#(and look i tried to do lighting and a background!

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.3

Chapter Three: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: HEHEHEHEHE. Yes, this fic is basically a slice of life, low stakes, and all-around good vibes. Eventually, there will be some drama but nothing too heartbreaking… maybe… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Magnets by NIKI

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING  

The soft hum of your phone vibrating roused you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim light of the TV still playing softly in the background. ��

Your hand instinctively reached out to grab your phone from where it had slipped to the floor beside the couch. As you shifted, something warm and solid tightened around your waist.  

Oh.  

Oh no.  

Your breath hitched as the realization settled over you like a weight. Pedro’s arm was draped across you, his body pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Your head had somehow found its way to the crook of his shoulder, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your side told you he was still asleep.  

Oh God.  

Carefully, you reached down to grab your phone without disturbing him. Your thumb brushed across the screen to silence the alarm, and you winced when you saw the time: 4:30 a.m. Far too early to be awake but late enough to question how this even happened.  

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it. You’d been watching a movie—something quiet and low-energy, just as you’d requested. You vaguely remembered leaning back against the couch, your body growing heavier with sleep. But you hadn’t expected to wake up like this, tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

Pedro stirred slightly, a low hum escaping his lips as he adjusted his arm around you, pulling you even closer. Your breath caught, panic and something else—something warmer—bubbling to the surface.  

Do I move? Do I stay? Oh, this is bad. Or is it good? Your thoughts raced, but your body refused to cooperate, frozen in place as if the universe had hit pause on this moment.  

A faint smile tugged at Pedro’s lips, even in sleep. His face was softer like this, the usual teasing edge replaced by something peaceful. It wasn’t fair, you thought, how he managed to look so effortlessly handsome even now.  

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. Carefully, you began to shift, attempting to untangle yourself without waking him. But as soon as you moved, his arm tightened again, and this time, his eyes fluttered open.  

“Mm, what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.  

You froze, caught in the act. “Uh, it’s... early. Like, really early.”  

Pedro blinked a few times, his gaze slowly focusing on you. And then, as if realizing the position you were both in, a sleepy grin spread across his face.  

“Well,” he murmured, his voice still thick and low, “this is a nice way to wake up.”  

Your cheeks burned. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”  

“Relax,” he interrupted softly, his eyes twinkling despite the early hour. “I’m not complaining.”  

You stared at him, caught between embarrassment and the inexplicable urge to laugh. “Pedro...”  

He stretched slightly, his arm finally loosening its hold on you, though he made no move to pull away entirely. “You fell asleep first,” he said, his tone teasing now. “I just... went with it.”  

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head. “This is so unprofessional,” you muttered, though there was no real weight behind the words.  

Pedro smirked, sitting up slightly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Our little... accidental cuddle.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.  

“And yet,” he countered, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart stumble, “here you are.”  

The air between you shifted then, the teasing fading into something quieter, something unspoken but undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world outside the suite forgotten.  

And then, because it felt safer than facing whatever this was, you stood, clutching your phone like a lifeline. “I need coffee,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you made your way to the kitchenette.  

Pedro watched you retreat into the kitchenette, his easygoing grin fading into something thoughtful. He stretched lazily, his hair still mussed from sleep, before following you at his own unhurried pace. 

You were already fussing with the hotel’s coffee machine when he appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there. “You know, you’re very intense about your coffee for someone who just woke up,” he teased, his voice warm and teasing.  

You startled slightly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I need caffeine to survive this,” you muttered, your words a little too sharp, betraying just how tightly wound you felt.  

Pedro quirked an eyebrow. “This? What exactly is this?”  

You didn’t answer right away, turning your attention back to the machine and praying it would brew faster. “Nothing,” you said finally, though your tone was anything but convincing.  

He stepped further into the kitchenette, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to spook you. “Is it the early morning? Or... could it be that you’re stuck sharing a suite with me?”  

You froze, clutching the edge of the counter. His voice held that teasing lilt you’d come to associate with him, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made your stomach flip in a way you were trying very hard to ignore.  

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your tone made it sound like you were anything but.  

Pedro chuckled, and the sound was low and warm, filling the small space between you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”  

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. He was standing closer now, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of amusement and something else—something you couldn’t quite name.  

“I just—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to tell him that sharing a suite with him, waking up next to him, was a level of surreal you weren’t prepared for? That he wasn’t just Pedro to you; he was Pedro Pascal, your literal celebrity crush and the man who’d unintentionally been making your life both thrilling and impossibly complicated?  

“I’m just trying not to embarrass myself,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Pedro’s grin softened into something gentler, something almost fond. “You’re doing fine,” he said simply.  

Before you could respond, the coffee machine beeped, signaling it was done. You practically lunged for the cup, desperate for something—anything—to do with your hands.  

Pedro didn’t push you further, but as you handed him a mug of coffee without meeting his gaze, he murmured, “For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”  

Your heart gave a traitorous little leap at his words, but you forced yourself to nod, mumbling a quiet “Thanks” before retreating back into your room to get ready.  

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY

The car ride to work was tense—at least for you. Pedro, of course, seemed completely unbothered, chatting with the driver and making the occasional attempt to draw you into the conversation. But all you could manage were one-word answers, your mind too busy overthinking everything about the morning.  

Once you arrived on set, you threw yourself into your work, doing your best to stay out of Pedro’s way. Which was easier said than done, considering he seemed to have made it his mission to seek you out every chance he got.  

“Hey, everything okay?” he’d ask in-between takes, his dark eyes scanning your face like he could read your thoughts.  

“Yep, totally fine,” you’d reply, before darting off to find something—anything—else to do.  

By lunchtime, you were exhausted. You slumped into a chair in the corner of the break area, picking at your food while scrolling aimlessly on your phone.  

“Who are you hiding from?” Daisy’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you. She plopped down in the chair across from you, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth as she gave you a curious look. “You’ve been acting weird all morning.”  

“No one,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly, because Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  

“Oh, really?” she drawled, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. “Does this have anything to do with a certain actor you spent the night with?”  

Your face went hot, and you nearly choked on your drink. “I—what? No! It’s not like that!”  

Daisy’s smirk only grew. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re just blushing like crazy for no reason.”  

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s complicated, okay?”  

“It doesn’t have to be,” Daisy said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Pedro seems pretty into you, you know.”  

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “What?”  

She shrugged, biting into another piece of fruit. “I’m just saying, he keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. It’s cute, really.”  

You shook your head, trying to brush off her words, but the flutter in your chest told you it wasn’t that simple.  

And as if on cue, Pedro walked into the break area, his gaze immediately landing on you. He smiled, that easy, disarming smile that made your knees weak, and started making his way over.  

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower into your chair.  

“Good luck,” Daisy whispered with a grin, grabbing her tray and leaving you alone just as Pedro reached your table.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and casual, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “Mind if I join you?”  

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a soft, barely audible, “Sure.”  

Pedro sat down across from you, his eyes twinkling with that same unreadable expression that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t.  

“So,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned forward slightly. “Why have you been avoiding me all day?”  

And just like that, your heart was racing again, because of course he noticed. Of course he did.  

Pedro’s question lingered in the air, heavy with curiosity and a touch of concern. He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he had all the time in the world to wait for your response. His fingers drummed idly against the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the uneven beat of your heart.  

“I… Um…” you stammered, feeling like your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.  

Pedro’s brow furrowed, and his expression softened. “Did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he asked, his voice quiet and laced with genuine worry. “I’m so sorry if I did—”  

“No, no,” you interrupted, your voice rushing out faster than your brain could keep up. You waved your hands slightly, as if trying to erase the idea entirely. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”  

You trailed off, feeling the weight of his gaze. Pedro didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence with reassurances or jokes like he usually did. He simply waited, his head still resting on his hand, his warm brown eyes encouraging you to keep going.  

Taking a deep breath, you clenched your hands together in your lap, as if grounding yourself. “I’m just… I can’t believe you really want me around,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you actually want to be friends with me. It seems so…”  

“Unreal?” Pedro finished for you, his lips curving into a soft smile.  

You nodded, biting your lip. “Exactly. Unreal. I mean, you’re you—a ridiculously talented actor, charming, funny, and so... well, famous. And I’m just... me. I keep waiting for the moment you’ll realize I don’t belong in your world.”  

Pedro blinked at you, his expression flickering between surprise and something deeper—something that made your chest ache in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.  

He sat up straight, his hand reaching across the table, stopping just short of yours. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. “First of all, you’re not just anything. You’re smart, talented, funny as hell, and honestly, one of the most grounded people I’ve ever met. That’s a big deal in this industry, you know.”  

You looked up at him, startled by the earnestness in his tone. “Pedro…”  

“And second,” he continued, leaning a little closer, “I do want you around. Not because of some weird celebrity power imbalance or whatever you think this is. I want you around because you make my days better. You make me laugh. You make everything feel... lighter.”  

The lump in your throat grew, and you had to look away before your emotions spilled over completely. You focused on the half-eaten piece of fruit on your plate, blinking rapidly. “You don’t have to say that,” you murmured.  

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

When you finally dared to meet his eyes again, you saw nothing but sincerity staring back at you. It was the kind of sincerity that made your carefully constructed walls feel like they were made of paper.  

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.  

Pedro smiled then—a real, heart-stopping smile that lit up his entire face. “Okay,” he echoed, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied nod.  

The tension between you eased, replaced by something warmer, something fragile but promising. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Pedro saw something in you worth sticking around for.  

“Now,” he said, breaking the moment with a playful grin, “can we please talk about how you were about to burn that coffee machine this morning? Because I have questions.”  

You groaned, rolling your eyes as he chuckled, the sound wrapping around you like a familiar melody. And just like that, the world felt a little less overwhelming, and Pedro felt a little more like home.  

The afternoon passed in a blur of tasks, and now, you found yourself walking toward the makeup trailer, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you prepared to fetch Pedro for his next scene.  

You knocked lightly before stepping inside, the scent of hairspray and setting powder filling the air. Pedro was lounging in the makeup chair, eyes closed as Andrea Cracknell, the key hair and makeup supervisor, gave his hair a final tousle. Suzanne Harper, one of the main hair and makeup artists, was touching up the edges of his beard with careful precision.  

The warm glow of vanity bulbs cast a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the soft crinkles near his eyes.  

Dara Hannon, the daily hair and makeup trainee, glanced up and grinned as you stepped in. “Ah, there’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” she said, setting down a brush. “You always look so put together. How do you do it?”  

You laughed, heat creeping up your neck. “Trust me, I don’t. I just hide it well.”  

“She doesn’t need to hide anything,” Pedro murmured, cracking one eye open. His voice was smooth, laced with something teasing but warm. “She’s effortlessly stunning.”  

You felt your brain short-circuit.  

From across the room, Samanta, one of the junior makeup artists, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Pedro. You don’t hold back, do you?”  

Chloë Pyne—one of the main team hair and makeup artists—smirked, tilting her head as she studied you. “He’s right, though. You have one of those naturally pretty faces. Like, the kind that doesn’t need much makeup.”  

Pedro hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. “See? Told you.”  

You waved them off, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Okay, okay—enough. I came to get you, not to hear you guys exaggerate.”  

Pedro grinned. “We’re not exaggerating. You just don’t take compliments well.”  

“I take them fine,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but him.  

He chuckled, stretching his arms as he stood from the chair, towering over you. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”  

Your stomach flipped, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “Pedro—”  

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yes?”  

You huffed, turning on your heel. “Come on, you’re needed on set.”  

Pedro chuckled behind you, his footsteps light and easy as he followed. Just before you stepped out of the makeup trailer, his hand brushed against your arm—barely there, a whisper of contact—but it sent a ripple of heat up your spine. You swallowed hard, pretending not to notice, pretending your stomach wasn’t doing ridiculous little flips at the way his presence lingered so close behind you.  

By the time you reached the sound stage, the energy on set had shifted.  

“There she is!” Vanessa beamed the second she spotted you, setting her script down to stride over. “Finally. The only competent person around here.”  

You snorted. “I think that’s an insult to literally everyone else.”  

Vanessa grinned. “And yet, somehow, they’ll survive.”  

Before you could respond, Joseph and Ebon chimed in from where they were going over their lines.  

“Thank God, I thought Pedro kidnapped you,” Joseph teased, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We were about to send a search party.”  

Ebon shook his head. “Nah, he would’ve kept her hidden all day.” He gave Pedro a pointed look. “You’ve been hovering.”  

Pedro scoffed. “I don’t hover.”  

Vanessa snorted. “You so do.”  

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure how to defend yourself—or Pedro, for that matter—when another familiar voice called out.  

“Ah, the prodigal assistant returns!”  

You turned to see Jess Hall, the first AD, grinning as he strolled over, script in hand. “Seriously, where have you been? I swear the set runs smoother when you’re around.”  

“I… I’ve been doing my job?” you offered weakly.  

Jess huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep being humble, we love that.”  

Before you could protest, Matt—the director—walked up, arms crossed, surveying the growing crowd around you with an arched brow.  

