed it was the president’s voice, yelled out “IF YOU DON’T LIVE HERE, PLEASE GO HOME, PARTY’S OVER.”

that was just the start of it. the next day came faster than you anticipated and that kiss from last night built up the anticipation. he was a fantastic kisser. you showed up and weren’t disappointed by how good he was at sex, it only made sense. which led to the months you spent doing just that with him. sometimes you guys spent time outside of that but you didn’t think much of it. you went to fairs and restaurants together and helped each other study for midterms and little exams. it was cool being able to have a friend who you could more than occasionally have sex with. he was even into doing things in public, it was fun.

you two would complete fake errands together just to get in the backseat and fuck or whereever you chose to run errands at. so it shocked you when he admitted his feelings for you. you thought he knew it was a strictly platonic everything. the dates, you assumed were hangouts, or the errands, you assumed were just excuses to fuck at a random time of day, were actually his attempts of spending time with you. the look on his face when you told him you didn’t feel the same way was devastating, and it upset you that you probably wouldn’t be able to remain cool with him after.

he went radio silent on you after that. he wasn’t where he used to be anymore and if you did happen to see him he was wearing some variation of pajama pants and a sweatshirt. he always had his overhead headphones onto so you couldn’t even reach out to him. it upset you that you made him feel that way, but you only wanted to have sex with him. while you were watching him walk away you bumped into a boy that had buns? he turned around to look at you and your heart almost beat out of your chest. he was a beautiful man and he was coming from the direction of your dorm, maybe he lived there? doesn’t matter, but could you be more lucky at the possibility. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going,” you said. he squinted his eyes at you then let out a chuckle, “it’s alright, just make sure you start” he said.

he walked away before you could attempt to speak to him again and when you went to look for yuji again, he was gone. you went back to your dorm and placed your things down and sighed. your roommate looked at you as she was getting ready at her desk and said “hey you know that frat we went to for halloween?” she asked. your heart dropped, “yeah why?” you asked. “president came by today and asked about you,” she said. your eyebrow raised, “who’s that and why?” you asked. “he told me choso and because he said he saw you leaving out when he came in and thought you were cute” she said, shimmying her shoulders. “what did he look like?” you asked. “tired,” she replied. your heart raced, the boy from earlier, you thought.

“he told me to give this to you” she said and passed you a piece of paper.

meet me at the house at 9

- choso, your roommate should’ve told you

you looked at the note and debated whether or not you should go. yuji’s there, isn’t that in poor taste. no, that’s presumptuous, you have no idea why he would want you to come over. You dwelled on it and got in bed to take a nap. an alarm went off around 7:30 and you woke up confused. “turn that off please” you said. your roommate turned to you and smiled. “no ma’am you need to get ready, that man was fine” she said. you rolled your eyes, “i don’t know if i want to go,” you said. she rolled her eyes back at you, “y/n please, that man found out where you stay just to tell you he finds you attractive and wants to see if he could work something out with you” she said. you sigh, “i’m not looking for anything, plus that’s a little strange that he found out where I stayed and didn’t just come to me” you say. “I told him and he said he wasn’t either,and yes it’s strange but still, just go see how it goes” she says.

“but, he could’ve told me when i bumped into him earlier”, you said. your roommate took a moment to process the words, “that’s true, but this might be the exciting plot point you say your college experience needs”, she spoke convincingly. you sighed because maybe she’s right. reluctantly you get up, freshen up, and change into your lounge clothes. if you got there and didn’t want to go in you would turn right back around and go home to sleep.

you realized it was 8:20 now. traffic was weird at night so you decided that you should go ahead and go. as you expected there was a backup because of a crash and you had to go through a series of detours to get to the frat house at the time you were told to be there. pulling up made your throat dry. you didn’t know why you felt like you were betraying yuji by coming to the house for someone other than him, but you quickly realized that whatever the two of you had was gone as soon as you rejected him.

you walked up to the house and knocked on the door and it was promptly opened by someone who looked extremely uninterested with the timing of your arrival. “choso, it’s yours” the guy called up. “send her up,” he called back. the man looked at you with a look that read ‘you heard him’ and stepped aside to let you in. you walked in and went towards the stairs, thinking about just leaving, but you already walked inside so you went up. you noticed that their names were on the doors and he was at the very end of the hallway, two doors down from yuji’s. you knocked on the door. it seemed like you were waiting forever, but the door opened and you were gestured to come inside. you walked in and stood awkwardly not knowing where you could sit.

“the bed is fine, how are you?” he said then asked. “i’m good, how are you?” you said as you took a seat. he closed the door and locked it, then locked it. “good, i'm hoping soon i'll be better,” he replied. “something’s been bothering me and i want to take my mind off of it, saw you earlier and i thought maybe my mind’s a bit cloudy” he said sitting at the top of his bed against his headboard. “what’s been bothering you?” you ask. he chuckled and tilted his head to look at you. “i’m not sure yet, but i think you can help me out,” he said. “i saw how you looked at me earlier, i feel the same but as I sat here waiting for you i thought about how good it would feel to make this about you” he said.

you looked at him shocked at the implications of his statement. “are you saying you want to have sex with me?” you asked. he shook his head, “that’s a bit intimate, could lead me to believe this is something it isn’t, i want to fuck you though” he says. “if you want”, he adds. his unashamed admittance has your mind blank, you didn’t think this would really be the direction of the meeting he proposed to you. but you know what, it’s been a while and this man is fine. “yeah, I want to,” you say. he smiles, “then come here” he says. you shift yourself from where you’re sitting to make yourself closer to him.

