#i think i saved up for it when i graduated high school and then couldn’t stand the interface for academic notes and highlights | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yunhoszn · 9 months ago

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save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside.

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence.

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life.

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story.

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes.

And then your grandparents decided to retire.

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time.

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres.

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later.

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty.

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh.

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked.

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable.

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave.

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention.

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear.

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops.

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself.

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives.

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope.

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again.

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby.

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years?

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good.

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate.

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache.

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog.

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought.

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now.

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore.

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other.

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency.

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening.

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else.

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance.

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet.

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath.

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.”

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…”

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague.

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong.

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects.

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage.

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine.

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air.

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own.

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own.

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have.

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric.

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse.

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain.

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal.

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen.

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself.

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple.

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there.

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide.

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool.

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now.

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?”

“‘You turn me on.’”

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad.

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?”

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs.

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it.

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him.

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release.

I saw the way he was looking at you.

I saw how you were looking at him, too.

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho.

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it.

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place.

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work.

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to.

And then you came here.

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same.

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role.

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go.

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?”

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches.

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?”

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters.

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away.

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else.

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different.

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you.

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you.

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop.

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry.

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top.

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him.

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief.

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special.

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there.

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets.

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it.

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure.

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now.

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own.

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more.

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat.

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second.

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again.

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way.

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt.

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand.

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble.

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams.

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core.

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips.

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off.

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force.

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth.

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies.

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts.

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.”

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below.

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him.

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created.

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter.

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day.

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez jeong yunho #ateez yunho #ateez yunho x reader #ateez yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunhoszn

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writethrough · 10 months ago

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I Know Better

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You've heard every rumor about Billy Hargrove—from the girls, the guys, the teachers, the parents—it never interested you all that much. Until one of those pesky rumors involved you.

Warnings: Language, slut-shaming

Word Count: 1396

A/N: This is the first stop on the apology tour for everyone who's sent me in a request. It's been a year for some of you, and I'm so sorry and grateful for your patience.

I had a really hard time starting this in the sense that I had so many ideas, but none of them fit with this prompt. So, it took me a while to settle on the story I wanted to tell. I had to stop thinking about this as a “Billy is mean to everyone” fic, and start considering it a “You are Billy’s soft spot” fic. It had to be a “How is he different because of you?” And then it sort of clicked.

This is a sort of soft-launch to a larger something. I'm not sure if it will turn into a full multi-part fic or just spontaneous additions in this little fanfic universe.

And to the anon who requested this, Tumblr ate your request when I tried saving it to my drafts, so I really, really hope you come across it.

I hope you enjoy!

Anon Request: “Another Billy request idea is “he’s mean as fuck to everyone but me

"Like??? Maybe I need to go to therapy but the hard as stone exterior on that boy and the thought of him being sweet as pie to his girl makes me mush”

Moodboard by @saradika

Billy Hargrove never scared you.

Not even in high school when all you heard about was his bark and bite and overall terrible attitude.

You didn’t cross paths often, surprisingly so with how small Hawkins was, but sometimes you’d get glimpses of him against his locker or waiting by his car.

You still remembered the time he pulled in beside you as you were shutting your door.

Max had waved at you before rushing off to the middle school. Then, Billy had slowly risen, lighting a cigarette in the process, and locked eyes with you.

He greeted you by name, a lazy smile spreading across his lips, and sauntered away.

You had replayed that morning for the next two weeks, stunned that he knew your name let alone gave you the time of day.

It was a month or two afterward when you actually witnessed Billy at his worst.

You weren’t there for the start, but you had turned a corner in the halls and were met with other students gawking at a fight.

You shoved your way between teenagers, intent to get to your class before the bell rang when that mullet stopped you.

Billy had been looming over Roger, the school’s very own sleazy douchebag.

In your mind, whatever that prick had said or done, he absolutely deserved the consequences Billy was doling out.

You were about to continue walking when Billy leaned in closer to him with a tilt of his head. And until that point, you didn’t know that gesture could be so menacing.

“Wanna say that again?”

Your brows pulled in confusion.

What could Roger have said that made Billy so furious?

It must have been some insult, something that cut right to whatever insecurities Billy hid from the world. You really couldn’t imagine what he’d be self-conscious about. To you, Billy was the epitome of confidence.

Billy’s eyes caught your shoes, and you swore his shoulders tensed. He trailed up your body and met your gaze, grinding his teeth.

He slowly straightened, and without another word, stormed out of the building.

Mrs. Click finally arrived and disbanded everyone and helped Roger to the nurse’s office.

Your last class was full of whispered theories and passing notes.

I heard he keyed Billy’s car.

No, Billy definitely slept with the chick Roger was eyeing up.

Could’ve sworn I heard Roger call some girl a slut-in-the-making.

The day couldn’t have been over soon enough.

At least it was the weekend, and in a month, you’d be graduating.

You were walking to your car, sun in your eyes, and didn’t see Billy leaning against it until you were too close to pretend you forgot something to head back inside.

“Hey,” he said, putting out his cigarette.

“Hi,” you said slowly, gripping your backpack strap.

“You okay?” His hands slipped in his pockets.

Your furrowed your brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

He pushed off your car and took a few steps toward you.

It was really the first chance you had to take in how blue his eyes were. And while normally you’d look away as you held each other's gaze, something planted you where you stood.

He had the barest of smirks, so slight that you’d dare call it a smile.

“If I said I wasn’t alright, would you agree to hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

You let out a surprised laugh and glanced down. This was the first conversation you’d ever had with Billy, and he was asking you out.

This was probably how he operated. He’d set his sights on some girl, give them that eat-you-alive smirk, and you’d wake up alone Sunday morning without even a note saying “bye.”

But even with all that, your curiosity won out. So you made a deal.

“Tell me what that was all about, and I’ll be there.”

There was a flash of anger, but you didn’t think it was toward you. Leftover feelings for whatever happened no doubt. Then, he softened in a way you had never seen before.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, beginning to walk away. He turned around before he could get too far. “Don’t bring a jacket.”

“Why?” You couldn’t help your smile.

“You’ll have mine.”

The cocky grin would’ve been irritating with anyone else, but Billy’s was endearing.

You drove home with a stupid smile plastered on your face, and you stayed that way until Billy rapped on your door.

—

That Saturday night, he tried to breeze past his altercation. Until you leveled him with a sincere look and said his name.

He had leaned back in the booth, ripping his remaining fries in pieces to distract himself.

“He pissed me off,” Billy said, still maintaining his gruffness.

“I figured as much,” you said gently. You knew if he sensed anything else, you wouldn’t get any answers.

He huffed, glancing at you before returning to his basket of food.

“The prick said somethin’ he shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “I told him as much.”

You nodded slowly, narrowing your eyes in thought. Billy wasn’t know to beat around the bush. He said what he thought, and you kind of admired that about him. Even if that got him in trouble. But the way he wasn’t maintaining eye contact when that was his favorite way to throw someone off guard was suspicious. He was hiding something, of course, but it felt more than hiding something from you alone.

You took a shot in the dark.

“Are you…Are you not telling me what he said because it was about me?”

His jaw clenched and hands stopped.

So, that was it. Roger had said something nasty about you, and for whatever reason, Billy took it upon himself to…defend your honor?

But why?

And what could it have been to make Billy react like that? You hardly knew each other.

You inhaled deeply. “Okay. Tell me what he said.”

“You don’t need to hear his bullshit.” He met your gaze, steady and stern. You wanted to slap your chest to keep your heart from skipping.

“Billy,” you started, “I promise whatever he said isn’t going to affect me. I just want to know why you had him on the ground.”

At this point, you had dissociated from high school and the people in it. All that mattered was graduation.

“What does it matter?” His tone came out more harsh than you anticipated, but the way his face pinched told you he didn’t mean for it to happen.

You leaned on the table. “Because I’ve had a really nice time so far. And as much as I appreciate you standing up for me. If you wanna continue this,” you gestured between you both, “you can’t beat the shit outta people.”

“You wanna go out again?” His eyebrows rose slightly, and your cheeks warmed.

Of course, that was what he took away.

“Billy,” you warned playfully.

“Alright,” he sighed. “He caught me starin’ at you a few times. Said your legs were locked shut, but I could probably get them open.”

You scrunched up your nose. You knew Roger had to have said something vulgar, but you were more surprised it was about you then the actual content.

“Okay. Was that all?” Sure, it was gross, but that didn’t seem like something Billy would lose his shit over.

“That happened last week,” he admitted. “Told him to shut the hell up, and I thought that was that.” He shifted in his seat. “Guess he saw you lookin’ at me and he started callin’ you names. And then I hit’im.”

Names.

You could hazard a guess what names he called you. Probably the same ones he called every other female who didn’t wanna sleep with him. Ones that would describe him more than you.

You reached across the table and grabbed his wrist.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said. “And I need you to know, I don’t give a single fuck what that dipshit thinks.”

He chuckled, putting his hand on top of yours.

“So, that mean a second date is in the books?” he asked.

“Like I said, only if you don’t punch someone when they say something you don’t like,” you said, hoping your face conveyed how serious you were.

He leaned his elbows on the table.

“I was thinkin’ a movie for next time.”

Taglist: @bookshelf-dust, @steph-speaks, @nix-rose, @ballerina-orchid, @realmermaidariel

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x reader #Billy Hargrove x female reader #Billy Hargrove x fem!reader #Billy Hargrove x you #Billy Hargrove one shot #Billy Hargrove oneshot #Billy Hargrove fanfic #Billy Hargrove fanfiction #Billy Hargrove imagine #Billy Hargrove imagines

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punkclowngod · 1 year ago

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I don’t think I’ve talked much about having a service dog on here, but maybe I should

Boom used to be my service dog, I got him the summer before my last year of high school bcuz I needed a nurse 24/7 to ensure I could eat/sleep/stay alive due to a recent very traumatizing event in my life and my mom came up with the service dog idea.

Getting him was hard. And expensive. No trainers were up to my standards. I, who could barely take care of myself, had to train my own dog. The problem is no matter how hard I worked, my own family or other trainers would ruin it all by messing up my commands, by letting my dog do things I had trained him not to do. It wasn’t training anymore, I ended up simply having breakdowns because everyone kept ruining my dog. People close to me thought they could be an exception to the rules I had taught my MEDICAL AID because surely my DOG would learn the difference between them and strangers.

Eventually I brought him to school. Printed papers explaining what a service dog was and how to behave around him and I plastered them all over the place.

People barked at him, petted him, tried to grab his attention.

His harness was hot pink, patches and signs on it that very clearly said “DO NOT TOUCH” and shit like that.

Someone defaced one of the papers.

Going to school was already hard, I could barely leave the house, my mom had to accompany me to the school doors every morning and then a social worker at school would greet me there and take care of me throughout the day.

I had my own locker at a floor mostly unoccupied so I wouldn’t see other people much and my dog wouldn’t be too distracted.

But it was still to much and I ended up dropping out four months before graduation.

I couldn’t leave the house. I had Boom but he wasn’t perfect yet. People kept ruining him.

But eventually I managed to leave the house. Go to a shopping mall from time to time with him to just walk and have fun.

Too many times people came up to me to tell me the gear I used was hurting my dog. Too many times people came up to me to tell me that their own dog died. Too many people came up to him and pet him without even acknowledging my presence. Too many people telling me they wished they could bring their pets anywhere. Too many people disrespecting me and my service dog.

I stopped going out. I stopped being with my dog.

All this stress and trauma drove a wedge between my dog and I. I consider him my mother’s dog now.

I had to learn to handle myself alone when I went out. It took me years to learn to go out by myself. Only last year I started doing that.

My dog doesn’t live in my room with me anymore.