“So…” he mused. “Am I missing something? Because the way everyone gravitates toward you makes me think you might actually be running this set.”  

You blinked. “Uh—no? I mean, I just… I don’t know, I just do my job like everyone else.”  

Matt squinted at you like he didn’t quite buy that, but he just hummed and glanced at Pedro. “You keeping her distracted, or is she keeping you distracted?”  

Pedro grinned. “Bit of both.”  

Your brain stalled.  

Matt shook his head, muttering something about actors before waving a hand. “Alright, let’s go, people. Back to work before I regret hiring all of you.”  

As the cast dispersed, Pedro leaned in, voice low, warm. “See? Told you everyone likes you.”  

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Pedro’s laughter rumbled beside you, rich and warm.  

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, voice muffled against your palms.  

He tilted his head, smirking. “Like what?”  

“You know what.”  

Pedro simply grinned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, as if he wasn’t single-handedly unraveling your ability to function like a normal human being.  

There was a steady thrum in the air whenever he was close—something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was impossible not to.  

It crackled between you when you stood side by side, almost magnetic.  

And when your fingers brushed, even just for a second? Electric.  

You pulled your hand away as if burned, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you tensed. But of course, he did. Pedro always noticed. His gaze flickered down to where your hands had been, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.  

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Someone might think you like me or something.”  

You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, smacked his arm.  

Pedro just laughed, dodging the second playful hit you aimed at him before finally relenting, his hands raised in surrender.  

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he promised, though his smirk said otherwise.  

With a final glare, you turned and threw yourself into work, desperate for some sense of normalcy.  

The next few hours passed in a blur of controlled chaos—wardrobe changes, prop resets, last-minute adjustments. You did your job like clockwork, moving through set with practiced efficiency. Fetching cast members, tracking schedule updates, and ensuring things ran as smoothly as possible.  

Your friends worked nearby, their presence grounding you amidst the constant hum of production. But despite the familiarity of routine, you felt off-kilter.  

Every time you caught sight of Pedro—laughing with the cast, deep in conversation with Matt, even just sitting between takes, flipping through a script—your stomach did that thing.  

The stupid fluttery thing.  

By the time filming wrapped for the day, you were both exhausted and wired, your brain still buzzing with the day’s events.  

You found yourself huddled in a loose circle with some of the PAs and crew, all of you packing up while chatting, the easy rhythm of conversation filling the space.  

Daisy elbowed you playfully. “So, how’s your day been? You seemed a little… frazzled earlier.”  

You cleared your throat, focusing very intently on coiling a stray cable. “Just… tired.”  

Jordan snorted into his coffee. “You’re such a bad liar.” He raised a brow. “Let me guess—Pedro?”  

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.  

The entire group cackled.  

“Yeah, thought so.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumbled, hugging your clipboard to your chest like it might somehow shield you from their knowing smirks.  

“Oh, sure,” Lucy drawled, her smirk downright devious. “It’s not like the man literally gravitates toward you every chance he gets.”  

“That’s just how he is!” you argued, feeling heat creep up your neck.  

Daisy hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

“You guys are insufferable.” You crossed your arms, trying and failing to suppress your flustered expression.  

Jordan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll drop it. For now.”  

As the conversation flowed, the tension you’d been holding onto all day slowly unwound. Someone cracked a joke about a prop malfunction earlier, and you found yourself laughing, the sound blending into the hum of easy chatter around you.  

“Okay, but did you see the way the fake blood exploded everywhere?” Daisy wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.  

Jordan shook his head, still grinning. “Poor props department. That cleanup looked brutal.”  

Lucy snickered. “I swear, Matt almost had a stroke.”  

You smiled, the stress of the day fading into the background. It was moments like this that made the long hours worth it—these small pockets of joy, of shared experiences.  

Then, like clockwork, he entered the periphery of your awareness.  

Pedro’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, low and familiar. The sound curled through your chest like a flickering ember, and before you could stop yourself, you turned slightly—just enough to catch sight of him.  

He was leaning against one of the equipment carts, deep in conversation with Matt, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. But then, as if he could sense you looking, his gaze flicked up—searching, landing squarely on you.  

And suddenly, it was just the two of you.  

Your breath hitched.  

Pedro’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. He lifted a brow, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.  

You tore your gaze away, your face burning, heart hammering against your ribs.  

“Yup. She’s gone,” Jordan muttered, loud enough for only the group to hear.  

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”  

Daisy cackled. “Oh my God, you’re so screwed.”  

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands as the laughter around you grew.  

Maybe you were screwed.  

Because, try as you might to ignore it, that pull—the steady thrum of something unspoken, something undeniable—was getting harder and harder to resist.

You quickly said goodbye to your friends as they boarded the shuttle back to their hotel, the last remnants of laughter lingering in the air. The set had mostly cleared out, leaving only a few crew members finishing up and the cast slowly trickling out of their trailers. You tucked your arms around yourself, the night air cool against your skin as you waited for the others, your thoughts still buzzing from the day.  

Then—warm hands.  

A firm, sudden weight against your back.  

You barely had time to process it before you were lifted off the ground.  

A startled squeal left your lips as Pedro spun you effortlessly, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Gotcha,” he murmured near your ear, his voice thick with amusement.  

“Pedro!” you gasped, swatting at his hands, but you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that followed.  

He finally set you down, his arms still loosely around your shoulders, and when you turned to glare up at him, he had the audacity to grin—full, boyish, utterly unrepentant.  

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” he teased, giving your shoulders a playful squeeze before finally stepping back.  

“You ambushed me,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “I almost had a heart attack.”  

Pedro smirked. “I’d apologize, but your little scream was too cute.”  

Your face burned. “You’re insufferable.”  

Before he could respond, you heard stifled giggles from nearby.  

You glanced up just in time to spot Coco, Vanessa, Joseph, and Ebon approaching, all of them watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.  

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Vanessa quipped, smirking.  

Coco nudged Joseph with her elbow, grinning. “Are we interrupting something?”  

Pedro, ever the shameless one, just threw an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not at all,” he said easily, then glanced down at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Unless you think we were?”  

You glared at him, resisting the urge to shove him away—because knowing him, he’d just make a bigger scene.  

Instead, you turned to the group, feigning exasperation. “Can someone please save me from him?”  

Ebon just laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re on your own, kid.”  

Your stomach did an unfair little flip as Pedro pulled you closer, his warmth seeping into you despite the cool night air.  

And the worst part?  

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.  

Pedro’s arm was still draped lazily around your shoulders, his body warm against yours, the scent of his cologne lingering—something woodsy, something undeniably him. You willed yourself to ignore the way your pulse picked up, to pretend your skin wasn’t tingling from the casual intimacy of it.  

Vanessa arched a brow, arms crossed as she watched the two of you with blatant amusement. “What are you doing just standing out here?” she asked, tilting her head. “You could’ve knocked at my trailer.”  

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath Pedro’s hold. “I, uh—” You cleared your throat. “I didn’t have your guys’ numbers, so I just thought I’d wait near the trailers.”  

Coco gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “You mean none of us thought to give you our numbers?” She turned to the others, looking genuinely offended. “What kind of monsters are we?”  

Ebon chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s fix this.” He pulled out his phone and waggled it in front of you. “Give me your number, we’ll add you to the group chat.”  

You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. You had kept a certain level of professional distance with the cast—sure, you’d exchanged pleasantries, worked alongside them, shared the occasional laugh—but this? Being included like this?  

Pedro, still pressed close, must have sensed your hesitation because he squeezed your shoulder lightly, his voice softer this time. “Told ya,” he murmured, just for you. “We like having you around.”  

Your chest tightened.  

Before you could overthink it, you rattled off your number, and within seconds, your phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar group chat.  

Coco grinned. “Welcome to the chaos.”  

Joseph laughed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”  

You looked down at your phone, at the flood of messages already rolling in—Vanessa sending a series of emojis, Ebon dropping a meme, Pedro sending a voice note that was probably nonsense.  

A warmth spread through you.  

Maybe you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.  

But you were sure of one thing.  

You didn’t mind being pulled deeper into this.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

Turns out, everyone was exhausted. Some opted for room service, others had plans to meet up with friends in the city. The once lively group slowly dwindled, leaving you and Pedro lingering near the car.

Without a word, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was second nature.

You blinked up at him. “Pedro—”

“I got it,” he said easily, already heading toward the car.

You huffed but didn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, the streets of London painted in golden hues from the setting sun. Pedro, ever so casually, turned to you.

“Do you wanna go out for dinner?” he asked. “Or we could just order room service.”

You shrugged, watching the buildings blur past the window. “I don’t mind either way. It’s up to you.”

Pedro hummed as if considering his options, but he didn’t push for an answer right away.

When you arrived at the hotel, the two of you walked through the dimly lit hallway to your floor. The plush carpet muffled your steps, the air between you thick with something unspoken—comfortable, warm, charged.

At your door, you kicked off your shoes, swapping them for the soft hotel slippers. Pedro did the same, toeing off his boots before setting your bag down on the small table in the suite’s living area.

“You didn’t have to carry that, you know,” you told him, watching as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up slightly.

He smirked, that lazy, insufferably charming smirk. “I didn’t have to,” he echoed. “But I wanted to.”

Your stomach did a flip.

You swallowed, folding your arms as if that might steady you. “Well… thanks.”

He shot you a wink. “Anytime, cariño.”

After flipping through the room service menu, you both settled on an easy dinner—something warm and filling without the hassle of going out. Quickly calling the food service on the landline, the order was placed, and as you sank into the plush couch, stretching your legs, you sighed.  

"During the weekend, I’ll probably go grocery shopping," you mused aloud. "Ordering room service and eating out every day is going to burn through my savings if I keep this up." You glanced at Pedro. "So, I’ll stock up on food in the pantry if I’m still, y'know… here. In your suite."  

Pedro, who had been casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, stilled. His expression shifted from amused to something unreadable. "Why?" His brows furrowed. "Where are you going?"  

You blinked at him, confused for a second. "Uh… the front desk said they might have a room for me by next week, remember?"  

"Oh." His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say anything else.  

You watched the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee, as if the thought of you moving out hadn’t quite registered until now. There was something oddly endearing about the way his frown deepened. Like he didn’t like the idea of you not being here anymore.  

Before you could think too much about it, you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. "Anyway," you said lightly, folding your arms over your chest, "you guys did great today on set."  

Pedro’s eyes flickered back to yours, and just like that, his easy grin returned.  

"Yeah?" He leaned in slightly, resting his forearm against the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Any specific compliments, or just a general ‘you guys did great’ kind of thing?"  

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his teasing. "Oh, I definitely had specific compliments." You tapped your chin, pretending to think. "Vanessa was incredible, Joseph absolutely killed his scene, Ebon had amazing delivery—"  

Pedro gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Wow. So, I just… I don’t even make the list?"  

You bit back a laugh. "I mean… you were fine."  

"Fine?" he repeated, eyes narrowing playfully.  

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Serviceable. Passable. Not bad."  

Pedro let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against the couch. "Unbelievable. Here I was, thinking you were my biggest fan."  

You giggled, nudging his knee with your foot. "You’ll survive."  

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess I will."  

The warmth in his voice made your breath hitch. You quickly looked away, pretending to check your phone as the sound of the hotel staff knocking on the door saved you from whatever moment you’d just stumbled into.  

Pedro stood up to grab the food, but not before murmuring, just low enough for you to hear—  

"But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you stuck around."  

And just like that, the butterflies were back.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE NIGHT  

The scent of warm food filled the suite as you both settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the television flickering against the dimly lit room. Pedro had absentmindedly put on a movie, something familiar and easy to watch—though neither of you seemed particularly focused on it. The conversation flowed naturally between bites of food, soft laughter filling the quiet spaces in between.  

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Pedro asked, “So… no special someone waiting for you back home?”  

You froze mid-bite, your fork hovering near your lips. It wasn’t the question itself that threw you off—it was the way he asked it. Casual, like it was just another topic of conversation, but there was something in his voice. A quiet curiosity. A weight that made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed and shook your head. “Nope,” you said simply. “It’s just me.”  

Pedro hummed, nodding slowly as he chewed. “Huh.”  

You raised an eyebrow, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

He smirked, tilting his head toward you. “Nothing. Just surprised.”  

You scoffed. “Surprised how?”  

He took his time answering, setting his own plate aside before stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers drummed lightly against the cushion behind you, close enough that if you leaned back just a little, you’d brush against them.  

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, gaze flickering to the screen before finding you again. “You’re funny, smart, kind—"  

Your eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you’re about to say something insulting.”  

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I was gonna say, I just don’t get how someone like you is single.”  

A warmth crept up your neck, and you quickly picked up your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering right away. Your heartbeat thrummed a little too fast, a little too loud.  

“I don’t know,” you murmured finally, voice quieter now. “Relationships just… never worked out for me, I guess.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, his usual playful expression softening. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he just nodded, accepting your answer without prying.  