when you are within arms reach he pulls you in and joins his lips to yours. the kiss is so messy, desperate, and a shocked whimper escapes from you. he positions you into his lap and grabs your hips to move you over the growing erection in his pants. the taste of mint invades your mouth, it’s clear he just brushed his teeth prior to your arrival. his tongue was moving in sync with yours as it explored your mouth. the kiss was so loud it distracted you from the one hand leaving your hips to travel into your shirt. his hand was warm as it caressed you. you began to grind in his lap and the muffled groan that left him had you imagining it unmuffled in your ear as he plowed into you.

your stomach had butterflies and he pulled away from the kiss. his eyes darker and his face flushed, he breathily said “i want you out of these clothes.” you took off your shirt and he moved quickly to remove your bra. your breasts free from their confines, he took no time to gather them in his hand, rubbing his rough thumbs on your nipples.”you got a nice rack” he tells you and you blush because sometimes you don’t feel that way. you moan a little as the feeling of his fingers rubbing that specific area on your nipples registers to you. “yeah, you like that?” he asked rhetorically. you bit your lip and nodded, closing your eyes as he let his mouth latch onto your right nipple.

between his tongue flicking and his thumb rubbing, you were ready for some attention in your lower region. you were grinding more frequently, without his aid and he smirked. looking up at you with your nipple in his mouth, “you want me there huh?” he said. you almost giggled at how silly he sounded, but he began to match your grinds with subtle upward thrusts. a moan slipped out and he decided those noises weren’t as frequent as he wanted them to be. he pushed you back, grabbing the backs of your knees and looked at your clothed sex. “i bet you got a pretty pussy under here, show me” he says. raising your hips you slid your pants and panties off enough to let him see.

he lets go of your knees to pull them off the rest of the way and smiles. “i knew it,” he said as he used two fingers to spread your lips apart. “so fucking pretty, and you’re soaked” he said, letting his two fingers rub up and down between your folds. your hips bucked and you let out a little sigh. it was when he started rubbing your clit that you couldn’t contain yourself. “that’s right, make those noises for me, let me know i’m doing good”, he said. it’s been awhile since you and yuji stopped fooling around and the touch from another person was something that you missed.

“it’s a shame yuji doesn’t want this anymore” he said and it threw you off. you try to respond but your own moan cuts you off. why was he talking about yuji if he’s about to fuck you. “when he told me you wanted to have sex with him after you first met him i already knew” he said, fingers maintaining a pace of your clit that had your mind reeling. it felt so good, but you didn’t understand what yuji had to do with this. “i told him, sluts come here often for sex, trying to fulfill some college fantasy” he said. “ahh, what are y-you , fu-oh my god, talking about?” you asked. your eyes shut and opened to roll and your hand reached to grab his wrist. he swatted your hand away and paused his rubbing to smack your pussy.

“don’t act fucking stupid, you’re a slut, look at you” he said, letting two of his fingers slide into your welcoming entrance. you didn’t know what to say, well how to get it out with the way he was now fucking you with his fingers. “i never spoke to you outside of telling you bumping into me was okay, here you are creaming on my fucking fingers” he said curling his fingers inside of you and making you release all over his hand and sheets. “yeah, good girl, just keep cumming because that’s all you care about doing”, he said.

“you don’t deserve my mouth, sit there and think about that” he said and you really didn’t have the energy to do anything but that. he reached in his nightstand and grabbed a condom. he slid his pants down and stroked his hard cock, the sight going straight to your pussy and making you twitch. he was decent, a little bigger than yuji. he was using his precum to lube his ministrations before it was enough and he slid the condom on to get ready for something better. “he let me see what the hype is about” he said as he aligned his cock with your slit.

he slid in and stilled. it was a while for him too and your walls were so warm and fit him just right. “fuck, not even worth crying over” he says as he begins to establish a pace. you know he’s lying but it hurts a little to know he’s trying to hurt your feelings and also the admission that yuji was that upset. he was hitting your spot so good that it was so hard to not give him the satisfaction of hearing your moans as praise. it was like he knew you were trying to get back at him and he moved his hand down to rub your clit. he leaned down to kiss you as he deepened his strokes. you were loud, he couldn't have you waking people up.

his tongue was invading your mouth again and he was swallowing any sound you threatened to let escape. he was a really good kisser, like yuji. ugh, why were you thinking of him right now? “and fucking his president without coaxing, you’re s-so fucked up” he says as he pulls away from the kiss. his other hand came to your neck as he sped up his pace. “i think i might need your mouth, I can’t cum like this, gonna have to smack yuji, pussy’s not even good enough to do someone like that” he said as he began rotating his hips. pleasure overwhelmed you as your second orgasm racked through you. it was starting to seem like what he was saying was true, he still hadn’t came yet. your heart hurt at how he was talking about you. “just a slut and not even a good one at that” he said as he continued fucking into you like you didn’t just cum.

you were so sensitive, but the feeling had you bucking your hips into him like you were trying to prove yourself. “fuck, look baby you gave me a white ring, fuckin glazing my shit” he said slowing his space and going deeper. the light sting of his tip touching your cervix had you shying away, but he wouldn’t let you run away from it though, grabbing the pack of your knees and pushing them back to continue his assault on the deepest crevice of your pussy. you deserved it. it was long until you felt a feeling bubbling up in your stomach. you felt so hot.

tears running down your face and moans spilling from your mouth as he overworked the region between your legs. “cumming again?, that’s not fair you didn’t make me cum once” he said pulling out. “that’s selfish, i guess that’s all you know though” he said. the feeling snatched from you made you want to cry. “you know how it feels now then huh?” he started, as he took off the condom to discard it. “being treated like a toy”, he finished. “don’t disrupt the vibes of my house again, and don’t mess with my brothers, you can leave now and i don’t want you back here” he said as he got up off the bed. he threw you a packet of wet wipes and left the room.

blxksun2025 do not copy or translate my works

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