Having a service dog did still save my life. But those around me ruined that. They made it about themselves. They prioritized my dog over me. My dog that LOVES working. If you tell him “do you want to go to work” chances are he’ll get so excited he will attempt to do a backflip.

We used to have a deep bond. That bond is now broken. People took that from us.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is:

Let people and their service dogs alone.

You are not an exception.

You are not special.

You are disrupting the dog’s training and distracting it.

You are endangering a human life because you can’t resist petting the cute dog.

This isn’t about you. This is about a disabled person trying to simply live their lives.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, your advice is unsolicited and lacks understanding of what the life of a working dog is.

Just leave us alone.

#service dog #service dogs #ableism #disability

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sapphlopods · 3 months ago

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This will be one of the hardest things I ever have to do, but I need help even though I hate asking for it.

Please help me escape my homophobic and financially abusive parents. More under "Keep Reading"

I'm Chaim, and ever since I graduated high school, I’ve lived with my parents. Australia has an incredibly bad housing crisis, and it’s nearly impossible for me to move out without friends or roommates who have a pre-established house, which I have none.

Over the course of the past 4 years, I have watched my father devolve into this angry right-wing conspiracy theorist who thinks all “Wokes” should d1e. He has no idea I’m a lesbian as I fear for what he will do if he ever finds out.

My mother has a range of health issues, in 2022 she had a heart attack, and this year, she was diagnosed with brain and kidney cancer, which she is in and out of hospital for. Her financial assistance has been delayed over and over, we still need to wait 2 months to get help.

So, my household's only income is from my father and me. My father has an incredibly bad gambling, drinking and tobacco addiction, he goes through a pack of 30 cans and a pack of 30 cigarettes in 2 days. Tobacco and alcohol are heavily taxed here and are upwards of $60+ each; that’s $120 every 2 days, he earns $1600 fortnightly and spends roughly $840 of it on just his addictions; that’s more than half his pay, and that isn’t including the horse races he bets on.

That leaves me to pick up the slack on groceries, rent, my mother's medicine and lend them money when Dad “overspends” at the pub. My father would rather starve than lessen his addictions a bit so we can afford to stay in our house and have food to eat.

This has been happening for years even before my mother fell so ill she couldn’t work but it's gotten worse. I do not want to leave my mother, but she will not leave my father no matter what since she sees nothing wrong with what he does. I’m tired of being nothing more than a piggybank and a maid to my parents since I will never be able to move out when all my money goes towards keeping a roof over our heads. Even while I was on vacation, they still called me up and asked for money.

I’ve wanted to move out for a long time, but my situation is getting direr by the day, and I can’t save a single cent to leave like this. I know many problems are going on in the world right now that deserve people’s time more than this so thank you for reading this far.

If you can spare anything, please send it to my ko-fi. It'll be going towards getting stuff sorted so I can move to my partner Cinna, who lives far away in Chile, but I have no other option now. 11/12

I also have a few items listed on my eBay that people might like, a lot of it is fandom stuff and collector things I have accumulated, I'll be putting more stuff up slowly as I sort through my things preparing to move. https://www.ebay.com.au/usr/sapphlopods

#chaim chatters

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gators-aid · 6 months ago

Text

decode (pt. 5) - toji f. x reader

masterlist

part four | part six

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.9k

Present

“Please make your decision quickly. I think the fuckin’ cops are looking for me.” He says. His voice sounds deeper than you remembered. You thought you had imagined it in the diner, or that his change in tone was a consequence of his anger toward his brother, but there was no denying it here. You glaze over that comment about law enforcement apparently searching for him.

He was leaning slightly out the window of his truck, etching toward you so that you could hear him over the sound of the surrounding traffic. You feel Megumi tug on your jacket, so you look down at where he’s tucked in.

You always knew he looked just like his father, your mind tormented you with that fact every waking moment, but it was hitting you now. Here you had the framework to sit and compare their faces from more than memory alone.

Needless to say, all of the pictures you had of Toji had been destroyed after you found out he left town. All of the clothes he had given you or left in your room had been donated when you moved out of your mother’s house. You had no physical reminders of his existence aside from the child the two of you shared and the golden angel necklace that sat tucked away at the back of your dresser. It was sitting against the back of the drawer, tucked away in a pair of polka dot socks that you never wore. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go of that one.

“Momma, that man is swearing.” Megumi says in his sweet voice. You grimace. Is this how you wanted your son to meet his father? In response, you rub his back and try to muster a smile. “I know, baby.” You whisper to him. “We can talk about swearing later.” Megumi had taken “Don’t say ‘fuck’, you’re only four” to mean, “anyone that swears, including adults, should be chastised.” You would have to redo that lecture.

You really, really shouldn’t get in the truck. You should carry on with your life and pretend that all of this never happened. That Toji isn’t in the flesh in front of you, looking more handsome than you had ever remembered. Looking just like his fucking son. So much like his son that it felt like you were being taunted. He could never deny Megumi again once he saw his face. Even people who weren’t close to you could see the resemblance.

It’s cold, you justify to yourself as you adjust Megumi in your arms and stand up from the bench. We’ll get home quicker, you think as you round the front of his truck towards the passenger side. You’ve run out of excuses by the time you’re opening the door and sliding in his truck.

There are countless reasons why you shouldn’t have even looked up while you heard him call you. For starters, the fact that he just said law enforcement is allegedly in pursuit. He’s been back in your life for less than an hour and you’re already doing stupid shit.

What the fuck. You keep Megumi tucked into your chest tight as you sit down in the truck. Megumi is facing his father, trying to get a read on the man his mother had broken the rules for.

“Okay baby,” You had said to Megumi merely weeks prior, “If a stranger asks you to get in the car with them, what do we say?” You ask him, holding his little hand in yours.

“My momma said no!” He says. The two of you were sitting on your living room floor, with a blanket under you and watching The Little Mermaid on DVD. You had to save costs wherever you could, and those costs did not include cable. After watching Ariel go into Prince Eric’s palace-house within the first couple of hours being a human, you felt it appropriate to give Megumi the kidnapping talk. He takes a bite of the apple you had cut for him earlier.

“And what if the stranger said, ‘I’ll give you Pokemon cards if you get in the car’?” You ask him. “I don’t even like Pokemon anymore!” He says proudly, in response to the hypothetical stranger. “What? Since when?” You asked, slightly horrified that you weren’t as attuned to your 4-year old’s interests as you thought. “Since the stranger asked me, momma.” He replied simply.

This exchange must be very odd for Megumi. You had done your best to raise him right. The best that you could with the resources you had. You tried to teach him hard rules. Don’t talk to strangers, wash your hands before you eat, for the love of god please do not stick forks in the outlets. Now the ‘no strangers’ one was out of the window. It would be tough to explain this. Another lecture to redo.

Toji’s got his eyes on the rearview mirror, looking back at the diner. “Jinichi called the cops on me, the fucking asshole,” He mummers that last part to himself. “So where am I taking you?” Blunt and to the point like always. You give him your address before you could even think about it. Megumi’s tugging on you again to indicate he heard that comment, but you’re slightly out of it.

There’s a big tear that exposes the cushion of the seat you’re on. You had left that there a lifetime ago when you drunkenly stole Toji’s knife and acted out a confrontation between you and a random girl that was hitting on him. That was one of the many nights that ended in laughter instead of tears.

It smells exactly the same, he still uses the black ice scent for the little tree hanging from his rearview mirror. He’s still got his CD collection strapped to the sun visor on the driver’s side of the truck. It’s grown since the last time you saw it, expanding to the passenger side sun visor as well. There’s still a mysterious dark stain that you don’t feel comfortable speculating on the nature of in the floorboard. Evidently, he never managed to get it out.

It’s too much. You have to fight to hold back tears. You had told yourself to never give an ounce to this man again. No tears, no anger, nothing. You had broken that in the diner earlier. It would not happen again.

You should have told him to take you to your mom’s house, so he wouldn’t have any kind of access to you or Megumi. Why would you give him your own address? How fucking stupid.

It’s silent in the truck. You weren’t going to say anything, you might burst into tears if you opened your mouth. You had sat Megumi on your right side, away from Toji. He was pressed in between you in the door so that you wouldn’t have to be any closer to the man than necessary.

You still don’t know if Toji had gotten a look at him yet. You take a moment to study the man. He’s got both hands on the steering wheel, sitting pin-straight in his seat. His eyes are very pointedly on the road, as if he’s trying not to look over. If the whites on his knuckles were indicative, and after spending years with him, you knew they were, Toji had already figured it out.

After that call four years ago, you had a lot of time to ponder Toji’s reaction to you telling him about Megumi. Logically, you knew he was doing what he always did. Avoiding it because he didn’t wanna deal with the prospect of it. The same way he cheated on you to try and get you to run like you should have. The same way he used to pick a fight just to see if that would be your final straw. He denied Megumi because he had some weird psychological avoidance issue.

Emotionally, you couldn’t see it as anything other than him being selfish while you gave your life to your child. Literally, that’s what it was.

You were too busy looking at him to notice you had pulled into your apartment complex.

“Um..” He clears his throat. “Which building do I drop you off at?” Drop you off. You scoff out loud. Of course. He finds out the kid really is his, and he’s avoiding us again.

“The second one.” You say. You don’t know what you expected. For him to immediately pull Gumi into a hug and move in with you within the hour? Yeah fucking right.

“Mama, can I play with the Christmas tree when we get home?” Megumi had asked you as your apartment came into view. ‘Christmas tree’ was one of his favorite games to play, where he got all the pots and pans from the cabinets and stacked them on top of each other to make a “Christmas tree.” It was a very messy game that required you to rewash all of your dishes when you were done, so it was a rule that he had to ask for permission before playing. The game had started when last year, tips were slow and you were late on your electric bill. You had already asked your mom for help that month, and refused to do it again. This, of course, meant that there was no money for a christmas tree. After Megumi’s December birthday and the one christmas present you could afford, you had to find some way to explain to Megumi why he couldn’t have a tree like the one at grandma’s house. “We have a better one.” You had told him, “One that you can play with all year long.”

Needless to say you had cried yourself to sleep that night.

“We’ll see, Megumi.” You say. The truck comes to a stop in front of your building, and without a word you’re grabbing Megumi out of the truck and slamming the door shut. Not a word said to Toji, not even a glance directed his way.

It had started sprinkling rain on your drive over. This morning, your mom had called you to let you know there was a flood warning for the next city over. You usually didn’t take those entirely too seriously, waving her off when she had asked you to bring Megumi and spend the night at her house.

The apartment is two stories tall with stairs on the outside, so you hold Megumi’s hand in yours as you slowly traverse up the stairs. He was skilled enough to walk up them on his own, but after an incident where he took a small fall down them, you were slightly paranoid.

By the time you’re unlocking your apartment door, you notice that you hadn’t yet heard Toji’s truck pull away, so you glance back to see him still sitting there, waiting for you to get inside. For a moment, the two of you lock eyes. You can feel your heart drop as you usher Gumi in the house and close the door behind you. Don’t give him an ounce.

You hope and pray that that is the last time you will ever have to think about Toji Fushiguro. The last time until Megumi gets old enough to realize his last name is different from yours. The last time until he asks you why all his friends in school have two parents and he only has one. The last time until he gets old enough to ask why you and his dad never made it work. Until you have to hold him as he cries and wonders why Toji never wanted him.

You let Megumi play Christmas Tree so you can lock yourself in the bathroom for a moment to compose yourself.

By the time you get Megumi bathed, fed, and ready for bed, it’s eight at night, and the rain outside has been pouring heavily for a couple hours. Gojo had texted you to let you know that the tips had been good that day, but you had a feeling he was lying so he could slip a bit of his parent’s money into what he “owed you.” The diner was never busy on the Monday lunch shift.