And then—because the air was starting to feel too heavy—you smirked. “What about you? No special someone waiting for you?”  

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Nah. It’s just me, too.”  

Your lips twitched. “Well, that is surprising.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on—”  

You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot. “I’m just saying! You’re charming, talented, kind of a big deal—”  

“Kind of?” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.  

You grinned. “Kind of.”  

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how unbelievable you were, but there was a smile playing at his lips.  

And just like that, the weight in the air lightened again, the conversation slipping back into something easy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten, and the two of you sat there, side by side—closer than before, shoulders brushing every now and then.  

Neither of you moved away.

End Notes:

OOOOOHHHH?!?! Things are heating up??? Or maybe it’s literally nothing at all and it’s all in your head 😃✊

OOF— you might stop sharing the suite at the end of the week? Oh naur T^T

Thank you all for the lovely words and comments that ya’ll keep leaving on each chapter. It warms my heart and gives me fuzzy feelings that make me dizzy AAAAAAHHH

Mfs, I’m posting this while I’m outside at a club LOL

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[wordsmeetwbb]

Not Just Friends

Word count: 1.8k

Content: fluff

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I needed a break from writing smut so here's a little something about Paige and Azzi figuring out they're gay! Obviously we don't know how this happened (if it happened, but let's be honest. they play women's basketball. the odds are high.), but this is just my take on how I think those realizations would have gone. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

________

Paige was 16 when she realized that what she felt for Azzi was more than just friendship. It was August, just over a year after they had met during USA basketball. They had settled into a routine over the summer. Although they were separated by half the country, they were closer than ever.

Every evening around eight o’clock, Paige Facetimed Azzi. More often than not, Azzi picked up on the first ring and they stayed on the call until one of them (Azzi) fell asleep. Paige missed Azzi with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was lucky to talk to Azzi as much as she did. She felt lucky that Azzi wanted to talk to her as much as she did.

On one of those Facetime calls, late into the night, Paige was yapping to Azzi while the brunette struggled to keep her eyes open. Really, it wasn’t Azzi’s fault. It was nearly two in the morning and Paige hadn’t stopped talking since midnight. She had tried to annoy Azzi into staying awake for a while, but then she felt bad and let the tired girl drift off, content to provide background noise with the endless amount of stories she wanted to tell Azzi.

“And then she like, she just fuckin’ chopped it! All of it! Like a foot of hair, Az. And I was like, ‘That’s crazy,’ and she was like ‘Not all of us have emotional attachments to our hair, Paige,’ but that’s not fair. I’m not emotionally attached, I’m just picky about my gameday hair, y’know?” Paige rambled to a mostly unconscious Azzi.

“Mhm,” Azzi mumbled. Through the screen, Paige could see the way the younger girl was nestled into the pile of blankets on her bed, clutching a unicorn stuffed animal. She smiled softly.

“Anyway, she tried to tell me I should cut my hair. And obviously, I said no, because how am I gonna do gameday braids with a fucking pixie cut, right? But she just wouldn’t let up so-” Paige cut herself off when she saw Azzi’s face relax. If she really thought about it, the reason she talked so much on these calls was because she knew Azzi fell asleep easier with background noise. And if she was extra motivated by the way the younger girl looked so peaceful in her sleep, well, that was her business and no one else’s.

Paige’s eyes traced every curve, line, and crease of Azzi’s face. Her skin glowed even in the dim room, the color darker than usual from the time she’d spent in the summer sun. Paige was confident that if she had any artistic ability whatsoever she’d be able to draw Azzi perfectly from memory. The way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks with her eyes closed, the light pink tint to her nose from a little too much time outside, the curve of her plump lips- Paige had it all memorized.

Paige hated ruining these soft moments where she just got to look at Azzi without the younger girl complaining about it, but as her eyes wandered around her face a thought popped into her head.

I’ve never looked at a guy like this. Paige paused, gaze stuck on Azzi’s perfectly curved eyebrows. What an odd thing to notice. A second thought. Paige wasn’t used to thinking during these Facetimes. She didn’t think she liked it, but the ideas seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates. More observations came pouring into her subconscious.

Her lips look so soft. I wonder what they feel like. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of brown, I wish I could see them right now. I’ve never felt like this about a friend.

Paige took a deep breath, startled by her train of thought. None of the thoughts surprised her. That was the whole problem. Azzi’s eyes were pretty, and her lips did look soft, and Paige did wonder what they felt like. She just hadn’t realized she thought any of those things.

Paige thought back to a few weeks ago when one of the girls on her team had been talking about her crush on some guy in the grade above them. The things her teammate had said about that guy had sounded a lot like everything Paige was thinking about Azzi.

Oh, Paige thought. I like Azzi.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Paige was pretty sure she had always liked Azzi. She just hadn’t known it. It wasn’t until nearly a year later when she and Azzi finally confessed their feelings to each other that Paige thought about what liking Azzi meant for herself.

“You never came out to me!” Azzi had exclaimed. Paige had frozen, staring at Azzi and really, truly not understanding.

“Come out to you?” she repeated. Azzi nodded, eyebrows drawing together.

“Yeah, like, are you bi? Lesbian? I came out to you months ago and I’ve been thinking you’re straight since we met, P,” she explained, looking at Paige like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Paige said dumbly. Azzi just stared at her. “Uh, I guess I didn’t really think about it. Like, the whole not being straight thing. I just know I like you,” Paige shrugged. Azzi had blushed, the color intoxicating on her skin.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pushing Paige’s shoulder gently. Paige just grinned.

“As long as I can be your idiot.”

________

Azzi learned she was gay at three in the morning on a Thursday when she was 16. It had, in a very cliche fashion, been a dream that sparked the realization.

She had woken up, breathing hard, the blankets feeling far too hot, with memories of soft lips on hers taking up far too much space in her mind. She threw the blankets off, sitting straight up in bed, and had a full-blown gay panic.

The longer she sat there, the more pieces of the dream came back to her. At first, it was just gentle lips on her own, and then soft blonde hair running through her fingers, and then it progressed to memories of warm pale skin under her hands. Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she demanded to her brain. The clock was creeping closer to four in the morning, she had to be up for school in two hours, and she was being terrorized by completely non-platonic thoughts of her best friend. Azzi flopped face-down onto her bed and let out a scream into her pillow, realizing too late that the rest of her household was still sleeping and might have heard it.

Feeling frustratingly awake and completely insane, Azzi grabbed her phone off her nightstand and navigated into a new Google tab. “What does a dream about kissing someone mean?” she searched first. The results were straightforward, bluntly informing Azzi that dreams of kissing someone usually meant that you had romantic feelings for that person. That brought up new questions.

“How to know if I like girls?” was her next search. It was a ridiculous idea to Azzi. She had had crushes on boys before. Hell, she’d dated a boy in middle school, and as much as that wasn’t a real relationship, it definitely proved that she liked guys. So why the hell was she having a dream about kissing her best friend who was a girl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Why do I want to kiss a girl if I like guys?” Azzi tried, hoping that somebody on Reddit had the same problem as she did. Shockingly, there was a result. That’s how Azzi Fudd learned about bisexuality, and suddenly things made a lot more sense.

She tried to bring it up to Paige on their nightly Facetime that day, but Paige was being frustratingly dense.

“Hey, Paige? Have you ever thought about, like, dating somebody?” Azzi started. Paige startled, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, yeah. But not like, for real. Don’t really wanna date people because like, ew, right? Anyway, I was thinking that next year-” Azzi, feeling disproportionately upset, ended the call. Mere seconds later, her phone was ringing with another Facetime from Paige. She let it ring for a while, wanting Paige to know that she hung up on purpose. Finally, she clicked to accept the call.

“What the hell, Az? I was telling you a story,” Paige complained. Azzi glared at her.

“And I was trying to tell you something, too.” Paige looked confused.

“But you asked me a question.”

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a leading question, dumbass? I was using it as an intro to something,” Azzi grumbled. Paige had the decency to look at least a little bit sorry.

“That’s my bad, Az. It was just kind of a weird topic. Sorry, you can tell me whatever you were going to. I won’t even interrupt this time,” Paige apologized. Azzi swallowed, losing her nerve now that the moment had been drawn out so much.

“I just… uh. I wanted to tell you that I learned about something,” she said, mouth unbearably dry. Paige nodded, prompting her to go on. “You know that people can like guys and girls?” Azzi blurted out. Paige’s eyebrows shot up, surprise coloring her face, but she nodded slowly. Azzi could feel her hands shaking. She knew Paige was religious, but she was suddenly considering that this could end negatively. She didn’t give herself time to consider that outcome.

“I’m bisexual,” Azzi said quickly. She felt like her heart might beat right out of her chest. Paige looked at her for a moment, studying her through the phone. Azzi shifted uncomfortably. “Can you say something?” She asked, tone unsure. Paige cleared her throat, expression softening. Azzi felt her body relax immediately, just from noticing the change in Paige’s body language.

“You know I’m proud of you for telling me, right?” Paige asked. Azzi blinked. That was not the response she was expecting.

“You’re… proud of me?” she repeated. Paige nodded, the movement jerky through the screen. A smile spread across Azzi’s face.

“Thanks, Paige.” Paige just nodded again, a small smile on her face now.

So, from the time Azzi had the dream of kissing Paige (the first of many) to the time she came out to the blonde, her gay crisis lasted about 16 hours. When she thought about it later, years down the road, she thought it made complete sense. Azzi overthought every single thing in her life except Paige. Realizing she was bisexual was easy because it was Paige. The girl who talked her ear off on calls every night, who sent her iMessage games at ungodly hours, who always knew how to comfort her. Just Paige. Liking Paige made perfect sense.

[hancorys]

k.wh — small girl fantasy

genre: fluff, co-worker to lovers hehe, reader have a BIG FAT crush on unagi (who doesn’t) mutual pining, self-indulged pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 3176 warning: they both have responsibility crisis, both NUMBBB, lmk if i forgot any !! listen: small girl — lee youngji ft. do, binibini — zack tabudlo, take a chance with me — niki, aya — earl agustin

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet store, the flickering fluorescent lights above casting a dull glow over the aisles. your shift was dragging, and with barely any customers coming in, you found yourself wiping the already spotless counter just to keep your hands busy.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

© hancorys, 2025.

[estellan0vella]

The Greatest Fucking Tragedy: L. Mh Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 14.3K

Content Warnings: Marijuana Use, Depictions of Focal Impaired Awareness Seizures (FIAS), moments of dissociation, and post-seizure disorientation, Drowning/Non-Consensual Submersion, Retaliatory Violence, Threats of Harm, Crude Humour, Background Jilix 

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The Alpha Phi frat house smells like weed and stale beer. It’s a permanent scent, woven into the fabric of the couch cushions and lingering in the wooden floors no matter how many times Seungmin bitches about cleaning. Right now, though, the weed is winning. Thick smoke curls through the dimly lit living room, the cheap LED lights flickering in rhythm with the low hum of music playing from someone's speaker.

Minho is sprawled across the couch, legs spread, shirt discarded somewhere across the room, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He takes a slow drag from the bong before passing it to Chan, his eyes heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted. It’s a good high, the kind that makes his limbs sink into the cushions, makes the world feel warm and slow.

Across from him, Felix is perched in Jisung’s lap, and Jisung, the little shit, has both hands shoved down the front of Felix’s sweatpants. Felix barely reacts, eyes glazed over, exhaling smoke through his nose.

“Dude,” Changbin mutters, head lolling to the side as he looks at them. “At least fucking pretend like we’re not all here.”

Felix grins, a lazy, stoned smile. “Nah.”

Jisung laughs, head tipping back against the couch. “You’re just mad because you’re not getting any.”

Changbin flips him off, but it lacks any real heat.

“You know what’s actually pissing me off right now?” Hyunjin announces, draping himself dramatically across the armchair like some Renaissance painting. His long black hair falls into his face, and he exhales, letting the smoke swirl in front of him before looking at Minho. “Minho doesn’t know how to fucking swim.”

There’s a beat of silence before the entire room erupts into laughter.

Minho groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Wait, wait,” Jeongin gasps between laughs. “You’re telling me you—Lee Minho, who can probably do a backflip off a fucking moving car—can’t even float?”

“Jesus Christ,” Seungmin chokes out. “That’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Minho mutters, reaching for the bong again. “I just never fucking learned.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jisung sings, poking at Felix’s stomach while Felix tries and fails to bat his hands away.

Chan, who’s been silent up until now, takes a hit before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His short blue hair is messy, and his eyes are half-lidded, but there’s a sharp glint of amusement. “Bro, what happened? Did your parents just decide, ‘Fuck it, let’s let this one drown?’”

Minho exhales slowly, fingers flexing against his knee. “I grew up in Gimpo, dipshit. Not exactly a fucking beach town.”

“That’s bullshit,” Hyunjin interjects, sitting up suddenly. “I’ve seen kids in the middle of fucking Seoul learn to swim.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t, you fucking pretentious art bitch.”

Hyunjin gasps dramatically. “Excuse you, I’m an art history major. Say it with respect.”

“Art bitch,” Minho repeats, deadpan.

“God, that’s pathetic,” Changbin snickers. “Can’t wait to throw your ass into a pool.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” Minho warns, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, we absolutely would,” Seungmin grins. “Like, imagine the fear in his little rat face.”

“Fucking hilarious,” Jeongin agrees, laughing. “We’ll get some floaties for you, hyung.”

Minho exhales sharply through his nose, looking between them all with narrowed eyes. “Alright, you wanna go there? You wanna play this fucking game?”

Felix hums, head tilting slightly. “Always.”

Minho leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Hyunjin, you pretentious fuck, you spend more time making sad little sketches of broken statues than actually studying for your bullshit major. Jisung, you look like a fucking poodle with that mop on your head, and I hope you choke on Felix’s dick one day and die happy. Felix, your mullet is an actual crime, and I’m gonna shave that shit in your sleep.”

Felix gasps, clutching at his chest. “Rude.”

“Jeongin, your entire wardrobe looks like it came from a thrift store run by blind grandmas, and Seungmin, I hope every client you have in the future fucking sues you into the ground.”

Seungmin just grins. “That’s fair.”

Minho shifts his glare to Changbin. “And you, motherfucker, I hope you trip over your own fucking dumbbells and break both your legs so I never have to hear you talk about leg day again.”

Changbin snorts. “Joke’s on you, I’d just talk about arm day instead.”

Minho exhales sharply, leaning back against the couch. “Fuck all of you.”

Chan chuckles, passing the bong again. “Love you too, dumbass.”

“You know what, though?” Jisung suddenly pipes up, squinting in Hyunjin’s direction. “Hyunjin, you were the dirty bastard that left the used condom in the hallway after banging that Kappa Tau girl.”

A collective groan fills the room, a mix of disgust and exasperation.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Changbin grumbles, shaking his head. “I stepped near that shit, man. You’re fucking nasty.”

Hyunjin, instead of looking remotely ashamed, stretches his arms above his head lazily. “That may be true,” he admits, voice smooth and amused, “however, no one saw me bang that girl.” He smirks at Jisung and Felix. “But we all saw you two going at it on the couch that one time, you dirty exhibitionists.”

Felix, without hesitation, points an accusing finger at Hyunjin and shouts, “Homophobia!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad because your past sins are being brought to light.”

“It’s not a sin,” Jisung grins, tightening his arms around Felix’s waist. “It’s called being in love, bitch.”

Seungmin, who’s been lazily nursing a beer on the other side of the couch, snorts. “Jisung’s probably fondling Felix’s balls right now.”

Felix smirks. “He is, actually.” He adjusts slightly in Jisung’s lap. “I’ve been at a semi for like twenty minutes.”

Jeongin groans, burying his face in his hands. “Fucking gross.”

“Hey, don’t kink shame,” Felix says with mock offence, raising his brows.

Minho takes a slow drag from the bong before passing it off and exhaling through his nose. “Shame,” he deadpans. “So much shame. We all saw Jisung balls deep in you, Felix.”

Felix just shrugs, completely unbothered. “And? You're all just jealous.”

“We also saw Jisung’s nasty balls,” Hyunjin pipes up with a smirk, “and his surprisingly fat ass.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse you! My ass is none of your concern.”

Hyunjin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It became my concern the moment I had to witness it in a position I never wanted to see.”

Jisung glares. “Hyunjin, we all saw your used jizzy condom.”

Hyunjin smirks back. “But we all saw your nasty balls.”

Jisung whines, kicking his feet. “I fucking hate you.”

Felix laughs, patting Jisung’s cheek. “Ji, baby, your balls aren’t nasty or else I wouldn’t put them in my mouth.”

A collective groan of disgust echoes through the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man,” Chan mutters, rubbing his face. “I’m too high for this conversation.”

Jisung just grins proudly while Hyunjin mock gags. “You’re the most insufferable couple I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

“You’re the one,” Jisung suddenly snaps back, pointing an accusing finger, “who, instead of using tissues like a normal fucking person, used a sock to clean up after your wank sessions.”

Hyunjin instantly straightens. “Wait, hold the fuck up-”

Jisung steamrolls over him. “And then, like the absolute menace you are, you had the fucking audacity to send me looking for a pair of your socks when you sprained your ankle last semester.”

The room goes dead silent. Then Changbin lets out a wheeze.

“Oh my fucking god,” Seungmin mutters, eyes wide with horror. “No.”

“Yes,” Jisung continues, as if reliving a war story. “Me, being a good fucking friend, went upstairs, searched through your shit, and found your sordid sock of shame.” His voice rises in outrage. “It was hard, Hyunjin. Socks shouldn’t be fucking hard!”

The entire room erupts into chaos. Felix practically falls off Jisung’s lap from laughing so hard, while Jeongin looks seconds away from leaving the house altogether.

“Hyunjin, what the actual fuck?” Chan gasps, leaning away from him.

“You nasty fuck,” Changbin wheezes, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Jeongin mutters.

Minho just smirks, watching the conversation unfold, deeply satisfied that the attention is nowhere near his lack of swimming skills anymore.

Hyunjin groans, running a hand down his face. “Alright, first of all, that was one fucking time-”

Jisung interrupts with a loud, “Bullshit!”

Hyunjin glares. “Second of all, why the fuck were you digging that deep in my stuff?”

“Because I thought I was helping a fucking friend,” Jisung snaps back. “I didn’t think I had to watch out for a biohazard!”

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin mutters.

“I’m gonna get you a box of tissues,” Felix laughs, wiping his eyes. “That was the most disgusting shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You all suck,” Hyunjin huffs, slouching back into the chair.

“Not as much as Felix,” Jisung quips.

Felix beams. “That’s right, baby.”

The argument between Jisung and Hyunjin doesn’t die down. If anything, it escalates, because neither of them knows when to shut the fuck up.

Hyunjin suddenly grins, pointing at Jisung with a newfound spark of mischief in his eyes. “You wanna talk about nasty? You fucking humped one of Felix’s pillows once.”

The entire room explodes with laughter, except for Jisung, who lets out the most inhuman screech imaginable.

Felix, to everyone’s surprise, doesn’t even look offended. Instead, he tilts his head, looking at Jisung fondly. “That’s cute, Ji.”

Jisung glares at Hyunjin, face burning red. “Yeah, well, Hyunjin fucking jerked off while wearing one of Changbin’s hoodies!”

The laughter somehow gets even louder.

Changbin, who had been taking a sip of his drink, immediately chokes. “What the fuck?”

“I fucking knew it!” Seungmin yells.

“I don’t fucking know why you’re all so surprised,” Minho mutters, shaking his head.

Hyunjin throws his hands up defensively. “Okay, first of all, that hoodie was comfy as fuck. Second of all, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Oh, it became my business,” Jisung snaps. “Because you’re a fucking weirdo.”

Felix, wiping tears from his eyes, claps his hands together. “Alright, enough talking. Time for physical violence.”

And just like that, all hell breaks loose.

Jisung and Felix immediately launch themselves at Minho, and Jisung shouts, “POWER OF THE GAY BOYFRIENDS!”

Felix follows it up with a very enthusiastic, “YEAH! Like Power Rangers!”

Minho doesn’t have time to roll his eyes before Jisung tries to tackle him, but Minho is faster. Years of football training make it easy for him to dodge, and he grabs Jisung by the waist, flipping him effortlessly over his shoulder and slamming him down onto the couch. Before Jisung can wriggle away, Minho shifts, trapping him between his thighs in a tight grip.

Felix tries to grab Minho from behind, but Chan, who had been minding his own business, too high to care, suddenly gets dragged into the mess when Minho pulls him forward, locking an arm around his neck in a headlock.

“Fucking traitor!” Chan gasps, squirming.

Minho just grins, tightening his hold on both of them. “You little shits thought you could take me?”

Felix, still determined, throws himself forward, trying to grab Minho’s arm. But Minho is faster, he catches Felix mid-motion, wrapping an arm around his neck and securing him in another headlock.

“I got two of you now,” Minho announces, grinning wildly.

Felix flails. “Let me go, you fucking rat bastard!”

Jisung is still trapped between Minho’s thighs, thrashing wildly. “Felix! Betrayal! He got me!”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Jeongin and Seungmin are wrestling like rabid dogs.

“Your fashion sense fucking sucks!” Jeongin yells, trying to shove Seungmin off him.

“Oh yeah?!” Seungmin barks back, gripping Jeongin’s shirt and yanking him down. “At least I don’t look like a thrift store threw up on me!”

“I fucking told you, vintage is in, asshole!”

Changbin and Hyunjin have also somehow ended up grappling with each other. At first, it was just playful shoving, but now Changbin has Hyunjin pinned down, and Hyunjin, breathless, suddenly blurts out, “I’m weirdly into this. Is it because I’m bisexual or submissive?”

Without missing a beat, Minho, who still has both Chan and Felix in a headlock, calls out, “Both.”

Jisung takes advantage of the distraction and bites down on Minho’s thigh. “OW, YOU FUCKING GREMLIN!” Minho yells, immediately releasing his hold on Chan and Felix to shove Jisung off.

Jisung cackles maniacally, rolling off the couch. “FUCKING WORTH IT!”

Chan, now free, immediately lunges at Minho, tackling him. “Payback, bitch!”

Felix joins in, piling on top of them. “GET HIM!”

On the other side of the room, Seungmin has Jeongin in a headlock, Jeongin is still screaming about fashion, Changbin has Hyunjin pinned, and overall, the frat house is complete fucking chaos.

Just another normal night in Alpha Phi.

Minho stands in the frat house kitchen, flipping thinly sliced beef in a pan, the rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil filling the air. His black hair is damp from a quick shower after the royal rumble in the living room, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. A cluster of Hello Kitty bandaids is haphazardly slapped onto his thigh, covering the spot where Jisung fucking bit him like a rabid animal. He still doesn’t know where the hell Felix got Hello Kitty bandaids from, but at this point, he’s given up questioning anything in this house.

Just as he’s about to taste a piece of bulgogi straight from the pan, Chan strolls in, looking far too smug for someone who got his ass handed to him in the wrestling match earlier. He props himself up against the counter, arms crossed, watching Minho cook.

“Hey,” Chan starts, casual. Too casual.

Minho narrows his eyes immediately. “What.”

“I have a friend who can teach you how to swim.”

Minho blinks, staring at him. Then, slowly, he reaches over and turns down the heat on the stove before resting his hands on the counter. “You have friends outside of the frat?”

Chan scoffs, shoving at his shoulder. “Obviously, dumbass.”

“I don’t believe you.” Minho smirks, popping a piece of bulgogi into his mouth. “You leave this house for, like, two things. Football and music. That’s it.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “She’s an architecture major. Business minor. She’s the year below us, and she’s on the swim team.”

Minho chews, waiting for him to continue. “And?”

Chan exhales. “She’s kind of anxious. Kind of like Jisung, but where Jisung’s awkward and loud, she’s just quiet, doesn't really speak unless she has something to say.”

Minho hums, tossing the beef in the pan. “Okay.”

Chan leans against the counter. “Go to the college pool tomorrow night. That’s when she’s there. Just explain that you’re like a baby that got tossed into water, and she’ll take pity on you.”

Minho snorts. “Wow. That’s a real confidence boost.”

“She’s nice,” Chan says, ignoring him. “She’ll help.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “She hot?”

Without hesitation, Chan slaps the back of Minho’s head as hard as he can.

“Fuck!” Minho hisses, rubbing his skull. “What the fuck was that for?”

Chan glares. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Minho smirks, rolling his shoulders. “Well? Is she?”

Chan slaps him again, this time across the arm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Minho mutters, taking a step back. “I’ll just keep asking.”

Chan exhales through his nose, looking like he’s fighting the urge to hit him again. “Objectively, as a straight man? Yes. She’s attractive. But I don’t look at her that way.”

Minho takes another bite of beef, chewing thoughtfully. “Fine. I’ll go and see what she’s about.”

Chan nods, pleased. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence, just the quiet sound of the stovetop sizzling. Then Chan adds, “Oh, also, she has epilepsy. FIAS.”

Minho’s chewing slows slightly, then he swallows. “Focal impaired awareness seizures, right?” He glances at Chan. “They covered it in my first aid certification course.”

Chan raises his brows, looking impressed. “Yeah.”

Minho shrugs, flipping the last of the beef onto a plate. “Alright.”

Chan watches him carefully. “That’s it?”

Minho scoffs. “What, did you expect me to freak out? ‘Oh no, the girl who’s gonna teach me how to swim has a medical condition, I guess I’ll just drown instead’?”

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “No, but I figured you’d at least have some dumbass question.”

Minho grabs chopsticks and digs into his plate, shrugging again. “Nah. I got it.”

Chan watches him for another second, then claps a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Just don’t be a dick.”

Minho grins, mouth full. “No promises.”