You had made spaghetti that night, a common occurrence in your home and something you were grateful Megumi hadn’t gotten tired of yet. Occasionally, you would get the kitchen guys to sneak you a meal in a togo box to offset grocery costs and eat something different every once in a while. Nanami was one of the cooler managers, which was why you were more comfortable asking that Megumi sit in the diner while you worked that day, but he was not one to let free food slide.

The night was surprisingly peaceful once Megumi was distracted by his toys and tonight’s DVD movie, Toy Story, which Shoko had gotten him for his birthday. You were distracted by cleaning every single pot and pan you had after Megumi was done playing with them.

Once the two of you sat down for dinner, the inevitable questions came, and Megumi had asked you about the encounter with Toji earlier that night.

“Mommy, why did those two guys at your job,” he took a breath in between his sentences and spaghetti, “start hitting each other, and then why did you got in one of their cars?”

That was a long conversation about how some brothers (you had let that slip), don’t get along, and how you had already known Toji, though you didn’t say from where or why. Thankfully, Megumi was more curious about why brothers and sisters fight than why his mother got into this random man’s truck. You would definitely have to revisit the “stranger danger” talk.

It’s about 11 at night when you hear a booming knock at your door. It had pulled you out of your “almost-asleep” daze on the couch. You had already put Megumi to bed by then, and were taking a couple hours to yourself before you went to bed too. You prayed the sound hadn’t woken him.

Whoever it is knocks again, this time harder and faster. Now that you have more mental capacity to process that, someone uninvited is knocking at your door at an inappropriate time of night for a single mother, you dash across your living room to grab the baseball bat you keep by the door. You’ve never had to defend yourself and your son in this capacity, and suddenly the adrenaline kicks in, and you squeeze the wooden slugger to center yourself.

The only light in the room is coming from the TV, playing the play menu of Clueless on repeat. You must have been asleep longer than you thought. Hoping not to be seen through your shadow by the window, you slowly crane your neck up toward the peep-hole of your apartment door. What you see is the last thing you expected.

Of course it’s Toji. Of course he wouldn’t just leave you alone. You’re such a fucking idiot.

For a second you contemplate on whether or not you should open the door, but when he bangs again, somehow even louder, you fear that he won’t only wake up Megumi, but the entire apartment complex.

You put the bat back down and unlock the door, pulling it open slowly so that he would only be able to see half of your body from the angle he’s positioned at. He has his hand leaning on the doorframe, and his figure is hunched over to the point he has to lift his head to look you in the eyes. When he does, you realize what this is. He’s drunk.

His eyes are bloodshot red and watery. He’s soaked from head to toe, he had clearly walked through the rain from wherever he was coming from, or stood out in it for so long that he was drenched. He had a bottle of vodka in his hand that wasn’t against the doorframe, hanging precariously from his grasp like he would drop it at any moment. You couldn’t see how much was in it from here, but you knew he had to have drank quite a bit for him to be in this state.

It’s only when he looks you up and down that you realize you’re only in an old t-shirt and underwear. If this were anyone else, you would’ve squirmed under their gaze, maybe ran to go throw something on, but with Toji, as dumb as it sounded, you couldn’t care less.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him.

He says nothing, just looks you up and down again and takes a shot from the bottle.

“Did you drive here?” He nods. Well that’s not fucking good.

You wait for him to say something, to explain why he felt entitled to knocking on your door in the middle of the night soaking wet with nothing to say. Or maybe you’re waiting for him to explain why he left you in the first place without saying a word. Maybe you’re waiting for him to explain why he never even felt the need to come check if Megumi was his. You’re waiting for a lot of explanations. But you don’t get a single one.

In a voice that can only best be described as broken, he softly slurs out, “You… you named him Megumi?”

very... very sorry for the wait. that semester ended up kicking my ass. no excuses i am very sorry D;

if you wanna be off the taglist lmk

comment to be added to the taglist

taglist: @mechalily @nialiuwanderlust @xo-evangeline @ilovebattinson @cherrypieyourface @amaiyasha @erensslut @heyauntieeee @verypeanuttrash @vlsquuu @ryuv1i @tqd4455 @blkmystery @planetlina444 @mimiemie @queendessi24 @just-pure-trash @baji-keisukes-wife @sylvermoon

#jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro

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peachsukii · 8 months ago

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₊✩‧₊ ⇢ midoriya never thought he'd have a pop star for a girlfriend.

『 ♡ 』 midoriya x pop star fem!reader (18+ under the cut!) -`✧ izuku midoriya masterlist

✩ out of high school, you were scouted by a local talent agency on a whim. you'd desperately sent your demo tape to thousands of places, both in and outside of japan. you'd almost given up hope until your current agency called you one week after graduation.

✩ izuku was ecstatic for your chance to be a star. you sang every single song for him - he was your best friend and you trusted him with your life. he adored your voice and encouraged you to break out of your shell. you never told him which ones were about him, harboring your secret crush like a sacred treasure.

✩ two years of hard work and you signed your first record deal! going into the studio for hours at a time, constantly surrounded by various musicians, producers and directors. your first album was wrapped and ready for release in no time at all.

✩ izuku was the first one to buy your album and asked you to sign it for him. he bought two - one to save and one to play. he knew you were going to be popular and wanted to get ahead on his upcoming collection. he promised you, way back when, that he’d always be the first person to get your albums or merchandise.

✩ you would drag izuku to the mall and fashion district to shop alongside you, asking his opinion on every outfit you planned for shows you'd be performing. he'd mentally keep note of what he loved seeing you in...maybe it was a little selfish on his part, but you looked stunning regardless. dresses, mini skirts, crop tops, bodysuits - the works.

✩ your first concert was at a small venue booked by your manager - it held no more than 250 people but still sold out! it was a club with neon lighting, usually not your scene, but a gig is a gig. izuku was one of the VIPs, standing front row the entire night. you couldn't help but keep smiling at him as he took countless photos of your show as you danced and sang the night away. during your encore, you kneeled down and sang to him, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek.

✩ high on the adrenaline of your first show's success, you invited izuku to join you backstage in the dressing rooms to wind down...at least, that's what you told him.

✩ izuku heard the lock click on the door after you shut it, secluding the two of you from the world. he was confused until you sauntered over to him, straddling his lap on the obnoxious neon pink couch.

✩ his hands roam your body and settle on your ass as your tongue invaded his mouth, handfuls of his curls in your grasp. "you really think i never noticed, zu?" you mumble between kisses, each one more intense than the last. "the way you look at me?"

✩ the grin that crosses his lips is devilish. the confidence he's exuding in the moment makes your stomach cartwheel. "can’t help it, i’m your number one fan," he moans into your mouth, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him.

✩ clothes are discarded as the two of you tornado through the room, moving from the couch to the wall, to the stylist chair and back to the couch. you can’t get enough of each other - lips bruised from the excessive make out session.

✩ the black lace bra and underwear set that adorned your body drove izuku absolutely insane, pinning you underneath him on the couch as he nipped at your collarbone. you couldn’t help but whine when his clothed erection met your soaked panties.

✩ your hands slide to the hem of his boxers, hooking your fingers in the band and yanking them down his thighs, cock springing out and bouncing off your stomach. he reciprocates by sliding your panties down, shuffling your legs over his shoulders. they stay hooked around one of your ankles.

✩ izuku slips a hand between your bodies, relishing in the skin on skin contact. he brushes over your clit and slides a finger directly into your drenched cunt, a gasp falling from his lips as your slick coated his finger instantly.

✩ you’re biting your lip, trying to keep quiet as he fucks you into the couch, panting into the crook of your neck. his name echoes throughout the dressing room, breathless and growing higher in pitch as the thread in your core snaps. your nails are dragging down his back as your release coats his shaft with every thrust. he follows you soon after, pulling out and painting your stomach white.

✩ in the afterglow, izuku kisses you like you’re the only person in the world. once you part, you can’t help but jokingly say, “my number one fan, huh?” he smiles, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “always.”

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — something about midoriya with a pop star girlfriend is so cute to me! he really would be your number one fan, flabbergasted after every show that he gets to go home with you. ✨ i know this may seem a little ooc for izuku, but i honestly think a 20 something version of him wouldn’t be as shy and nervous around someone he’s loved for years. so when you make the first move, he’s all about it!

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x y/n #deku x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya smut #deku smut #my hero academia smut #my hero academia izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya headcanons #mha deku #my hero academia deku #deku x y/n #☆.rei writes

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hawkinsbnbg · 3 months ago

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Eddie Munson wasn’t one who knew when to quit.

Eddie Munson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t one who knew when to quit.

He sold drugs when it was frowned upon because he wanted to help his uncle pay the bills. He did drugs because why the hell not?

He loved music that was too loud, he played games that were considered satanic, he wore his queerness as a badge of honor in the town that hated him.

He headed to hell, sacrificed himself for the kid he loved and people he barely knew, and survived the odds.

He graduated high school by tooth and nail, pursued his dream when everyone deemed he was a lost cause. He worked harder when being pushed down. He succeeded.

He made it big, achieved his dream, got fame and wealth at his disposal. He was notorious for the long list of flings left in every city he visited. He despised the snobs, bigots, and paparazzi.

He—

He tried to quit mooning over the beautiful man who had saved his life alongside the whole world. Who was the object of his desire and obsession. His dream and muse, his pain and yearning.

Who was the bane of his existence, the opium to the addict in his core. Dangerous and yet, lovely, irresistible.

Even so, he could never bring himself to ignore the monthly phone calls with Steve, listening to the warm voice that made his heart ache and flutter, checking in to make sure his boy was still safe in the town that he had left behind to go spread his wings.

Yes, his.

The moment Steve kissed him—shaky, tender, sweet—their souls had intertwined, bounded together for evermore.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to deny it, that he had lost his heart to Steve Harrington since the first time he caught a glimpse of those pretty eyes and soft lips, wishing he could kiss them one day.

And then he did.

Back when their feelings were still new, fresh, tentative. They had done everything any young lovers would do upon having made it through an almost-apocalypse together.

They dove headfirst into each other. Touching, crying, kissing, laughing, and making love. They consumed, they devoured, they ignited.

And they crashed.

Eddie couldn’t stand being the town’s prime murder suspect even after the charge had been dropped.

Steve couldn’t bear leaving the only place he had grown up in, the place he had fought for with his life. He had people, friends who needed him there, who would miss him a terrible amount if he decided to leave.

But Eddie didn’t have such problems. His uncle didn’t rely on him the same way the kids did to Steve. His friends had left long before the ‘earthquake’ took place.

A label had sought him out after seeing his performance at The Hideout, offered him a good deal if he signed with them, and for the first time since his life had been turned upside down, Eddie saw hope.

He had talked with Steve about it. About leaving for a better future. About them making a life together somewhere outside the cursed town they had been unfortunately put in.

But it was a wistful thinking. Because sometimes, love was never enough. And sometimes, Eddie wasn’t the only scared one.

They parted. Tearful but surprisingly civil. They hadn’t been through so much just to lose each other over a mutual breakup.

Because Eddie still loved Steve.

And Steve still loved Eddie.

Simple as that.

"Don’t be hung up on me, Munson," Steve whispered to him, hugging him so tight that his healed ribs might crack again. Eddie didn’t think he would mind if it meant he could stay in this moment forever.

"I should be the one telling you that, Stevie," Eddie sniffled, hugging the boy he loved just as fiercely.

He suddenly didn’t want to leave anymore. Maybe he could apply for a position at the plant, asked Wayne for a recommendation. Or he could make do with the mine at the edge of the town, he heard they were hiring just the other day ago.

"Good luck, Eds," Steve pressed a kiss on his ear. "Don’t do drugs, don’t get in trouble, don’t be–"

"–stupid."