The air inside the college swimming centre is thick with the scent of chlorine, the sound of water lapping against tiled edges echoing through the vast space. Minho walks in, hands in his pockets, boots heavy against the slick flooring. His black top, with open-knit sleeves exposing glimpses of his arms, contrasts against the bright, sterile lights overhead. His black pants, speckled with splatter-paint details, shift slightly as he moves, and the layered silver chains around his neck glint under the fluorescents. The star-shaped pendant catches the light with each step.

His eyes scan the pool, and then he sees you.

You're in the water, moving with eerie precision, muscles cutting through the water like you were born for it. Your blue hair, tied back into a ponytail, gleams under the lights, the two silver strands at the front catching his attention. You’re wearing black yoga shorts and a white T-shirt, slightly translucent from the water, revealing the black swimsuit underneath.

Minho watches as you push off from the shallow end, slipping entirely under the surface. You don’t come up. Not once. He watches, eyebrows raising, as you glide through the water, streamlined, controlled. Your body moves with an effortless fluidity, and he finds himself unable to look away.

By the time you reach the deep end, a full fifty metres later, you finally surface. Not even gasping. Not even fucking struggling. You just exhale sharply, hands sweeping through the water to keep yourself afloat.

What the fuck.

Minho smirks, stepping closer to the edge of the pool. "Hi."

Your head turns towards him as you tread water, eyes sharp and calculating as they land on him. Your expression is calm, blank, like you're not entirely sure what to do with his presence.

He tilts his head slightly. “I’m Minho,” he says, tone easy, casual. “I, uh-” He gestures vaguely. “Need to learn how to swim. Because I’m sick of my asshole friends picking on me for it.” He grins. “It’s my only flaw, really.”

You blink at him.

Undeterred, he continues. “I’m free Wednesdays and Fridays. Whichever works for you. Chan referred me to you, so here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence, the water shifting gently around you. Then, finally, you speak.

"You need some swimming trunks."

Your voice is soft, quiet, but not hesitant. Minho watches the way your lips barely move when you speak, like you're used to making yourself small. He leans forward slightly, smirk deepening. "I can get those."

"Friday nights. Late."

"See you then, mermaid girl," Minho says, stepping back slightly. Then he pauses. "Wait, Chan mentioned FIAS. What happens if that happens in the water?"

You meet his gaze evenly, voice completely flat. "I pray."

Minho snorts. The bluntness catches him off guard, and for the first time, he sees your lips twitch, just barely. It's small, barely a movement, but he sees it.

Interesting.

"See you Friday, then," he says, turning on his heel, already looking forward to whatever the fuck this is going to be.

Minho arrives at the swimming centre late Friday night, the place eerily quiet except for the distant sound of water lapping against the edges of the pool. The fluorescent lights cast a cold, sterile glow over the tiled floors as he steps inside, heading straight for the men’s locker room. He’s dressed in sneakers, sweatpants, and a hoodie, his usual go-to for lazy days, but now, faced with the inevitable, he exhales sharply.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, stripping out of his clothes.

He pulls on the black swimming trunks he bought earlier that day, minimalist, simple, no unnecessary designs, because he refuses to wear some ridiculous board shorts with neon patterns like an overexcited tourist. He rolls his shoulders, shakes out his arms, and then, satisfied, steps out of the locker room and into the main pool area.

You’re already there, standing by the edge of the shallow end, your blue hair tied back into a ponytail, the two silver strands in the front catching the light as they sway slightly. You’re wearing the same white T-shirt and blue yoga shorts as before, the fabric damp from where the water has already lapped at the edges.

Minho watches as you drop into the pool effortlessly, slipping beneath the water before resurfacing in the shallow end. The movement is smooth, controlled, as if the water is an extension of you rather than something separate.

Minho, however, is not fucking graceful.

He carefully climbs in, feeling the cold water instantly hit his skin. The chill makes him jolt, and before he can stop himself, his hands fly up to his chest, covering his nipples.

“Oh my!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched in mock horror.

Then he pauses, blinking.

“Fuck,” he snorts, shaking his head. “I sounded like Dorothy Gale.”

Your expression remains neutral, but the slight quirk of your lips does not go unnoticed.

Minho grins. “You’re holding back a laugh.”

“I’m not,” you say, though your voice is softer than before, almost amused.

“Liar,” he hums, letting his hands drop back to the water. “Alright, teach. What’s first?”

Without a word, you grab two inflatable armbands and a bright orange life jacket, stepping forward to hand them to him.

Minho stares at them, unimpressed. “Really?”

“No risk of drowning if you wear those.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but pulls them on anyway, the plastic squeaking slightly against his arms. The life jacket is a little snug, but he fastens it without complaint, standing in the water looking every bit like a grown-ass man being forced into safety gear like a toddler at the beach.

“This is humiliating,” he mutters.

You don’t comment, simply nodding towards the water. “Lie on your front and kick your legs.”

Minho eyes you suspiciously before doing as instructed. He stretches out, floating on his stomach, and starts kicking. The water splashes aggressively around him, but he doesn’t fucking move.

He pauses. Kicks harder. Still nothing.

You tilt your head slightly, watching the sad display. “Okay. New plan.”

Minho flips onto his back, groaning. “Thank fuck.”

You step closer, extending your hands toward him. “Hold my hands, and then kick your legs. I’ll pull you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches forward, grasping your hands in his own. Your grip is surprisingly strong despite your smaller frame, steady and sure, like you know exactly how to keep control.

Minho lets you guide him, kicking his legs as you gently pull him through the shallow end. It’s not exactly the most dignified moment of his life, but he supposes he has to start somewhere.

“We’ll stick to the shallow end for now,” you say, voice calm and even. “You need to get comfortable in the water.”

Minho watches you as you focus, your movements precise, controlled. Your face is unreadable, but he can tell you’re completely in your element here, unbothered by the water surrounding you.

“You know,” he muses, kicking lightly, “for someone so quiet, you sure take your job as a teacher seriously.”

Your grip on his hands remains steady. “You’d rather I let you drown?”

“Nah,” he grins. “I like the attention.”

"Keep kicking,"

Minho groans as he keeps kicking, his legs starting to ache. “This is fucking tiring,” he complains, gripping your hands tighter as you continue pulling him through the shallow end. The life jacket and armbands are doing most of the work, but still, kicking non-stop is a workout.

You don’t respond, just keep moving, your expression unreadable as always. The water ripples around you both, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the surface. Minho watches the way you move, barely making a sound, like you’ve done this a million times before.

Then, suddenly, you stop.

Minho doesn’t.

“Oof! Fuck,” he grunts as his face smacks directly into your stomach. His fingers clutch yours tighter on instinct, and for a second, he just stays there, processing the fact that he’s literally face-planted into you. He blinks before pulling back slightly.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. Minho straightens up immediately, expecting some sort of reaction, maybe a shove, a deadpan glare, a snarky comment, but instead, you’re just standing there. Your body is still, eyes unfocused as you stare off into the distance, expression blank.

His brow furrows. “Uh, hello?”

You don’t react. Minho tilts his head. Then, cautiously, he waves one of his hands in front of your face, letting you hold the other. Your fingers twitch again, slight, barely noticeable, but he feels it. 

Then it clicks.

“Oh,” he mutters, realization settling in. “It’s happening, huh?”

You remain frozen, still staring at nothing. Minho watches closely, observing the subtle shifts in your body. Your fingers keep twitching against his palm, and there’s the faintest movement in your lips, like you’re about to say something but never quite get there. He’s seen shit like this before, at least in training videos, but seeing it in person is different.

“Damn,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “That’s actually kind of cool.”

He inches closer, curious, watching the way your expression remains eerily blank. He wonders what it feels like, if you’re aware of what’s happening or if it’s just an empty space in your head. He’s about to say something else when you suddenly blink rapidly, your head jerking slightly.

Your eyes focus again and then you yelp when you see a pair of brown eyes inches from your own. Minho barely has time to react before you start toppling back into the water. His hands shoot out, grabbing you by the waist before you go under, keeping you steady. His grip is firm but careful, keeping you upright as you breathe sharply, eyes wide.

“Whoa, easy there, mermaid girl,” he says, smirking slightly. “You good?”

You blink up at him, hands gripping his arms instinctively, body still slightly tense from the abrupt shift. Your lips press together briefly before you nod, adjusting yourself so you're standing properly again.

Minho doesn’t let go immediately, watching you closely, making sure you’re not about to keel over again. Your fingers tighten slightly on his arms before you let go, taking a small step back. “Sorry.”

He snorts. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?”

You just shake your head, as if brushing it off, and Minho narrows his eyes slightly. “Does that happen often?” he asks.

You hesitate, then nod. “Sometimes.”

Minho watches you for a second longer, then finally releases his hold on you, stepping back as well. “Huh.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Huh?”

Minho shrugs. “I dunno. Just thought it’d be more dramatic. Like glowing eyes, speaking in tongues-”

You stare at him.

He grins. “What? I think that’d be cool as fuck.”

Your lips twitch again. Not quite a smile, but something close. Minho notices and he finds himself already looking forward to seeing more of it.

Minho wakes up feeling like absolute fucking death. The moment he tries to move, his muscles scream in protest. His legs? Useless. His arms? Betrayers. His back? Feels like he got hit by a fucking truck. He groans, flopping onto his side, and staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. He knew swimming was a workout, but this? This feels like he spent all night fighting for his life against a bear and lost.

After several moments of regretting every decision that led to this moment, he decides he needs to get to the kitchen. Food. Coffee. Maybe painkillers. Preferably all three.

Except there’s one problem, his legs don’t work.

With a grunt, he rolls onto his stomach and starts crawling out of his room. The frat house hallway is silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards beneath his weight as he drags himself forward. His limbs feel like jelly, completely useless beneath him.

He pauses, exhales sharply, then keeps going, determined. If he dies, at least let it be in the kitchen where someone will find him before his corpse starts to stink.

Reaching the staircase, Minho stares down at the steps like they personally wronged him. No way he’s walking down those. Not happening. Not when his legs feel like they’re made of fucking pudding. So he sits his ass down on the top step, grips the railing, and starts bum-shuffling his way down like a fucking toddler. Every bounce sends a fresh wave of agony through his body.

Fucking fuck. Fucking swimming. Fucking Chan. Fucking mermaid girl.

By the time he reaches the bottom, he’s out of breath. This is the worst workout of his life, and it’s just existing at this point. He flops onto his back for a second, groaning, before realizing he still has to make it to the kitchen.

So he rolls back onto his stomach and starts crawling again.

This time, he doesn’t even pretend to make it look dignified. He’s just dragging himself forward with his arms, barely using his legs. Like some pathetic fucking soldier crawling through the trenches.

When he finally reaches the kitchen doorway, he gives up. Completely. With a dramatic groan, he sprawls out on the cool tile floor, pressing his face against it, arms and legs splayed out like a crime scene chalk outline. "I'll nap here," he mutters, voice muffled against the floor.

And he means it. If this is how he dies, so be it.

An hour later, the frat house is still mostly silent, everyone either still asleep or too hungover to move. The only sound is the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

Then, Jisung stumbles into the kitchen.

Still half-asleep, he drags his socked feet across the tile, rubbing his face, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and he looks like he just crawled out of hell.

Which is exactly why he doesn’t see Minho sprawled out like a fucking corpse in the doorway. With absolutely no warning, Jisung’s foot slams down onto Minho’s ribs.

"FUCK!" Minho yells, jolting awake as if he’s just been electrocuted.

Jisung screams too, flailing backwards. "WHO THE FUCK- WHY THE FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK."

Minho groans dramatically, rolling onto his back. “Ji, you fucking dickhead.”

“Me?” Jisung yells, gripping the kitchen counter to keep himself steady. “Why the fuck are you sleeping on the goddamn floor like some fucking Victorian orphan?!”

Minho sighs, cheek still pressed against the cool tile. "Legs don’t work. I’m dead."

Jisung blinks, looking down at him, expression shifting from pure horror to vague amusement. “Wait, for real?”

Minho just groans in response.

Jisung smirks, stretching his arms above his head. “Damn. Sounds like a you problem.”

Minho lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Ji, drag me to the kitchen table.”

Jisung stares at him. “You want me to drag you?”

“Yes. By my ankles. Do it.”

Jisung shrugs. “Alright, bet.”

Without another word, Jisung crouches down, grabs Minho’s ankles, and yanks. Minho grunts as his body scrapes across the tile, arms flopping uselessly at his sides like a fucking ragdoll. The kitchen floor is cold and definitely not clean, but at this point, he has no fucking dignity left.

Jisung keeps dragging him across the room, humming casually, like this is a completely normal morning routine. By the time they reach the table, Minho is done. His pride? Gone. His will to live? Questionable.

Jisung finally stops and hoists Minho up into one of the chairs, grunting as he shoves him into a semi-sitting position. “Jesus, you’re fucking heavy,” Jisung mutters, rubbing his arms.

Minho flops against the table dramatically. “Coffee?”