Steve laughed, tilting his head back and offering his pale throat for Eddie’s greedy eyes. The urge to lick, to bite, to leave a mark was strong, but Eddie just tightened his hold around Steve further, because the privilege wasn't his anymore.

"I was going for ‘cute’," Steve looked back at him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, nails scratching the back of his nape teasingly, eyes light and twinkling with mirth. Eddie wanted to kiss him. "But I guess ‘stupid’ suits you just fine."

"Stop flirting," Eddie chided him half-heartedly, unable to resist it anymore and leaned in to peck the end of his nose.

Steve blushed, pretty and precious, before releasing him and finally stepping back. Too close and too far at the same time.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Eddie was thankful that their friends were considerate enough to give them some semblances of privacy after having said their goodbye.

Before Eddie could do something stupid like falling to his knees and begging Steve to go with him, the final boarding called for his flight.

"So this is it," he shrugged on his duffle and gave Steve a lopsided smile.

"Have a safe flight, Eddie," Steve squeezed his shoulder before stepping aside so the others could do the same.

As Eddie turned on his heels, he could feel Steve’s gaze trailing after him until he disappeared behind the gate.

"He kept asking me when would you come to Indianapolis, which was unfair because how could I possibly know that? And the dipshit just rolled his eyes at me with Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend or something? Then I had to set it straight with him that us being on the phone once a month doesn’t mean I’d know every deepest darkest secret about you."

Eddie felt his chest and stomach warm with fondness when Steve didn’t deny that they were best friends, didn’t insist that the position was for Robin only. Because Steve was cool like that. Because why on earth would he refuse to have two best friends who would go to hell with him?

Eddie bet if he looked at the mirror right now, he would see himself smiling like a lovesick idiot.

There was something so endearing about Steve whining to him about their kids and friends every time they talked.

It was as if they had been doing this their whole life. Talking about mundane things, asking about each other's days, chatting about everything and anything.

It would be awfully domestic if they lived together.

Eddie could imagine it, see it clearly in his mind.

Steve sharing the spaces with him, waking up in the same bed as him, standing in the kitchen wearing the Kiss the Cook apron, swaying to the songs from the radio, giggling cutely when Eddie smothered him with kisses, smiling warmly as they did the chores together, getting huffy and bitchy when they bantered, and humming softly to some random tunes Eddie just came up with.

Perhaps, they would all become his new reality if he took that first step.

Eddie Munson wasn’t one who knew when to quit, after all.

And for Steve, he would take a million steps to make them work this time.

"Are you sure, Stevie?" He asked.

"Sure what?"

"That you haven’t already known every deepest, darkest secret of mine."

He heard Steve take a deep inhale. Eddie smiled fondly. His smart boy, always knew him so well.

"Eddie..."

"I’m an adult now, sweetheart," he chuckled. "Gotta be the one addressing the elephant in the room when my boy is too stubborn to look at it."

"Don’t be silly," Steve said weakly, a bit breathless. Good to know Eddie still had that effect on him even after all those years.

"I can’t, Stevie," Eddie lowered his voice, like he was telling a secret. "Been silly for you since high school. Don’t think I can stop it now."

"I told you to move on."

"And I didn’t promise anything," Eddie bit back a laugh, knowing how frustrated Steve must be right now. "I tried. Haven’t you seen all of that?"

There was a reason Eddie did everything in his capacity to appear on the headlines most of the time. He wanted Steve to see him, to watch him, to be there for every little step he took, to be in his life as much as possible.

"... I have," Steve sighed, sounding more tired than dejected.

"So you know how hard it had been for me to find someone who could measure up to you," Eddie twirled a strand of his hair absently. "They always failed at the ‘having perfect hair’ part."

"Bet they didn’t know what Farrah Fawcett is, huh?"

"They just looked at me blankly when I told them to take better care of their hair," Eddie grinned at the lovely sound of Steve’s giggle.

"So," Eddie cleared his throat slightly and braved on when Steve quieted down. "My band’s final destination is Indianapolis. It’s a two-night stop. After that, I’ll take my well-deserved break in Hawkins for a few months, visit my uncle and our friends, and see if you’re gonna take me back."

"Eddie," Steve said pointedly. "We both agreed that it’s better for us to stay friends. And I don’t– I can’t watch you leave again. I’m not made for it."

"Baby," Eddie said softly, his heart breaking at the sound of Steve’s sharp inhale, like it was too much, like the word hadn’t been on the tip of his tongue every time they spoke. "Everything’s different now. Our kids are all in colleges, our friends have their jobs and families, and I think it’s time you allow yourself to live your life, Stevie."

"What are you trying to say here, Eddie?" Steve asked shakily.

"That I need you," Eddie poured out his heart. "I craved for you, missed you so much that it hurts me physically. All of my songs are about you and just for you. I’m obsessed with you, bewitched by you, my love. You’ve been in my mind for years now and I don’t think it’ll stop any time soon."

"C’mon, angel," he went on as Steve let out a small gasp. "I did everything you told me to. No drugs, no fights, no troubles. Haven't I been good enough?"

"Except you’re still hung up on me," Steve laughed softly, warmly.

"Yeah, I’m still an addict, after all," Eddie chuckled. "It’s impossible to quit loving you, baby boy."

"Me, too," Steve said after a while. "I'm still hung up on you, Eddie," his voice cracked as he admitted quietly, "still in love with you."

"Christ, we make quite a pair, huh?" Eddie chuckled, running a hand down his face.

"Tell me about it," Steve let out an amused huff.

In the next several minutes, they discussed what they would do when Eddie got back. And in return, Eddie promised to send everyone at home tickets and backstage passes so they could go see him once the show was over.

"I listened to them all, you know," Steve said amidst their conversation.

Eddie paused, feeling his heart somersault and pressing a hand on his chest to calm it down.

"I’m glad," he said, crooning, "'cause they’re my love letters for you, darlin'."

"Gosh, you’re such a sap."

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice.

"Your sap," Eddie grinned so much that his cheeks hurt. "Only yours, baby boy."

"Guess you’re right," Steve giggled. "Can’t wait to see you again. My sappy poet."

It had been years since they last saw each other. At least on Eddie’s part, because he knew Steve had seen him plenty on the TV and in those magazines.

Eddie was relieved that they had been too stubborn to let themselves grow apart and still kept in touch to this day.

For being long-distance friends, they didn’t have a lot to catch up with except their pent-up feelings for each other.

Eddie looked at the framed candid photo of Steve on his nightstand.

In the shot, Steve was wearing his signature blue polo and snug jeans. Around his neck was a silver chain that carried Eddie’s guitar pick, tucked safely beneath his shirt.

He was watching the kids fooling around in the pool. Cold beer in his hands as he turned to Robin, whispering about anything he found funny like a cute gossip schoolboy.

Eddie’s boy.

Golden skin kissed by the sun. Hazel eyes sparkled with joy, like gemstones that tasted of warm caramel. Rosy cheeks, pouty lips, freckled nose. All perfect and divine under the bright daylight.

The photo had cost Eddie an arm and a leg when he asked to buy it from Jonathan.

It was worth every penny.

"Soon, angel," Eddie said softly. "I’ll be there before you know it."

Two days later, Eddie stood on Steve’s front porch with his luggage and rang the bell.

When Steve opened the door and saw him, a warm smile graced those pretty features.

"Hey."

There were no questions about why Eddie had returned earlier than planned. Because Steve knew Eddie was never good at the waiting game. And he had waited long enough for both of their sake.

"Hey yourself," Eddie smiled back, taking a couple of steps forward to erase the little distance between them.

As Steve tilted his chin up slightly to look at him, Eddie leaned down to peck the corner of that lovely mouth, resting his hands on the soft waist.

"I’m home, baby."

Naturally, Steve hooked his arms around Eddie’s neck and pressed their lips together—firm, tender, sweet.

Just like their first kiss.

"Welcome home, Eds."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #second chance at love #right person wrong time #i won't stand growing apart in the name of 'moving on' in this house #jonathan hoards all of steve's photos like a dragon with his treasure #eddie has to clean out all of his weeds to pay for one (1) photo #it's also the prettiest one so eddie doesn't complain. /much/#sionewrites

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moonlinos · 10 months ago

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Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

“You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips.

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter.

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth.

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh.

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease.

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss.

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly.

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion.

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 4 months ago

Text

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 1

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: A reimagining of 50 Shades of Grey, featuring a healthy, consensual relationship and safe BDSM scenes. And lesbians, of course. Wanda meets Natasha, and their captivating story begins.

content warnings: none

word count: 4.9k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Chapter 1

Wanda frowned, running her fingers through her hair. The auburn locks mocked her, laying over her shoulders as she ran her eyes over them. There was something wrong, whether it was the curls or the style, Wanda couldn’t tell. Whatever, fuck her hair, and fuck her roommate for getting sick.

A groan sounded out from the other room, and Wanda let her frustration slip away. It wasn’t Kate’s fault for getting sick, but it just so happened to be at the most unfortunate time. Really, Wanda should be studying for her finals, her textbooks laying open on the kitchen counter. But instead, she was here running her fingers through stubborn hair and mentally cursing out her roommate as she searched for a hair tie.

The only thing that would save her appearance now was a ponytail, high on her head. Anything to give the illusion of confidence. At least her slight curls would give her hair some dimension.

Sighing, Wanda let herself look away from the mirror, catching a glimpse of dark circles under her normally vibrant green eyes. Were her cheeks more hollow than usual? She couldn’t tell, but judging by the way her stomach rumbled, she knew she had forgotten about eating in favor of studying for the past few weeks.

Swiping some concealer under her eyes, Wanda dabbed the product into her skin as she walked towards the living room. Kate was a good roommate, always cleaning up after herself and offering Wanda ice cream after every failed date she went on. But truly, she’d chosen the worst time to get sick. Wanda had volunteered, of course, but interviewing some rich multi-millionaire was not high on her fun list.

“You’re a lifesaver, truly,” Kate mumbled, her flushed cheeks appearing over the arm of the couch. She’d been running herself ragged, trying to write papers and organize some questions for this interview. It was at Romanoff’s Global Enterprise, a special section for the school newspaper. Goddamn Kate and all her extracurriculars. Now, instead of losing herself in textbooks and notetaking, Wanda was driving 165 miles into Seattle in her shitty old Honda.

Evidently, the CEO she was meeting today was an enigmatic and charming woman, one of the youngest millionaires in the country. Natasha Romanoff. God, even her name sounded rich.

“I’m so sorry Wanda,” Kate’s voice was raspy, and Wanda filled a glass of water for her. “This interview took me months to get, and by the time I would be able to reschedule, we’d both be graduated. You know I’m the editor for the newspaper, I can’t give up this opportunity. I’m not even kidding, it's the chance of a lifetime.” Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. Even though she looks like she’s on death's door, Kate still manages to have flawless skin and long, flowing hair. Wanda feels a pang of sympathy, bringing the glass of water over and swiping a bottle of NyQuil from the counter.

“It’s okay, Kate. I promise. Take this and go the fuck to bed, you look like you’re seconds away from passing out.”

“Fine, but here are the supplies you’ll need,” Kate reaches for her bag, pulling out a recording device and a printed stack of questions. “Just hit record and ask all these questions, I’ll transcribe everything later when this fever goes away and I can finally think straight.”

Wanda suppresses the wave of panic that rises in her, taking the questions and recording device with slightly trembling fingers and tucking them safely in her messenger bag. She wouldn’t do this for anyone else, only Kate.

“Go to bed, I’ll be fine,” Wanda says, her voice not sounding as confident as she’d like.

Giving her a knowing look, Kate shuffles off towards the bedroom, a blanket wrapped around her. “You’ll be fine, just ask the questions and that’ll be enough information to get you through the interview. And Wanda,” Kate pauses at the door, her tired gray eyes finding green. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’d better get going,” Wanda smiles, her hands shooing her roommate through the door. “It’s a long drive, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck, you’re my favorite roommate.”