Jisung leans against the counter, eyeing him. “You want it black or with a side of my dick in it?”

Minho barely lifts his head. “Both.”

Jisung snorts, shaking his head. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Minho sighs, pressing his cheek against the cool surface of the table. “I love you.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, grabbing the coffee pot. “Yeah, yeah. You’re buying me breakfast, asshole.”

The swimming centre is eerily quiet this late at night, just the low hum of overhead lights and the distant echo of water lapping against the pool’s edges. Minho steps inside, adjusting the collar of his black leather jacket, his boots clicking softly against the tiled floor. Underneath, he’s wearing a simple black top, paired with heavily distressed light-wash jeans that hang loose around his frame. His silver chains clink softly with each movement.

He scans the pool area, expecting to see you standing by the water like last time. Instead, his eyes travel upward and his stomach fucking drops. You’re on the highest diving board.

Minho freezes, every muscle in his body locking up as his palms instantly start to sweat. The fuck are you doing up there? The fuck are you doing up there? His own fear of heights kicks in violently, making his heartbeat hammer in his chest.

Then, before he can even breathe, you leap off.

“Oh, what the fuck-” Minho slaps his hands over his eyes, peeking through his fingers like a horrified child watching a horror movie.

You free-tumble through the air, flipping effortlessly, the movements fluid and controlled like you’re meant to do this, like gravity is just a suggestion. Right before you hit the water, you take perfect form, slicing through the surface with barely a splash.

Minho drops his hands, exhaling sharply, watching as you pop up to the surface like it’s nothing, slicking your hair back casually.

You’re insane.

“I’m gonna go change,” Minho announces, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You just nod. He watches you for a second, still processing the absolute insanity he just witnessed. Then, a thought strikes him. “Is that safe for epilepsy?”

You shrug and Minho stares. “Cool, cool, cool. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt.”

Then he turns on his heel and beelines for the locker room, already questioning every fucking choice that led him to this moment.

Minho steps out of the locker room, now clad only in his black swimming trunks, his skin still chilled from the air-conditioning inside. The moment he emerges, he spots you standing by the pool, waiting, with those fucking armbands and life jacket again.

He stops in his tracks. "You’ve got to be shitting me."

You don’t even blink, just extend them towards him like it’s non-negotiable.

With a long, suffering sigh, Minho stomps over, yanking the armbands onto his arms before grudgingly pulling on the life jacket. It squeaks slightly as he fastens the buckles. He steps into the pool and immediately tenses at the coldness. “Fucking shit, fuck-”

You wait, completely still, just watching as he hisses through his teeth before finally sinking deeper, water lapping at his shoulders.

“This is actual torture. I’m filing a fucking lawsuit.”

You ignore his dramatics. “Okay,” you say evenly, voice calm, “so today, we’re going to get you comfortable with not being able to touch the floor.”

Before Minho can protest, you grab the back of his life vest and start towing him toward the middle of the pool. “Let me go!” he yelps, kicking his legs as if that’s going to help.

You nod. “Okay.”

And then you fucking do.

Minho immediately freezes, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes. He’s just floating. Not touching the ground. No solid surface beneath him. Just water. His muscles tense, but instead of immediately drowning like his instincts scream he’s about to, he just bobs.

Minho blinks.

You’re treading water beside him, effortlessly balanced. “See? You’re fine.”

He exhales, body still stiff, but, yeah. He’s fine. He lets himself bob around for a bit, staring at the ceiling, processing the fact that he hasn’t died yet.

After a few moments, you speak again. "Want to know next week’s lesson?"

Minho glances over warily. “What?”

You meet his gaze, voice neutral. “Getting comfortable being underwater. Fully submerged.”

Minho immediately straightens. “The fuck I am!”

Panic shoots through him as he starts paddling away, pathetically, in what can only be described as the saddest attempt at a doggy paddle ever witnessed. He doesn’t get far. Because you just grab his ankle and tow him back.

“NO!” he yells, flailing. “FUCKING LET ME GO!”

You don’t even struggle, just calmly drag him back toward the centre of the pool like he’s some misbehaving pet. Minho groans in defeat, throwing his head back.

This is actual fucking hell.

Minho storms into the frat house living room and immediately regrets it because Jisung and Felix are making out on the fucking couch. “For fuck’s sake,” Minho groans, marching over. “Do you two ever fucking stop?”

Jisung barely acknowledges him, just waves a lazy hand in Minho’s direction while still attached to Felix’s mouth. Minho scowls. Fuck this. He grabs the back of Jisung’s hoodie and yanks.

“HEY!” Jisung yelps as he gets ripped away from Felix, arms flailing. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Felix blinks at the sudden loss of contact, lips slightly swollen. “Uh why?”

Minho ignores the way Felix looks two seconds away from pouting. “I need him,” he says simply, already dragging Jisung toward the stairs.

Jisung stumbles after him, grumbling. “Can I at least finish-?”

“No.”

“Jesus, you’re strong for a dude who doesn’t even fucking swim.”

Minho hauls him up the stairs, yanks open his bedroom door, and shoves him inside before slamming it shut.

Jisung huffs, straightening his hoodie. “Alright, asshole, what the fuck is this? Why am I here? And why-” He pauses, eyes locking onto the bathtub, which is completely full of ice water. “-the fuck is your bath full of ice?”

Minho sighs. “I need your help.”

Jisung squints at him. “With what? Are you planning a fucking polar bear plunge?”

Minho runs a hand through his hair. “I’m taking swimming lessons.”

Jisung stares at him for a long moment. Then, he just nods. “Finally. The bullying worked.”

Minho glares. “Fuck you.”

Jisung grins, clearly too pleased with himself. “So, what? You’re trying to get used to freezing to death?”

Minho exhales sharply. “My teacher wants me to get comfortable underwater, and I don’t want to look like a bitch in front of her. So, you’re helping me practice until next Friday so I can show her I can do this shit.”

Jisung snorts, crossing his arms. “And you think dunking yourself in a fucking ice bath is the way to go?”

Minho gestures toward the tub. “Water’s water.”

Jisung shrugs. “Fair enough.” He gestures toward the bath. “Get in, then.”

Minho grimaces, looking at the water like it personally offended him. “You’re gonna have to force me in.”

Jisung blinks. “Are you serious?”

Minho nods. “Dead fucking serious. My body is screaming ‘fuck that’ right now.”

Jisung grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Before Minho can protest, Jisung grabs him by the arms and lifts him straight off the floor.

“WAIT- FUCK-”

Jisung drops him into the ice water. Minho screams. Not just any scream. A full-body, guttural, horror-movie victim scream. “FUCKING SHIT! JISUNG, YOU FUCKING DEMON SPAWN!”

Jisung, completely unbothered, leans over the tub. “Deep breath.”

Minho whips his head around, shivering violently. “What? Why?”

Jisung shoves his head under the water. The cold hits like a fucking truck. Minho flails, the shock rattling every nerve in his body, but Jisung holds him down. 

Ten seconds. Ten seconds of pure, fucking misery.

Then Jisung yanks him back up. Minho gasps, sputtering water, eyes wild. “WHAT THE FUCK-”

Jisung claps him on the shoulder. “Only five more days of this. Deep breath.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Wait-”

“Three, two, one.”

And back under.

Underwater, Minho screams, but all that comes out are bubbles. He starts shouting curses at Jisung from beneath the water, muffled but angry as fuck. Jisung just grins, keeping him down.

This is absolutely the best part of his fucking week.

The water is cool against Minho’s skin as he drops into the shallow end of the pool, his silver chains glinting under the fluorescent lights. The weight of them against his collarbones is familiar, grounding. The past week of Jisung’s torture training has prepared him for this moment, and for once, he doesn’t hesitate before stepping into the water.

You swim over to him, moving effortlessly, your sage green yoga shorts clinging to your hips, your white T-shirt damp and slightly translucent from the water. Minho catches the slight contrast of your sage green bikini top beneath it, but he doesn’t let his gaze linger.

"You ready for submersion?" you ask, voice quiet but steady.

Minho grins, rolling his shoulders. "Yep," he says confidently. "I fucking trained for this."

And without waiting for a response, he drops under the water. 

Everything muffles. The sounds of the pool, the hum of the building, even his own heartbeat, it all dulls to a distant echo as he sinks just enough for his head to fully submerge. He hovers there, his body bobbing slightly, legs kicking just enough to keep him steady. His lungs burn slightly, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost peaceful.

Then his mind starts wandering. Why the fuck is he so desperate to impress you? It’s not like he gives a shit about what people think of him. He’s always been confident, always had people watching him, but this feels different.

And then, before he can stop himself, his thoughts shift. To you. To how fucking beautiful you are. And then, seamlessly, to all the filthy fucking things he wants to do to you.

Minho smirks to himself, keeping his face submerged as his brain dives headfirst into every inappropriate thought he probably shouldn’t be having in a fucking swimming pool. But fuck it.

He thinks about you in his bed, tangled in his sheets, your body pressed against his as he drags his teeth over your skin, making you moan for him and him only. He thinks about your legs wrapped around his head, your hands clutching at his hair as he eats you out, taking his time, drowning in you in the best fucking way. He thinks about you with your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs as he fucks you, your breath hitching, voice breaking as you say his name the way he wants to hear it.

His lungs start burning a little more now, but he stays under, letting the thoughts roll through him like waves. Then, finally, he pushes himself up.

He breaks the surface, shaking the water from his hair, and immediately locks eyes with you.

"Forty-six seconds," you say, nodding slightly. "Impressive."

Minho grins, still thinking about the absolute filth that just went through his mind. "Told you I trained."

You just hum, watching him, but something in your gaze makes him wonder if you can somehow tell what he was just thinking about.

Then, after a pause, you say, "Hey, what's the best way to shut a guy down?"

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Depends. Are we talking politely or effectively?"

You tilt your head slightly. "Just straightforward."

Minho shrugs. "Just say, ‘Hey, not interested.’ That’s it. No explanation needed."

You nod, processing that. "Okay."

Minho narrows his eyes. "Wait, who the fuck are you rejecting?"

"Just some guy who asked me out that I’m not interested in."

Minho immediately wants to ask who, but shakes it off. Instead, he smirks. "There is another option. Do this." He lifts both middle fingers.

You pause, watching him, and for the first time since he met you, you smile. Not a twitch of the lips. Not just a small reaction. A real, actual fucking smile. And Minho feels it hit him straight in the chest like a fucking wrecking ball.

Oh, he’s in trouble.

The pool water is cooler than usual tonight, but Minho barely registers it as he steps in, his silver chains clinking softly against his collarbones. You’re already there, standing waist-deep, your blue yoga shorts clinging to your hips, your white T-shirt damp against your frame with the blue bikini top just barely visible underneath. Your hair is tied back as always, those silver strands framing your face. 

"Okay," you say, voice smooth, measured. "You're learning breaststroke today. It’s the easiest for beginners. You keep your head up."

Minho nods, already bracing himself for whatever bullshit he’s about to endure.

You hand him the life vest. Without hesitation, he pulls it on, tightening the straps. At this point, he barely even complains about it anymore, just accepts his fate.

"Lie on your front," you instruct.

Minho exhales through his nose and flips onto his stomach, legs floating behind him.

"Hold the wall," you say.

Minho grips it, brows slightly furrowed.

"Legs are important in breaststroke," you continue, treading water next to him. "You kick your legs in a circular motion to propel yourself through the water. The legs are the primary source of propulsion, so it's important to get the technique right."

Minho hums, tilting his head slightly. "So what do I need to do?"

You watch him for a moment, then explain, your voice steady, clear. "Start with your legs in a streamlined position, feet pointed. Then," You pause. "Bring your heels towards your ass, with your knees slightly over hip-width apart."

Minho listens, brows furrowing slightly as he tries to visualize it.

"As your heels come up, turn your feet and knees out," you continue. "Then push your feet back in a circular motion. Finish with your legs together, stretched out, and in a streamlined position."

Minho blinks at the ceiling for a second. "That’s a lot of fucking steps."

"It’ll feel more natural once you start," you say simply. "Go ahead. Try it."

Still gripping the wall, Minho starts practising the motions, his legs moving through the water, awkward at first, but getting smoother as he repeats the cycle.

And then, your hand presses against his stomach. Minho freezes, muscles tensing beneath your touch. "Focus on keeping your core strong while you work your legs," you say, completely unaware of the absolute fucking war raging in Minho’s head right now.

Minho nods stiffly, resuming the leg motions, but all he can think about is how soft your hand feels against his bare skin, how close you are, how he’d kill to touch you in return. But he pushes the thoughts aside.

Because fuck that, he needs to get this right. He focuses hard, making sure his legs move in the correct circular pattern, making sure his core stays tight, making sure he doesn’t look like a complete fucking dumbass. Because if he’s going to impress you, he’s going to fucking earn it.

“And now stand up.”

Minho obeys, his feet finding the pool floor as he straightens. The water drips from his hair, sliding down his skin, but he barely registers it. His focus is entirely on you, watching as you move with that same effortless control, completely at home in the water.