“Kate, I’m your only roommate.”

—

The drive is easy, not many people are up this early. The trees whizz past, Wanda’s foot never leaving the gas pedal as she makes her way towards the city. She doesn’t have to be at the interview until two this afternoon, but there’s something intoxicating about driving 15 miles over the speed limit on a bare highway.

Pictures of a tall, curved glass building float through Wanda’s mind. She was certain that the pictures of Romanoff’s Global Enterprise on Google didn’t compare to the actual building itself, and she brushed off the waves of anxiety building inside her chest.

It’s a quarter to two when Wanda pulls her car in front of the building. The reflective glass stares down at her, the top of the building too high to see without craning her neck. Large lettering spells out Romanoff above the entryway, and Wanda feels her fingers trembling as she hands her keys to the valet driver. Honestly, a valet driver? How much more over the top could this day get?

Walking into the lobby, Wanda hears the muted click of her low heels as she tugs her dress shirt down. A tall blonde woman walks towards her, a smile plastered on her face as her eyes rake up and down Wanda’s body, no doubt judging her outfit. The woman looks pristine, with a slicked-back ponytail and a subtle hint of mascara. Her blazer is sharp and tailored, and Wanda fights the urge to tug her dress shirt again.

“I’m here to see Ms. Romanoff, my name is Wanda Maximoff,” The statement comes out as more of a question, and Wanda blushes under the scrutinizing look the blonde gives her.

“One moment, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman says, her perfect brow arching slightly as she appraises Wanda one last time before turning her attention to the large iPad in her hands. She swipes a few times, a small smile gracing her features as she finds what she’s looking for.

“Ah, Ms. Bishop was expected, but I see that was changed last minute. Right this way, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman turns, walking confidently towards the elevators. “If you could sign this, please.”

The blonde hands Wanda the iPad, and she quickly signs her name. It looks illegible, and Wanda hopes her signature isn’t going anywhere except to the security office for verification. She fights the urge to fix her ponytail, her eyes landing on the blonde woman’s slicked-back hair tied high on her head. Maybe a quick tightening of her hair tie wouldn’t hurt.

“Press the button for floor twenty.” The woman turns, catching Wanda’s hands as they shoot down from adjusting her ponytail. A graceful smile spreads across her face, “Have a good interview.”

Wanda thanks her, accepting the badge the blonde hands her. It has the words VISITOR stamped across the surface. Awkwardly adjusting the badge until it’s pinned to her jacket, Wanda scoffs internally. As if anyone in this building didn’t already know she was only a visitor. She might as well write the word on her forehead to go along with her outdated shoes and slightly too-large jacket.

The elevator ride is quick, shooting up towards the twentieth floor smoothly. Wanda is greeted by the sight of yet another pristine, clean lobby. Another blonde woman sits behind a desk, quickly rising as Wanda steps out.

Running a hand over her hair, Wanda reaches into her bag. She’s never felt self-conscious about her hair before, but after seeing no less than five impeccably dressed blonde women, she can’t help but think she sticks out like a sore thumb.

Pulling out the recording device and the slightly crumpled stack of questions, Wanda curses herself for not researching Ms. Romanoff. The woman could be ninety years old for all she knew. She hadn’t searched up her name at all, and fights the urge to smooth down her shirt as she glances towards the receptionist.

The upcoming one-on-one interview looms in the front of her mind, nerves causing her fingers to systematically rub the pages in front of her. Wanda hated attention being focused on her, much preferring the anonymity of a group discussion or a crowded room. Sitting on hard white leather chairs and staring at the city skyline from a large floor-to-ceiling window was not something Wanda would consider as a happy place.

Wanda wonders if Ms. Romanoff insists on all her employees being blonde as yet another smartly dressed woman appears from around the corner. The blonde’s eyes glance towards her, doing a subtle double-take before smoothly stepping towards her.

“Ms. Maximoff?”

“Yes,” Wanda hopes her voice isn’t trembling too badly.

“Ms. Romanoff will see you shortly, can I offer you a refreshment? Coffee, tea, water?”

“Water is fine, thanks.” Her throat is suddenly parched, and she takes the cup from the blonde woman gratefully.

“She will see you shortly.” The woman says, a small smile plastered on her face as she turns and walks towards the desk. She sits next to the other blonde woman, her attention focused on the computer before her. Wanda wonders if she should call them Thing One and Thing Two as the clacking of a keyboard fills the empty, sterile feeling space.

A door opens, a tall man stepping through as he chuckles at something. He bids a brief farewell, barely glancing at the blonde woman, who Wanda notices has jumped to their feet in his presence. They seem nervous, one woman ushering the man towards the elevator while the other hurriedly gestures for Wanda to stand.

“Ms. Romanoff will see you now,” she says and pushes Wanda towards the open door.

Wanda walks through the door, one hand gripping the recording device and the other holding the stack of papers close to her chest. She steps through the door, catching a glimpse of a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows, before she promptly trips.

Her palms catch her, the papers flying from her hands as the recording device clatters to the floor. Fuck. This was a terrible first introduction.

The sound of heels steadily approaching reaches Wanda’s ears, and she feels her face burning as she scrambles to pick up the items now strewn across a polished marble floor. Bracing herself, she manages to glance up.

“Ms. Bishop,” A long-fingered hand is extended. “I’m Natasha Romanoff, are you alright?”

Holy shit. Wanda finds herself speechless, her lips parted as her mouth hangs open slightly. She quickly gathers the rest of the papers, gratefully taking the cool hand with her own as she stands.

Ms. Romanoff is absolutely stunning. There are no words to describe her, and Wanda feels herself taking in the woman’s appearance. Long legs and a tight, black pencil skirt, an hourglass figure that means this woman spends countless hours in the gym, and a dark green button-up shirt with just enough buttons undone to show the barest curve of her chest. Blinking, Wanda feels herself flushing further, the sight of Ms. Romanoff’s rolled-up sleeves and bare forearms sending her head spiraling.

“I’m okay,” Wanda manages, feeling her breath catching. She finally manages to drag her eyes toward Ms. Romanoff’s face, finding the barest hint of a smirk and kind, vibrant green eyes. She’s mildly surprised to see dark red hair, and she suddenly doesn’t feel as out of place as she did before.

Looking down, Wanda startles at the sight of a hand still outstretched. She takes it, shaking firmly as a spark of something runs through her fingertips. It travels down her spine, filling her with warmth.

“Um, it’s actually Wanda,” she begins, flushing under the sharp eyes that remain locked with hers. “Um, Maximoff. Wanda Maximoff. Kate, I mean Ms. Bishop is sick so… here I am.” She concludes lamely, the barest hint of amusement in Ms. Romanoff's eyes.

The silence stretches, and Wanda finds herself speaking again. “I study English literature. With Kate, I mean um… Ms. Bishop. At school. Our school, Washington State. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”

“I don’t mind.” is all Natasha says, and she gestures towards a leather L-shaped couch. “Would you like to sit?”

This office is far too big for one person, a large desk near the center of the room. Wanda assumes it’s Ms. Romanoff’s. She walks towards the corner of the office, large glass windows extending around the couch and a few comfortable-looking chairs. There’s a dark mahogany desk, with enough chairs to seat a dozen people all around it. She wonders if Ms. Romanoff ever leaves this office, and takes in the minimalistic artwork hanging on the walls.

“The table was handmade by a local artist,” Ms. Romanoff says, her head tilting when Wanda looks back at her. She flushes, knowing that the woman had been watching her look around the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Wanda murmurs. “Seemingly ordinary resources crafted into something exquisite.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Natasha agrees, her voice low and sounding like melted butter. Wanda finds herself blushing at the sound.

Distractedly, Wanda sinks onto the couch as Ms. Romanoff gracefully sits on one of the black leather chairs across from her. Her fingers fumble, dropping the recording device onto the wood roughly. The blush must be semi-permanent at this point, spreading across her cheeks and over the tips of her ears as she turns the recording device on. Finding the first page of questions, Wanda realizes that she never read the questions in advance.

Off to a great start, then.

“I apologize,” Wanda lets a hand run along the side of her head, a ghost action of tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m not really used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“One-on-one interviews, they feel oddly intimate. I’m much more acquainted with blending into the wall in a crowd.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ms. Romanoff says, a small smile on her face. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Do you mind?” Wanda gestures towards the table, “I would like to record your answers for my roommate, I mean… Ms. Bishop.”

Ms. Romanoff smirks widely at that, amusement dancing on her flawless features. “You already started recording, now you’re asking for permission?”

Is she teasing? It sounds like she’s teasing, but Wanda is too flushed with embarrassment to really place the emotion behind Ms. Romanoff’s words. The woman takes pity on her.

“I don’t mind.”

“Did Kate, uh… Ms. Bishop explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes,” Natasha settles into her seat, a faint look of boredom overtaking her face. “This interview will be placed in the school newspaper as a feature article since I will be the featured speaker at this year's graduation ceremony.”

Oh. Kate had forgotten to mention that little detail. Wanda hoped the surprise at the news wasn’t showing on her face.

“Oh, good,” Wanda cleared her throat. “In that case, let’s begin.”

“Yes, let's.”

Is she… teasing? Again? Wanda feels as though she’s been thrust into an alternate dimension. She sits up straighter, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to look more confident than she is. Professional, that’s what Wanda is hoping to achieve.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an impressive empire.” The words feel almost monotone. Scripted. “To what do you owe your success?” Wanda glances up, and Natasha’s smile falls into a vague look of disappointment.

“In short, business is all about people. I excel at knowing what makes a person tick, and I am an excellent judge of character, Ms. Maximoff. I know how to inspire, and most importantly, how to incentivize.” Natasha’s dark green eyes lock with Wanda’s, pinning her to her seat. “I believe that I must know every detail in order to achieve success, knowledge is power after all. I make my decisions based on logic, not feelings. In short, I know people. I know how they tick, and I know how to inspire them.”

“Well,” Wanda flounders, the answer sounding rehearsed to her ears. God, this woman is arrogant. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”

A startled look flashes across Ms. Romanoff’s face, surprise appearing in her eyes momentarily before it’s brushed away. “I don’t believe in luck, Ms. Maximoff. I believe in my own abilities, and I believe in the team that surrounds me. I select only the best to work for this company, and that is the reason for my success.”

“You sound like someone who is obsessed with control,” the words escape Wanda’s mouth before she can restrain them.

“I exercise control in all things, Ms. Maximoff,” Natasha says, not a glimmer of humor in her words. Her steel gaze locks with Wanda’s, impassive as she watches Wanda flush again.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Natasha continues as if she never heard Wanda speak. “Immense power is only acquired by those who are convinced that they have the ability to control the things around them.

Immense power? Yeah, total control freak.

“So you believe that you have immense power?”

“I employ over fifty thousand people, Ms. Maximoff. I am responsible for all of them. This responsibility gives me a certain sense of power. If I decided that a department wasn’t needed one day, such as a social media section of my team, hundreds of people would struggle to find a replacement job. So yes, I have power.”

The complete lack of humility and apparent empathy causes Wanda’s mouth to open, her lips parted slightly in disbelief.

“Is there a board you answer to?”

“I own this company. I don’t answer to anyone.” Ms. Romanoff raises a single eyebrow.

Wanda feels herself flush yet again. If she had done any research, she's certain she would have known the answer to that question beforehand. She changes the topic.

“What are your interests outside of work?”

The sharp curve of Ms. Romanoff’s eyebrow suggests that she knows what Wanda is doing, but the woman answers the question gracefully.

“I have many varied interests outside of work,” Natasha’s tone is bordering on playful, the slight curve of her lips almost teasing.