“Okay, now the arm movements,” you say, treading water next to him. “You extend your arms, keeping your elbows tucked in, then push them forward to create a streamlined position.” You demonstrate, your arms cutting through the water with precision, your movements controlled and fluid.

Minho watches carefully, then mimics your motion, extending his arms in front of him. His elbows are a little too stiff at first, but he adjusts, rolling his shoulders, making the motion smoother.

“Then,” you continue, nodding at his form, “dip your head between your arms.”

He does, the coolness of the water surrounding him in a way that should be unnerving but isn’t. Not as much as before.

“And when you're using your legs and arms at the same time,” you say, your voice calm, even, “glide forward as your kick finishes behind you. Then sweep your hands out to the sides until they form a Y shape with your body.”

Minho mimics the arm motion, feeling out the movement. It’s strange, a little awkward at first, but it makes sense. He grins, looking at you with sharp confidence. “I’m ready to try and combine both.”

You nod. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Minho takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and then tries. It is an absolute fucking disaster.

The moment he attempts to coordinate his arms and legs, it’s like his entire body forgets how to function. His kick is mistimed, his arms flail in some horrific attempt at a Y shape, and instead of gliding smoothly through the water, he just sinks slightly, floundering like a dying fish.

For the first time ever, you giggle. It’s quiet, soft, but it immediately catches Minho’s attention.

His head pops up above the water, hair dripping into his face, and he grins instantly. “Made you laugh!”

You keep giggling, and it’s genuine, your shoulders shaking slightly as you try to compose yourself. “You looked so ridiculous,” you admit, voice breathless with amusement.

Minho’s grin only widens. “I didn’t look that bad.”

You nod, still giggling. “You did.”

You lift your hand and point at him, as if emphasizing how fucking ridiculous he looked, and you’re still laughing, the sound soft but real. Minho watches you, something warm spreading through his chest, and for once, he doesn’t say anything. He just lets you laugh.

The next day, Minho aches. Every single part of his body feels like it’s been set on fire, the result of spending hours practising breaststroke, pushing himself relentlessly just so he can show you his progress next Friday. His arms hurt, his legs feel like fucking concrete, and his core, don’t even fucking get him started on his core.

But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s going back.

It’s midday when Minho arrives at the swimming centre, determined. The pool is mostly empty at this hour, which is perfect, it means he can practice without distractions.

He strides into the locker room, pulling his hoodie over his head, tossing it onto the bench before stepping out of his sweatpants. His movements are slower than usual, stiff from soreness, but he powers through, grabbing his black swimming trunks and pulling them on. The moment he steps out, rolling his shoulders, he hears it.

Splashing. But not the normal kind. Panicked splashing.

Minho he snaps his head toward the pool. There, crouched at the edge of the deep end, is some Sigma Chi fucker. He’s leaning over the side, one hand pressed down into the water, holding someone under. Whoever it is, they’re clawing at his arm, fighting desperately.

Minho’s stomach drops. Then, he realizes.

It’s you.

“OI!”

His voice booms through the swimming centre, and the Sigma Chi guy jolts, head snapping up in alarm. The guy’s face drains of color, hands immediately raising in surrender the moment he sees who the fuck he’s dealing with.

Because everyone knows about Minho.

Minho doesn’t stop until he’s standing right there, towering over him and then, the guy removes his hand from your head. The second his grip is gone, you break through the surface, gasping for air, your hands immediately gripping the pool wall as your body wracks with coughs. Water drips from your hair, your shoulders shaking as you struggle to breathe, to steady yourself.

Minho’s rage spikes so violently he sees fucking red. Without hesitation, he shoves the Sigma Chi guy straight into the pool. There’s a loud splash, followed by a string of panicked curses, but Minho ignores him. His focus is on you.

He crouches immediately, reaching down and with zero effort, he pulls you out of the pool. The moment you’re standing, you cling to him, your body still trembling, coughs shaking through you. Minho wraps an arm around your back, pulling you closer, his other hand smoothing your soaked hair down in slow, calming motions.

"Want me to call Chan?" His voice is low, controlled, but his fury is boiling beneath the surface.

You shake your head, still gripping onto him, your fingers curled tightly into his skin. You don’t say anything, don’t let go, just keep holding onto him like he’s the only stable thing in the fucking world right now.

Minho doesn’t move. Just keeps rubbing your back, keeps smoothing your hair down, keeps holding you until your breathing steadies.

Behind him, the Sigma Chi guy sputters in the water before shouting, "What the fuck, Minho?!"

Minho doesn’t look at him. "What the fuck you?" His voice is sharp, cutting, layered with undiluted venom. "What the fuck are you doing trying to drown her?"

The guy scoffs, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “She deserved it!”

Minho’s jaw tightens. His fingers flex against your back as he holds you tighter, keeping you as far away from this fucker as possible. “Oh yeah? How?” His voice is calm, too fucking calm, and dangerous.

The guy’s eyes flare with resentment, his face twisting in rage. "She fucking humiliated me! She rejected me! Like anyone else would even be interested in her!"

Minho feels your fingers tighten around him, your whole body tensing against his.

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

Minho shifts, turning to face you, his voice gentle now, quiet. "Go get dry and dressed," he murmurs, his hand still soothingly rubbing your back. "We'll get coffee, yeah?"

You nod, hesitating only slightly before finally slipping away, heading toward the women's locker room. Minho watches you disappear through the doors before he finally turns back.

Minho crouches at the edge of the pool, his lips curling into a grin, but there’s nothing friendly about it. It’s the kind of grin that makes people sweat, the kind that carries the weight of a promise. One soaked in violence and bad fucking decisions. The Sigma Chi guy treads water below him, still coughing, still glaring, but there’s a flicker of something else behind his eyes now. Unease.

Minho tilts his head, fingers drumming against his knee like he has all the time in the world. “You wanna drown someone smaller than you?” he muses, voice light, almost conversational. “Someone who’s too shy, too fucking kind, too scared to fight back?” His head tips forward slightly, his grin widening. “Well, now, you’ve pissed me off.”

And then he moves. With zero hesitation, Minho’s hand shoots forward, grabbing the fucker by the collar and shoving him straight down into the water.

There’s a choked gasp, followed by a violent splash, but Minho doesn’t let go. He watches as the guy’s arms flail, his hands grabbing at nothing, his legs kicking uselessly beneath him. It’s not panic yet, not fully, but Minho can see it brewing, feel it building, and he revels in it.

It’s not even close to what the bastard did to you, but Minho doesn’t need long. Just a few seconds. Just enough to make a point. Beneath the surface, bubbles rise as the guy thrashes, his fists hitting at Minho’s wrist, but Minho doesn’t budge.

And then, just when he starts to struggle harder, just when the panic fully sets in, Minho yanks him up by his hair.

The guy breaks the surface with a ragged gasp, sputtering, coughing, trying to push his wet hair out of his eyes. His breathing is shaky, his expression furious, but it’s fury laced with fear now.

Minho leans in closer, voice low, steady, sharp as a fucking blade. “I see your face around her ever again,” he murmurs, tightening his grip in the guy’s hair, forcing their eyes to lock, “and you won’t resurface next time.”

The guy stills. His whole body goes rigid, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, and Minho watches as his brain finally fucking catches up. Minho lets go, standing up smoothly, towering over the water-drenched mess below him. He doesn’t need to say anything else. The warning is clear enough. And if the bastard is smart, he’ll take it.

------------------------------------------

Minho steps out of the pool area, rolling his shoulders as his gaze immediately finds you sitting outside the women's locker room. You’re curled up on one of the plastic benches, elbows resting on your knees, fingers playing with the hem of your white cropped hoodie. Your black sweatpants are slightly too long, pooling around the tops of your scuffed white Converse, and your damp blue hair is still tied back, the silver strands at the front framing your face.

You look small like this, curled in on yourself, your usual quiet presence even quieter than usual.

Minho exhales, schooling his expression into something lighter, something easier. He won’t make this worse for you by hovering too much, by pressing for details you probably don’t want to give.

Instead, he stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly. "I'm gonna go throw some clothes on, and we'll go, okay?"

You blink up at him, nodding once, your fingers still idly tugging at your hoodie sleeve.

Minho doesn’t hesitate. He turns and strides into the men’s locker room, making quick work of peeling off his swimming trunks. His body is still aching from hours of practice yesterday, and now with the added exertion of holding someone underwater, his muscles protest every movement.

Still, he moves fast, pulling on a pair of black sweatpants and a fitted hoodie, leaving his damp hair to dry on its own. Within minutes, he’s stepping back outside, rejoining you where you’re still sitting in the exact same position.

He doesn’t give you a chance to hesitate.

"Come on," he murmurs, gently pulling you up to stand, his arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. He keeps his grip loose, non-restrictive, letting you lean in as much or as little as you want. "We’ll get you some tea or coffee, yeah? It'll help."

You nod again, your body moulding slightly into his warmth, and Minho exhales softly, steering you toward the exit.

The air outside is cool, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the pavement as Minho leads you toward the frat house.

“We can go back to the house,” he says, keeping his tone casual, like this is just another normal day. "Everyone has lectures or shit to do, so it'll be quiet."

You nod again, your gaze fixed ahead, silent but steady.

Minho watches you for a second before tightening his arm around you slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps walking, keeps leading you forward, until the swimming centre is nothing but a fading memory behind you.

The frat house is exactly as chaotic and disgusting as Minho expects when he pushes the door open, stepping inside with you tucked at his side. You glance around, eyes scanning the absolute mess that litters the floors, the couch, the countertops, crushed beer cans, abandoned hoodies, a pair of sneakers that definitely aren’t the same size, and an inflated condom bobs around the hallway.

Minho kicks it out of the hallway like it personally offended him, muttering under his breath before leading you toward the kitchen.

You follow silently, your steps slow, as if still processing everything from earlier. Minho keeps one eye on you, making sure you’re not checking out mentally before focusing back on the kitchen doorway.

And then, you trip. Minho's arm shoots out immediately, catching you before you even come close to hitting the ground, steadying you with ease. But instead of focusing on you, your eyes drop to the floor, to the thing that nearly sent you flying or rather, the someone.

There, sprawled across the cold fucking tile, is a guy with fluffy brown hair, dead asleep. His cheek is smushed against the floor, arms sprawled out, one leg bent awkwardly over the other, like he just died mid-walk and collapsed.

You blink.

Minho exhales through his nose. "That’s Jisung," he says, bored, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "He’ll literally sleep anywhere. The fact that he’s still here means Felix isn’t, or else his clingy little boyfriend ass would’ve coaxed him into sleeping somewhere socially acceptable."

You nod, still staring at the grown-ass man sleeping peacefully on the filthy frat house floor.

Minho steps over him without hesitation before glancing back at you. "Just step on him."

You frown. "That’s cruel."

Minho smirks. "It’s Jisung, it’s fine."

You shake your head and carefully step around him instead. But Minho steps directly on Jisung��s back. There’s a grunted noise from below, a sleepy, confused “fuck off”, but Jisung doesn’t even move, just shifts slightly before settling back into deep unconsciousness.

Minho moves on, making a beeline for the kettle, rolling his shoulders as he opens a cabinet stuffed full of tea bags, instant coffee packets, and a variety of shit he barely remembers buying.

"Any preference for tea?" he asks, glancing at you over his shoulder. "I have every kind you can think of."

You hesitate for a second before murmuring, "Green tea."

Minho nods, pulling a box from the cabinet with one hand while reaching for the kettle with the other. "Honey?"

"Yes, please."

He hums, setting the kettle on before turning to face you, leaning against the counter. His gaze lingers on you for a second before he says, voice still casual but laced with something sharper, "So. What happened with that Sigma Chi dick?"

You don’t answer immediately, fingers curling slightly against the hem of your hoodie. Then, finally, you sigh, voice quiet but steady.

"He and his friends cornered me. He asked me on a date, I said no, and then, well, you saw how he took that." Your lips press together briefly before you add, "He was waiting for me when I arrived at the pool."

The sharp, earthy scent of tea fills the kitchen as the kettle steams, and from the floor, Jisung sniffs like a fucking bloodhound. His eyes crack open groggily, still half-asleep, but immediately locked onto the source of the smell.

"Tea," he mutters, voice rough from sleep. "Me want."

Minho doesn’t even glance down, just rolls his eyes as he pulls two mugs from the cabinet.

Jisung starts to push himself up but pauses mid-motion, blinking slowly as his gaze shifts to you, still seated at the table. His head tilts, squinting slightly, like he’s trying to confirm whether or not you’re real. 

"There’s a Smurfette in the kitchen," 

Minho snorts, shaking his head. "Jisung, this is Y/N," he says, setting a mug down in front of you before handing you a spoon. "She’s my swimming teacher, my friend, and Chan’s friend."

Jisung blinks again, brain still not fully operational. "Chan has friends?" he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes before his head snaps up properly, realization finally fucking hitting. "Wait, wait, wait, you’re Minho’s mystery teacher?"