“Well, what do you do to relax?” Wanda asks, rephrasing her question. For some reason, the previous answer sent a flush down her spine.

“Relax?” Ms. Romanoff sits back in her seat, the heat of her gaze never leaving Wanda’s. “I engage in multiple physical pursuits. I’m a wealthy woman, Ms. Maximoff, I never tire of looking for hobbies.”

Not knowing how to respond, Wanda glances at the next question.

“You invest in engineering, why?”

Ms. Romanoff’s response is quick and practiced. “I enjoy the creation of things. I like knowing how they work, what makes them tick. How to build and create. I enjoy the process of creating something, adjusting to flaws, and perfecting things.”

“That sounds awfully sentimental.”

“Does it?” That damned subtle smirk is back, and Wanda looks down at the page in front of her. “There are many who say I don’t have the heart for sentiments.”

That makes Wanda look up. There’s a curious expression on Ms. Romanoff’s face. It disappears before Wanda can decipher it.

“Would your friends say you don’t have a heart?” Fuck. That wasn’t on the list of questions. Kate is going to kill her.

“Why would you presume they say that?”

“I assume they know you well, and you’re easy to get to know…” Wanda responds, her heart thudding.

“Well,” Natasha leans forward slightly. “I’m a very private person, Ms. Maximoff. I go to great lengths to ensure my privacy is well maintained. There is a reason I don’t often give interviews.”

“Then why did you agree to this one?” The question escapes Wanda’s lips before she can stop it, her curiosity taking over.

Natasha leans back, crossing a leg delicately over the other. “I’m a generous benefactor to your University, and in all honesty, Ms. Bishop was extremely insistent. She was relentless in her communications with my PR and assistants, and I admire her motivation.”

Fully aware of how tenacious Kate could be, Wanda curses her out mentally. Instead of studying for her finals, she was sitting in this cold, expensive office and interviewing a successful, rich woman not much older than her.

Wanda glances at the next question.

“Do you have a philosophy you live by? If so, what is it?”

“It's not so much a philosophy as a guiding principle. As Carnegie said, ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I like control of myself and those around me.”

“You sound like the ultimate control freak.”

Ms. Romanoff smiles sharply, a dangerous look appearing in her eye. “I suppose I am.”

Swallowing, Wanda feels as though the woman seated across from her is talking about something else entirely. She can’t quite pinpoint what it is. It frustrates her to no end, but Wanda just shakes her head and continues with the questions written before her.

“You were adopted,” Wanda pauses, this information is a surprise to her. She risks a glance up. Ms. Romanoff’s face is impassive. “How do you think this shaped the person you are today?”

Biting her lip, Wanda hoped she didn’t cross any lines. Ms. Romanoff doesn’t seem to be offended, but her brows furrow slightly.

“I have no way of knowing, Ms. Maximoff. My adoptive family is all I’ve ever known.”

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

Natasha’s lips curl into a wry smile. “That is information available by public record.” Her tone is stern, her words sharp. Wanda immediately flushes, feeling like hitting her own forehead against a solid surface. Repeatedly.

If only she’d done some research ahead of time. Well, no time to dwell on the past. Wanda speaks quickly, suddenly wanting this interview to be over.

“Does your family life encroach on your work?”

“It does not.” Ms. Romanoff’s tone is flat and hard, her response quick.

Wanda feels red-hot embarrassment slink down her spine. She should have looked over these questions ahead of time. Curse her inability to think ahead. She barely glances at the next question before the words are spewing from her lips.

“Are you gay?”

Ms. Romanoff blinks. Wanda feels her eyes go wide, darting down to the paper in front of her. Why the fuck is that question in here? Why didn’t Kate warn her, or… matter of fact, why did Kate think that was an appropriate question to ask?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” Wanda trails off, her flush returning. “I didn’t know that was a question. You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry. Let's move on.”

“I am.”

Wanda’s head shoots up so fast she strains a muscle. It shoots painfully down her neck, but the only thing she’s focused on is the dark green of Ms. Romanoff’s unwavering gaze.

“You didn’t write these questions.” It’s a statement, and Wanda finds herself nodding.

“Like I said before, my roommate was supposed to interview you today. These are her questions, for our school newspaper.” Wanda feels her fingers clenching the paper. She hopes she isn’t thrown out of the office. She couldn't bear the shame and judgemental looks the blonde assistants would surely send her way.

“Are you also a part of the school newspaper?”

“No, I-” Wanda falters, wincing at the dull tone in Ms. Romanoff’s words. “Kate asked me to come since I’m her roommate. She had no other options.”

“That explains a multitude of things,” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is quiet, her eyes boring into Wanda’s.

A soft knock sounds out, the door swinging open as blonde thing number one steps into the office. Wanda immediately resents her presence, a strange atmosphere encroaching on the space she was occupying.

“Your next meeting is in five minutes, Ms. Romanoff,” The assistant says, not sparing a glance towards Wanda.

“Cancel it, we’re not done here.”

Wanda looks up, her hands already preparing to sweep the recording device into her bag as she makes her escape. The assistant is gaping, her eyes flicking between Wanda and her boss. Natasha raises a single eyebrow, and the assistant bows her head slightly before leaving and gently shutting the door behind her.

“I hope I’m not taking up valuable time,” Wanda says, her hands still hovering over the recording device.

“You aren’t. Besides, I want to know about you.” Ms. Romanoff tilts her head slightly, her lips turning up slightly. “It’s only fair, after all.”

That damned flush makes itself known once again, traveling over Wanda’s cheeks and down her neck. She folds the corner of her paper, the crease sharp beneath her fingers and she bites her lip briefly.

“There’s not much to know, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Ms. Romanoff’s eyes are sharp, assessing. “What are your plans after graduation?”

Wanda recognizes the escape for what it is and seizes it wholeheartedly. “I don’t have any plans, I’m too focused on exams at the moment.”

“I see,” her voice is low, her posture relaxed, and her eyes piercing. Ms. Romanoff uncrosses her legs slowly, leaning forward slightly. “We offer an excellent internship program here.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Wanda smiles slightly. “I’m sure you do. Although, I’m not sure I'd fit in here.”

“No?” Her head tilts again, green eyes unwavering. Wanda feels trapped suddenly, the weight of the woman’s gaze pinning her to the couch. She lets out an uncomfortable cough.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The statement is evasive, but Ms. Romanoff answers without hesitation.

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Her gaze is heavy, eyes all-knowing and locked on Wanda. There’s a new sort of tension in the air, all traces of awkwardness gone and replaced with something heady. It’s making Wanda’s head spin, and she breaks eye contact with some effort. Reaching towards the table, she turns the recording device off, placing it gently into her bag.

The tension breaks, Ms. Romanoff standing slowly as Wanda shoves the papers into her bag.

“Would you like a tour?”

Wanda pauses, her hands stilling. Why is she asking that? Isn’t she the CEO of the company?

“I’m sure you have many other important things to attend to, Ms. Romanoff. Besides, I should get on the road before it starts raining too heavily.” Wanda glances out the window, taking in the dark clouds on the distant horizon.

“You’re driving back to campus today?” Ms. Romanoff sounds almost concerned. Wanda tries not to stare at her in shock, blinking quickly. The woman clears her throat, an authoritative tone taking over as she speaks. “Be careful.”

“I will. Thank you for the interview.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she says, polite and dismissive.

Wanda stands, closing her messenger bag. She takes in the woman in front of her, letting her eyes glance over the impeccable outfit the woman has put on. Truly, she should be taking notes on how to dress in a business formal manner, and she’s got the perfect model in front of her. Blinking that thought away, Wanda takes in the small smile creeping onto Ms. Romanoff’s face.

“Until we meet again, Ms. Maximoff,” she holds out her hand, gripping Wanda’s fingers in a gentle yet firm hold.

Will they meet again? Wanda can almost guarantee that they won’t, but something in Ms. Romanoff’s eyes tell her differently. She shakes it off, labeling it as nerves running rampant through her mind. Of course, they wouldn’t meet again. A classic case of a rich, hot CEO meeting a poor college student, their paths crossing once and never entangling again, akin to a set of perpendicular lines.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda nods slightly, letting the woman walk her to the door.

Opening it wide, the woman holds out a hand. A small smirk graces her features. “I am averse to my guests tripping more than once in my presence, and I’d like to ensure your safe journey from my building, Ms. Maximoff.”

“Well,” Wanda flounders for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you.”

At least someone is amused, Wanda thinks as she steps through the door. She considers shooting a victorious glance back at the woman, but decides that the action would be too childish.

Evidently, Ms. Romanoff doesn’t often escort her guests from her office, judging by the surprised looks the blonde assistants shoot their way. It all seems quite suffocating for a moment, and Wanda takes a deep breath.

A hand on her shoulder halts the escape she is about to make. The warmth from Ms. Romanoff’s firm fingertips sends something intoxicating through Wanda. She hopes the ensuing shiver isn’t too obvious.

“I have to swipe my card for the elevator to work on this floor,” Ms. Romanoff explains, pressing the down button.

Of course. That makes sense. Then why is her hand still resting on Wanda’s shoulder?

Almost as if she’s reading Wanda’s mind - or maybe her body language - Ms. Romanoff releases her hold. Her fingers linger briefly, tracing briefly over her arm as she fixes Wanda with a look.

The elevator doors open, and Wanda gratefully steps through. Turning, she sees Ms. Romanoff leaning casually against the wall. The sight is attractive, and Wanda finds her eyes lingering on the exposed forearms crossed in front of her body.

“Wanda,” the woman says, a goodbye, but without a note of finality.

“Natasha,” she replies.

The doors close.

Next Chapter

---

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

Text

The F1 Princess

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You are a university student and social media influencer passionate about Formula 1. Through your childhood best friend Alex, who aims to be a team principal, you become close with drivers and team principals

Warnings: non I think all fluff

Again lets all say thank you to xoxo_lilyy.

My inbox is open for more Toto.

Part 2: The Breaking Point

One Shot Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

Your passion for Formula 1 started back in high school, fueled by watching races on TV with your family. Now, in your early twenties and studying abroad in a foreign country, you found yourself saving every penny to attend races with your friends. It wasn’t just the thrill of the race that attracted you; it was the entire atmosphere, the elegance, the style, and the sheer excitement of being in the paddock.

Your social media presence, where you shared glamorous photos of yourself at the races, quickly gained attention. You weren’t just a university student anymore; you were an influencer in the F1 world. Engineers, fans, and even team principals noticed you. Your beauty and style were unmatched, making heads turn wherever you went.

Your childhood best friend, Alex, had just graduated from university and was pursuing a career in Formula 1, aiming to become a team principal. He invited you to the races, introducing you to drivers and team principals. You quickly became close with many of them, including the legendary Stefano Domenicali and, most notably, Toto Wolff.

It was Toto who seemed to be the most captivated by you. The two of you were often seen together, leading to countless rumors about a potential romance. You laughed them off, but the F1 community was abuzz with speculation.

One race weekend, you decided to wear a white Mercedes shirt. Toto couldn’t stop smiling as he saw you in his team's colors. You spent the entire race in his garage, and cameras caught moments of him adjusting your headphones and the two of you sharing knowing glances. Toto even let you sit near him, an honor not afforded to many.

Your bond with Toto grew stronger. He allowed you to do things he wouldn't let anyone else do, like when it was the Friday of the Hungarian Grand Prix weekend, and the paddock was buzzing with anticipation. You were in the Mercedes hospitality area, getting ready for a special day. Toto had given you unprecedented access to the team's inner sanctum, and today was one of those days where your bond would shine through in unexpected ways.

You found Toto in his office, looking over some data on his laptop. He glanced up and smiled as you walked in.

"Hey, Toto," you said, closing the door behind you. "Busy as always, I see."

He chuckled. "There's always something to look over. But I'm never too busy for you."

You took a seat beside him, your eyes glinting with mischief. "I brought something for you."

Toto raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

You pulled out a small box from your bag, revealing a collection of colorful hair ribbons. "I thought you could use a bit of fun today. Let me tie these in your hair."

Toto laughed, shaking his head. "You and your ideas. Alright, just this once."

As you began to tie the ribbons into his hair, making small, playful braids, Toto sat patiently, a small smile on his face. No one else in the paddock would even think of doing something like this, but with you, Toto felt comfortable and at ease.

Just then, Lewis Hamilton walked in, stopping short at the sight before him. He burst into laughter. "Toto, mate, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Toto rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It’s all her fault," he said, pointing at you.

You grinned. "He secretly loves it, don't let him fool you."

George Russell joined in, leaning against the doorframe. "I never thought I'd see the day. Can I get a photo of this?"

Toto sighed dramatically. "Fine, go ahead. But no posting it online."

George snapped a few pictures, still chuckling. "Don't worry, Toto. This one’s just for the team."

Later that day, as you both walked through the paddock, the drivers continued to tease Toto about his new look. Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris were the first to comment.

"Nice ribbons, Toto. Did (Y/N) do that?" Charles asked, barely containing his laughter.

"She did," Toto admitted, smiling. "And no, you can't have her do it for you."

Lando grinned. "Oh, come on, Toto. Just think how stylish we'd all look."

Toto shot them a mock warning look. "Don't test me, boys.”

As the laughter continued, you felt a warmth in your heart. These moments, these small, playful interactions, were what made your relationship with Toto so special. He allowed you into his world in ways no one else could, and it was clear to everyone that the bond you shared was truly unique.

That evening, as you sat next to Toto during the team principals' dinner, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the incredible journey you were on. Toto raised his glass to you, and with a knowing smile, you returned the toast, celebrating not just the race weekend but the unbreakable friendship and the special moments that defined your place in the Formula 1 world.

Dinner with team principals and drivers became a regular occurrence for you. You were always at Toto's side, and as the night went on and you got tipsier, he would handle your drunk antics with a gentle, protective demeanor. Everyone could see the special bond between you two, and it only fueled the rumors of a romantic relationship.

The sun was setting on the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. You were in the Mercedes hospitality area, chatting with Lewis Hamilton.

"You know, (Y/N), every time I see you, you're always in the middle of some fun adventure," Lewis said, his eyes twinkling. "How do you manage to stay so stylish in this chaotic world?"

You laughed, flipping your hair playfully. "It's all about balance, Lewis. And having a great team behind me, just like you do."

George Russell joined the conversation, a mischievous grin on his face. "Speaking of balance, did you see the photos I posted? You and Toto on the yacht – it’s already gone viral."

You blushed slightly. "I did see that. Thanks for capturing my good side, George."

Toto walked over, hearing the tail end of the conversation. "George, you and your photos. Always stirring up trouble," he said with a mock stern look. Then he turned to you, his expression softening. "Ready for another exciting race?”

"Always, Toto," you replied, smiling up at him.

As you stood there, chatting with the drivers, Lando Norris and Max Verstappen approached with playful smirks.

"So, Toto," Lando began, "when are you going to admit that you and (Y/N) are more than just friends?"

Toto rolled his eyes, trying to hide his blush. "We are just friends, Lando. Nothing more."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, boys, I need to go check on Alex. I'll catch up with you later."

You waved goodbye, leaving the group and heading toward the Red Bull hospitality area. Once you were out of earshot, the drivers turned back to Toto with knowing looks.

"Come on, Toto," Max said, crossing his arms. "We all see how you look at her."

Toto sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know what you're all thinking, but I can't ruin our friendship. She's too important to me."

Lewis Hamilton joined the group, catching the last part of the conversation. "You mean you're too scared to ask her out," he teased, giving Toto a friendly nudge.

Toto shot him a playful glare. "It's not about being scared. It's about respecting what we have."

George Russell chimed in, grinning. "Respecting what you have? Or are you just worried she might say no?"

"Or maybe you're afraid she'll say yes," Charles Leclerc added, laughing.

Toto shook his head, though a small smile played on his lips. "You lot have too much time on your hands. But no, it's not about fear. I just don't want to risk losing her as a friend."

Lando nodded, a bit more serious now. "We get it, Toto. But sometimes, the best relationships start from strong friendships. Just something to think about."

Toto looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe. But for now, I'm happy with how things are."

Max smirked. "Sure, sure. Just don't be surprised if someone else catches her eye first."

Toto's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't even joke about that."

The group laughed, sensing the protective tone in Toto's voice. It was clear to everyone that he had deep feelings for you, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to himself just yet. The teasing continued, but underneath it all was genuine care and understanding for their friend and team principal.

As you rejoined the group later, you could sense the camaraderie and the special bond you shared with Toto. Whether as friends or something more, you knew that your place in the F1 world was exactly where you were meant to be.

The next race was in Silverstone, and you were once again in the paddock, this time wearing a custom-made Mercedes jacket with your name embroidered on it. As you walked through the paddock, you could feel the stares and hear the whispers.

"Is that (Y/N)? She looks amazing," one engineer said to another.

You waved at them, feeling the warmth of their admiration. You spotted Alex talking to Christian Horner and decided to join them.

"Hey, Alex! Christian," you greeted.

Christian smiled. "Well, if it isn't the F1 Princess. How do you like the Silverstone weather?"

"It's perfect. Much better than last year's rain," you replied.

Alex chuckled. "She's right. Last year was a mess."

Later that evening, at the team principals' dinner, you found yourself seated next to Toto again. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and light conversation.

"So, (Y/N), what's your secret to handling all this attention?" Stefano asked from across the table.

You shrugged, glancing at Toto. "Just being myself, I guess. And having great friends who support me."

Toto raised his glass. "To (Y/N), the heart of the paddock."

Everyone echoed the toast, and you felt a surge of gratitude. This world had become your second home, and the people in it were like family.

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #f1 #toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #TotoWolff #fluff

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squoxle · 8 days ago

Text

[9] • WHY DO YOU HATE ME? - H. KAI

skater!bully!huening kai x loner!junkie!reader

plot: working alongside your ex-best friend, who's also a full-time asshole, turns hot after a heated conversation... | wc: 3.9k | cw: angst, mentions of death and suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, other sensitive topics, smut

From your point of view, life continued for three reasons;

1. For your family…the only friends you had.

2. Another episode of you current obsession, and

3. The next cigarette...or cancer stick as your next door neighbor liked to call it.

Sometime your third reason helped you the most. One puff relived the stress and every one after that made life a little easier. Oftentimes, smoking was like an escape for you. A way to cope with the shitty hand the universe had dealt you.

You lived in a cheap apartment. And all of the money you made was split between you and your parents. There was a shared belief in your family that the children should take care of their parents when they move out. Assisting in whatever way they could.

This belief is what compelled you to send money to your family. It wasn’t a burden. You knew that if you ever needed a place to stay that you were always welcome back home. The only problem being that you couldn’t shake your smoking habit. And that was the reason you had to go in the first place.

You seen all the stupid YouTube videos about what happens to your lungs when you smoke and how much money you could save if you weren’t buying packs of cigarettes weekly, but none of that mattered to you. After the death of your only friend near the end of senior year, life seemed almost impossible.

Meaningless and empty without Eve by your side.

You held onto those three reasons because everything in you wished for one more day with your friend. Just one more day to tell her how much you loved her. And at this point, the sweet taste of death was the only thing separating you from her.

You grew up as an only child for most of your life. By the time your mom had your little brother, you were already 14 years old. Around that time you met Eve.

You had just started high school and up until freshman year, you were known to be a loner.

You walked into your first class of the day, sitting in the chair furthest to the back of the classroom and that’s when you met her for the first time.

“I’m Eve,” she smiled, extending her hand to you. The two of you were like complete opposites. She was warm, cheery, and full of life. You on the other hand felt like the world had been against you since birth.

One more detail about Eve is that she was a huge chatterbox. Since the two of you rode the bus together, you never felt alone. The darkness that was your life felt a little brighter with her around. Even your mom noticed the positive change in your behavior.

“You sure look happy,” your mom raised her brow as you looked at your phone.

“Yeah, I met this really cool girl at school today. Her name is Eve,” you smiled.

“Well maybe you should invite her over sometime. Anyone that can make you smile like that must be really special.”

And she was…Eve was really special to you.

You could talk to her about anything. She wasn’t just an expert at talking, she was also a great listener. Sometimes her advice wasn’t the best, but you were both kids at the time.

You just wish that she would’ve talked to you the day before…she killed herself. You always blamed yourself for her death. There had to have been a sign that she was hurting, but maybe you were too selfish to see it.

You had both started senior year together and all you ever talked about were how the two of you would move out together and graduate from the same college. You saw a life with her…and all of that was over in one night.

You think about it every day. What makes it even worse is that your co-worker is the biggest asshole you’d ever known.

You were never brave enough to stand up to him. Maybe because you felt like the fight just wasn’t worth it. But he knew Eve too. The three of you were friends before her death. Your past friendship is probably another reason why you wouldn’t speak up.

When you really think about it…a lot changed after she died. You started smoking and Kai seemed to hate you for no reason.

You never knew why…

“You’re locking up tonight,” he said as he slammed the cash register.

“What?!”

“You heard me,” he spat, turning to you. “You’re locking up tonight because I’m heading out early.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I have a life too y’know.”

“Do I look like I care?” You stared at him blankly before he continued, “Exactly, just do what the fuck I told you,” he swatted his hand before walking to the back to grab his things.

“You can’t expect me to do all of this by myself,” the gas station you worked at was extremely understaffed and you two were often the only ones at work.

“You can handle it,” he leaned down, picking up his skateboard before heading toward the front door.

“This is so fucked up,” you slammed you hand against the counter. “You’re such a fucking dick,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes.

“You know what’d be really fucked up?” He asked softly walking back over to the register. “If you had a little accident at work,” he tilted his head to the side. “It’d be pretty hard to come to work if you slipped and hurt yourself. Wouldn’t it?”

You lowered your gaze, afraid to say something stupid and not in the mood to hear anymore of his threats. You knew better than to push him…he’d done a number of things to torture you.

You thought back to the one time he took your phone and locked you in the storage closet over night because you wouldn’t stay after hours and wax the floors.

You watched as he walked out with his skateboard tucked under his arm. You sighed deeply, striking your lighter as you lit your cigarette.

You parted your lips, letting the clouds of grey smoke fill the air as you took out the trash before turning off all the lights and locking up for the night.

Without Eve your life felt like Groundhog Day. A continuous, endless, hell-like loop of waking up, clocking in, and clocking out to do it all over again. The most diversity you had in your life was a new assignment.

Oh and to make life even better, Kai went to the same school as you. A cheap community college where you could earn your associates before taking out student loans to get your bachelors.

Sometimes you wondered if life ever got any better from here…

A few days later, you were working the cash register with Kai when he decided to take his break in the middle of the 12 o’clock rush. “Perfect,” you sighed sarcastically. “Just fucking perfect,” you rolled your eyes as you prepared yourself to deal with the line of customers that had wrapped around one of the aisles.

“You should smile more often,” a man smiled. He looked to be about 40 or 50.

“Excuse me?” You asked, wondering why he would even say something like that.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged pulling out a $20. “Life is beautiful. There’s a lot to smile about.”

“Right,” you scoffed.

“You should try it sometime,” he smiled as you handed him the receipt.

“M’kay,” you shook you head, wanting nothing more than for him to just take his shit and leave.

“Thank you so much sir for pointing that out,” Kai came out grinning ear to ear like the fucking Cheshire Cat.

“You’re welcome. I just know how much a smile can change the working environment for everyone.”

“Exactly,” Kai nodded. “____, I don’t wanna have to write you up for this because I know how much you need this job. But you’re gonna have to change your attitude.”

You sighed as you rubbed the spot between your eyebrows. Another detail that you hated to remember and often forgot was that Kai was your manager…and the reason you got this job in the first place.

Ironically you started working here during your last year of high school. You planned to earn some money for college to give you a bit of a head start, which only somewhat worked out in your favor.

To be honest, the pay here was pretty good and better than any other option. You assumed this had a lot to do with the low staff.

Anyways, you were hoping that Kai was only joking about writing you up until you were called into the office for a staff meeting on Friday.

“Look, ____. We’re already very low on staff as I’m sure you know. And it’s hard to keep customers coming back if you’re out there looking like you want a bullet in your head,” the owner said, folding his hands.

“That’s probably because I do,” you mumbled to yourself.

“All I’m saying is, try to look at least somewhat pleasant. You don’t have to go overboard, just be natural, okay?”

“Yeah, okay," you shook your head as Kai sat next to you.

"Thanks again, Kai. I really appreciate you for bringing this to my attention. I've been noticing a decline in customer reviews and now I know why."

"No problem," he smiled giving you a look that made you wanna knock his teeth out.

Kai closed the door to the main office as the two of you walked down the hallway.

“I can’t believe you actually fucking ratted me out,” you spat.

“I’m only doing what’s best for the—“

“Drop the fucking act,” you sneered. “We both know you don’t really give a damn. Because if you did I wouldn’t be locking up at night by myself. You’d be there helping me out and not somewhere just jerking off. Y’know what? Maybe I should go tell the boss about what you’re doing since we’re in the bitching business,” you turned around, but just as you tried walking away Kai grabbed your arm, pulling you back and throwing you to the ground.

“Don’t be such a stupid fucking bitch,” he spat.

“You did the same thing to me,” you brushed yourself off as you stood to your feet only to be pushed back down to the ground.

“If I were you I’d quit while I was ahead,” he knelt down.

“I’m tired of you treating me like shit, Kai. I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“If you really believe that you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, looking him dead in the eye. You don’t know what came over you, but you had never been brave enough to stand up for yourself.

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” he pressed his forearm against your neck. “Karma can be a real bitch y’know,” your eyes watered as he held you against the wall. You felt weak and powerless against him and you hated it, but there really was nothing you could do about it. Or at least that’s how you felt.

Your bottom lip quivered as he slowly let you go. You sucked in your breath, catching a tear with your sleeve before running off to the bathroom. You cried in there, more than you had in a really long time.

And that evening, after closing early, you smoked through a whole pack. You were on the last one as Kai was walking back to the store. You assumed he’d forgotten something inside as he unlocked the door.

Catching the sight of you, smoking behind the register, he walked up and slapped the cigarette out of your mouth, casting ashes across the floor. “What the fuck?” You spat, picking up the bud before sticking it back between your lips.

“You know that shit could kill you right?”

“I already feel dead,” you hummed, pulling out your lighter. “This is the only thing that makes me feel alive,” you continued, striking the lighter.

“Well you can die on your own time,” he snatched the cigarette out of your pursed lips. “I don’t wanna be the one cleaning up after your corpse when your lungs collapse.”

He looked in the small trash can underneath the register where he saw more than 15 burnt buds and an empty packet. “Did you smoke this whole pack?”

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“You wouldn’t care anyway. You obviously hate me.”

“Don’t let me catch you smoking again,” he spat.

“You’re not my fucking dad. You can’t tell me what to do,” you reached to try and get your last cigarette back as he shoved you into the counter, putting the bud out on the countertop beside you.

“Next time it’ll be your hand,” he sneered. “Now, clean this shit up and get this disgusting fucking smell out of here,” you forcefully wiped the tear from your eye as he walked away. Grabbing whatever he needed before walking out again.

Sometimes you wondered if this was why Kai always messed with you, because he got a kick out of seeing you cry.

As sadistic as it sounded, it couldn’t be any closer to the truth which you learned later that week one night when Kai told you to close by yourself again. The only difference was that he was somewhat tipsy at this point.

He had been drinking a lot more after the altercation you had in the hallway. You wondered if it was because he felt guilty, finally seeing the error of his ways.

“Can you at least take out the fucking trash before you go?” You spat as he walked to the back putting his stuff away. “Please,” you threw your hand up.

“If I do it will you shut your big fucking mouth?”

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes. He was in an even pissier mood when he drank, but surprisingly he was more useful. He’d do almost anything you asked him to do as long as you bitched about it enough.

“Thank you,” you smiled as he mumbled to himself throwing two bags over his shoulder, and dragging another two out the back door with him.

You heard bottles clanking outside as you shut down the register. Another loud crashing sound shook you up as you called out Kai’s name. You were feeling a bit annoyed at this point. “I don’t even make that amount of noise when I take out the trash,” you sighed.

More noises and no reply from Kai led you to go outside and check on him yourself, leaving your phone in the counter. “What the hell are you doing out here?” You spat as you saw him throwing glass bottles against the wall with bloody hands.

“Kai! Stop it!” You shouted as he shielded his ear with his shoulder.

“Can you stop fucking yelling at me and just go back inside,” he rolled eyes, launching another bottle at the wall.

“No because after you’re done fucking around like a jackass I’m gonna have to come out here and clean this shit up.”

“No you’re not,” he hummed.

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re not,” his words slurred together at this point.

“Yes. I am.”

“No you’r—“ you ripped the bottle out of his bloody grasp.

“You’re way too fucking drunk right now. Just get the hell out of here and go home already.”

“Where are you going,” he asked sounding slightly frustrated.

You started to walk back inside, “I’m gonna go get a broom to clean this shit up,” you sighed. “Someone has too,” you reached your hand out to open the door only to jump, quickly turning around after hearing rapid footsteps approach you.

Kai had pinned you against the door, slamming it shut as he held another bottle in his hand. He broke it beside you head and held it to your neck. “If you scream I’ll cut your throat open right here,” he slurred.

“Get off of me you drunk bastard!” You yelled, squirming in an attempt to free yourself from his grasp. He slapped you in the face with his bloody hand before clenching your jaw.

Tears filled your eyes as you stamped your feet against the ground. You beat against his chest as your arms were stuck in one position. “Kai!” You cried. “Stop it! Please,”

“Why should I? You’re not my mom,” he pressed against you harder, crushing your hands beneath his weight.

“Why do you hate me?” You choked on tears as you couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“Shh!” He put a bloody finger against your lips.

“No, I want you to tell me why you hate me so much. It doesn’t make sense. We used to be friends before…before Eve killed herself,” it was silent for a moment as Kai lowered his head, he body started to tremble as a tear dropped from his face.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He shouted repeatedly slamming your body against the metal door, dropping the broken bottle.

“You’re hurting me, Kai! Stop it!” You yelled as you felt a pain tugging at your bones. “Please,” your voice shook.

He rested his hands on your shoulders before falling to your knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he cried.

You knelt down and lifted his teary face. “It’s okay, Kai. I miss her too,” you sniffled before wrapping your arms around him.

He pulled away gently, looking up at you with teary eyes. “I’m really sorry, _____,” he apologized. “I’ve been such a dick…”

“And I don’t even understand why…”

“D’you remember the day before Eve died?”

“Of course I do…I think about it almost everyday.”

“What if I told you it’s my fault she’s dead…”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“She called me…”

“She did?! Why didn’t you ever tell me? What did she say?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you…but she told me to be happy…”

“I don’t understand. Why did she say that?”

“Did you ever notice how she was around you? Like the way she behaved. Did she ever seem like she liked you as more than just a friend?”

“I-uhh…I never paid attention to it.”

“Yeah well she really liked you, but when she found out I liked you too, she started to back off some. Things really took a turn for the worse when her parents heard us arguing one night—“

“What were you arguing about?”

“She had started hurting herself…”

“Like cutting?”

“Yeah…and I guess it didn’t get any better…I should’ve told someone,” he said softly as tears trickled down his cheeks.

“You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“But if I would’ve told someone she might still be here…”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“It could’ve helped her…she also called me a few nights before she died and told me that her parents found out about her crush on you…I don’t really know how…but they did and she was really upset about that. Do you think her parents are the reason she killed herself?”

“We can’t know for sure…she didn’t really leave us any way of knowing why. But I think you should listen to her and be happy. Just look at the way we’ve separated…”

Kai looked down at his bloody hands, “____…”

“Yes?”

Kai cradled your face in his hands before kissing you on the lips. One kiss turned to three and the next thing you knew his lips were all over your neck as he groped your tit in his hand.

Not a single word was spoken as breathless moans took the place of speech. You grabbed his hair in your hand, untying the small bun he wore as you tousled his hair. He slipped his tongue into your mouth as he pulled you closer.

You pulled his head away as his lips fell to your chest. “What?”

“Don’t you think this is kinda fast?”

“We can think about that in the morning,” he hummed, kissing your neck again.

You held Kai’s hand as he took you inside. He picked you up, placing you on the metal cabinet as he kissed you, unbuttoning his pants.

“What about a condom?”

“Do I look like the type of guy to just have a condom in his wallet?”

“I…uh…”

“Exactly. Don’t worry…I’ll pull out,” he shrugged as you pulled your pants down. You watched as his dick sprang out of his boxers.

You climbed back onto the cabinet, spreading your legs as he stepped between them, lining his tip up with your entrance. “Ngh!” You moaned as he pushed through.

“Mmm,” he hummed feeling your walls contract around him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him as he pumped into you. He nuzzled his face into yours, bringing your lips back to his as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned as you felt yourself coming close to finishing. You threw your head back as he sucked onto your neck. You squeezed your thighs around him, pulling him closer as you climaxed.

"Fuck," he swore.

"What?"

"I'm gonna cum," he bit his lip as he started to pull back.

"I don't care," you pulled him closer, kissing him again.

"But I thought you--"

"We'll think about it in the morning," you whispered as he pumped every drop of his hot load into you.

Everything from here became a blur until the two of you woke up in the backroom. You were laying between his legs as he rested his back against the metal cabinet.

"Shit," you spat as your eyes shot open. "We have to be ready to open in like 30 minutes," you said, scrambling to your feet.

"No way," Kai rubbed his eyes, looking up to see the analog clock on the wall, confirming what you just said.

The two of you scrambled to open up. He wiped off the cabinet from the two of you last night and you worked together to restock the coffee station and check the slushee maker.

"I'll take care of the mess outside," he chuckled, ruffling his hair. You handed him the hair tie that was wrapped around your wrist. It was the same one you took off of him last night. "Thanks," he smiled before kissing you on the cheek.

"Hey, for the record," you hollered. "Whatever happened last night doesn't change anything between us. I still hate you," you smirked.

"I hate you too," he smiled before heading out the back door.

What happened from this day on is hard to explain. It was like the two of you went back to being friends, but something else tugged at your heart aside from the memory of your dead friend. You were starting to like Kai and you could tell that he liked you too, but dating each other just didn't feel right.

As far as sex was concerned, it hadn't happened again since the first time you did it, which was about 3 weeks ago. Even though you did have the occasional makeout session that never seemed to last long enough.

Maybe there were 4 reasons why life continued for you...and he was definitely one of them.

a.n.: I wanted to add more detail to this one, but I didn’t want it to be too long. Sorry if it feels rushed.

𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

@chlorinecake

@wonbinisbabygurl

@nishiimuranights

@wildflowermooon

@heeseungshim

@ramyeonzprincess

@bangchans-gf5

@wand3rlustm3

@heeseunghee7

@norihoyeon

@gacktsa

@hyunj00

@mimikittysblog (not sure how much you're into moody kai lol)

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