Minho sighs. "Give him a minute," he mutters to you. "His two brain cells need time to fucking jumpstart."

Jisung doesn’t even register the insult. Instead, he points at you, eyes wide, and then immediately swivels back to Minho. "What the fuck did you do to the poor girl?!" His tone is accusatory, like Minho’s some villain who just kicked a puppy. "She’s soaked and sad!"

Jisung scrambles up onto his feet, rubbing his eyes before dramatically throwing himself between you and Minho, arms outstretched like some tragic hero. "It’s okay, honey, I’m here to protect you from the big meanie."

You blink at him, processing the absolute whirlwind of energy that just came flying at you, before calmly saying, "Minho helped me."

Jisung freezes and his arms drop slightly, his brows furrowing as his lips purse in deep confusion. He turns to you slowly, like he’s trying to process words that don’t make sense. Then, with absolute seriousness, he asks, "Minho? Lee Minho? Helped someone?!"

Minho just rolls his eyes, stirring the tea, but Jisung isn’t done. His brain pivots instantly, fixating on you instead. He squints at you, tapping his chin. "You look like you have anxiety. I have anxiety. That makes us anxiety buddies."

You blink as Minho groans, setting his mug down with a small thud. "Jisung, she doesn’t need your crackhead anxiety energy right now. She needs calm."

You shrug, voice still soft. "I don’t mind."

Jisung immediately flips Minho off before he slides into the chair beside you. With zero hesitation, he digs into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a small fidget toy, a soft, squishy ball that glows slightly when squeezed, and places it in your hand.

"Here, these help," he says. His voice is genuine, no longer teasing, just light and warm and real.

You look down at the toy for a second before wrapping your fingers around it, testing the texture, feeling the slight give as you squeeze. It’s simple, but oddly grounding, and when you look up again, Jisung is grinning at you.

"It’s okay," he says, nodding sagely. "Minho might seem like a dick, but he’s nice."

You don’t hesitate. "I know."

At that, Minho pauses, his spoon still stirring, but his lips twitch slightly, a hidden smile that he quickly hides behind his mug as he takes a slow sip of tea before he turns back to the counter, grabbing the jar of honey and twisting off the lid. He dips a spoon in, watching the thick golden liquid drizzle into the mug, swirling into the warm tea as he stirs. His movements are unhurried, the soft clink of the spoon against ceramic filling the kitchen.

Behind him, Jisung shifts in his chair before he speaks again, voice more curious than concerned. "Uh, Minho, what’s wrong with her?"

Minho glances over his shoulder and immediately spots it. You’re completely still, your eyes locked straight ahead, your fingers still fidgeting with the squishy toy Jisung gave you, but your expression is vacant like someone hit a pause button on you.

Minho exhales through his nose, setting the honey jar down. "She’s having a seizure."

Jisung frowns, turning toward you, his head tilting as he waves his hand in front of your face. No reaction. You don’t blink, don’t shift, don’t even seem aware of the movement at all.

Jisung leans back slightly, processing, before muttering, "Aren’t seizures more-" He suddenly jerks his arms and shakes his whole body violently, mimicking full-body convulsions.

Minho snorts, shaking his head. "Different type of epilepsy, dumbass. She’s just not here right now."

Jisung drops the act, blinking at you with open fascination. "Dude, this is cool as fuck. I need to learn how to disassociate like this. My brain never fucking shuts up."

Minho just rolls his eyes, turning back to the counter and grabbing your mug. He lifts it carefully, making sure the tea is mixed properly, before moving back toward the table.

Just as he sets the mug down in front of you, your body jerks slightly, and then you blink. Your hands twitch around the fidget toy before your gaze refocuses, flickering around as if you’re reorienting yourself.

Minho watches, giving you a second before speaking. "Tea’s ready, mermaid girl."

Your eyes drop to the mug in front of you, your fingers hesitating for half a second before wrapping around the warm ceramic. You don’t say anything, don’t acknowledge what just happened. And Minho doesn’t press.

He just leans back in his chair, watching as you slowly bring the mug to your lips, your fingers still curled around Jisung’s fidget toy.

Minho arrives at the swimming centre late Friday night, his boots scuffing against the pavement as he approaches the entrance. The air is crisp, the quiet hum of streetlights buzzing faintly in the background. He spots you immediately, standing just outside the doors, your fingers fiddling anxiously with the strap of your bag.

You’re dressed in beige cargo pants, the fabric slightly oversized, hanging comfortably around your frame. A white knit sweater is layered over top, the sleeves slightly too long, the hem brushing just below your waist. A beige cap sits snugly on your head, your hair tucked back neatly, and your white sneakers scuff lightly against the pavement as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

Minho slows his steps, his brows pulling together slightly. "You okay?"

Your fingers still against the strap for half a second before you nod, but your voice is quiet, controlled. "I didn’t want to go in without someone checking he wasn’t waiting again."

Minho nods once, his jaw tightening as a familiar wave of irritation flickers through him. He doesn’t say anything—just wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as he guides you inside with him. His gaze scans the space immediately, sweeping across the pool deck, the empty bleachers, the locker room hallways. His muscles are tense, his grip slightly firmer than usual, but he doesn’t let it show on his face.

After a few moments, he exhales through his nose. "I think you’re good," he murmurs, finally glancing down at you. His arm squeezes briefly, reassuring, before he steps back. "Meet you in the pool?"

You nod once, your voice slightly steadier. "We’re working on breaststroke in the deep end today."

Minho smirks, shaking off the lingering tension. "Great."

He heads toward the men’s locker room, stripping off his hoodie and jeans as he moves. His body is still sore as fuck from practising all week, but he doesn’t care. He’s determined. He tugs on his black swimming trunks, running a hand through his hair before stepping back out toward the pool.

The moment he does, his eyes immediately find you.

You’re standing by the edge, adjusting your navy yoga shorts, your posture casual, your skin still slightly damp from warming up earlier. You’re not wearing your usual T-shirt over your swimsuit this time, just a navy bikini top, the fabric snug against your frame, exposing more skin than usual.

You catch him looking and exhale through your nose, tilting your head slightly. "I forgot my T-shirt." Your voice is as even as always, but there’s a hint of hesitation, like you’re expecting a reaction. "Is that okay?"

Minho grins immediately, his gaze sweeping over you without shame as he hops into the pool, the water sloshing around him as he lands. His smirk is lazy, teasing, eyes glinting.

"More than okay," he says smoothly, shaking the water from his hair.

You don’t react. Just tilt your head slightly, watching him with that same calm, unreadable expression. But Minho notices the way your fingers pause slightly against the waistband of your shorts before you follow him into the water.

Minho paddles out into the deeper part of the pool, his strokes steady, his muscles aching slightly but functioning better than they ever have in the water. You swim beside him, your movements smooth, effortless, like the water bends around you rather than resists. The contrast is almost funny, where you glide, Minho is still learning, still adjusting, but for the first time, he doesn’t feel like he’s fighting against the pool itself.

“Remember what I taught you,” you say, your voice lighter than usual, more open. There’s a warmth to it now, something easier, something softer.

Minho grins. “Obviously,” he scoffs, then actually fucking does it—his arms and legs moving in sync, his body pushing forward without immediately sinking. It’s not perfect, but it’s breaststroke, and it’s working.

You watch for a few moments, and then, to his absolute fucking delight, you smile at him.

“What now? I’m like a fucking fish!”

You tilt your head, clearly unimpressed. “At best, you’re at a six-year-old’s swimming competency.”

Minho gasps, hand dramatically slapping his chest. "How fucking dare you-"

His overreaction costs him immediately. The second he loses focus, his rhythm breaks, and his body tilts awkwardly, sinking slightly. His instincts kick in, panic flaring for half a second, but before he can do anything, you move first.

You dive forward, reaching out without hesitation, your hands gripping his arms, steadying him, keeping him above water before he can actually fuck himself over.

Minho exhales sharply, adjusting, getting his balance back, and then grins triumphantly as he resumes swimming, this time more controlled. “You,” he pants, paddling closer to you, his voice smoother, cockier. “You’re a fucking miracle worker.”

You glance away, almost shy, before nodding slightly, the corners of your lips twitching again. Minho watches you for a beat longer before he moves.

Without thinking, without second-guessing, he surges forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His fingers tangle into your damp hair, and before you can react, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is hot and demanding, his lips moving over yours with no hesitation, no uncertainty, just pure fucking intention. His other hand grips the pool ledge, holding you right where he wants you, his body pressing against yours, chest-to-chest, nothing between you but water and heat.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your thighs squeezing slightly as you pull him closer, and he fucking groans into your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair as he kisses you deeper, harder, hungrier. Your hands find his shoulders, gripping lightly, nails digging in as you kiss him back, the slow burn of tension between you finally fucking snapping.

Minho’s hand slides down, dragging over your thighs, your hips, your waist, mapping out your skin like he’s memorizing it, like he’s claiming it, like he’s been waiting for this the entire fucking time. And then, slowly, he pulls back, his breathing slightly uneven, his forehead resting against yours as he smirks. “I’m gonna take you on a date,” he says, voice rough, but amused, like the words just popped into his head and stuck.

You blink at him, slightly dazed, and he grins. “Somewhere where I have the high ground,” he muses, still catching his breath. “Like football.” His fingers trail lazily down your spine, and he smirks even wider. “Yes. I’m going to teach you how to play football.”

You stare at him for a second, and he knows you’re about to call him a dumbass, but before you can, he tilts his head slightly. “Wanna go on a date?”

There’s a pause, a small one, but a pause nonetheless, before you finally nod. "Sure."

The college football field is eerily quiet this late at night, the floodlights casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The grass is slightly damp from the evening air, but the field itself is pristine, untouched, a perfect stretch of green beneath the stadium lights.

You stand near the centre, arms crossed loosely over your chest, dressed in black leggings, black Converse, and a long-sleeve black T-shirt. The fabric clings to your frame just enough to be flattering, but loose enough to be comfortable, your movements easy, fluid, as you watch Minho with quiet curiosity.

Minho, on the other hand, is grinning like a fucking idiot, clearly thrilled about whatever the fuck he has planned for tonight. In his hands, he holds his black and red #25 jersey, the fabric slightly worn but clearly well taken care of.

"Put it on," he says, handing it over with zero explanation.

You eye him for a second before taking it, fingers brushing against the material as you pull it over your head. The scent of fabric softener, faint cologne, and something distinctly Minho lingers in the material, comforting, familiar in a way you hadn’t expected. Minho watches, clearly pleased, before stepping closer and placing a football helmet on your head.

It immediately slips forward, covering your eyes. There’s a beat of silence. Then Minho sighs, shaking his head. "Okay, maybe we forget the helmet. Time to learn football."

You adjust the jersey, pushing the sleeves up slightly before glancing at him. "You know, I had hoped our date would involve food."

Minho waves a hand dismissively. "Food later. I’ll cook for you. I’m the best cook in the frat." His smirk widens. "But right now, I get to teach you something."

You exhale through your nose, clearly unconvinced, but before you can argue, Minho tosses you a football.

You reach for it and miss completely. The ball thuds against the ground, bouncing off into the distance.

Minho throws his head back, letting out an obnoxiously loud whoop, his hands shooting up toward the sky. "YES!" He claps his hands together. "You suck at something! Thank you, God! Finally!"

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. "Shut up."

Minho grins, clearly delighted. "Okay, can you run?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Yes."

Minho smirks. "Of course you can. At least you’re terrible at catching. You need a flaw, sweetness, and God has finally given you one."

You don’t dignify that with a response, just watch as he tosses another football toward you. You reach for it and miss again. With a deep sigh, you drop your hands. "This isn’t fun."

Minho hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, he snaps his fingers. "Okay, let’s make it fun." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something lower, smoother. "Kisses. Lots of kisses. If you can take this ball from my hands, I’ll reward you."

You tilt your head, stepping closer. "Or," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing against his as you lean in. "You could fuck me in your jersey."

Before he can process what the fuck just came out of your mouth, you snatch the ball straight from his hands and sprint. Minho freezes. His brain short-circuits completely, his entire system rebooting like a fucking crashed computer. His hands are still outstretched, fingers still slightly curled, like they haven’t quite registered the loss of the ball yet.

His brain screams at him to move, but all he can do is blink rapidly as the words repeat in his head on a fucking loop. 

Then, finally, he reacts. "HEY!" His body jerks forward, snapping into motion as he scrambles to chase after you, his feet digging into the turf as he takes off.

But, you’re faster. You fucking sprint, your movements quick and controlled, your legs carrying you with ease as you gain distance. Minho grits his teeth, pushing harder, but you’re already ahead, already laughing breathlessly as you weave across the field.

The cool night air rushes past as you sprint across the field, the football tucked securely under your arm. Your heart pounds, not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer exhilaration of being chased.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Minho gaining on you, his strides long, powerful, relentless. His expression is pure determination, sharp and focused, but beneath it is a grin, a cocky, teasing thing that says he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

Before you can push forward, before you can even think about trying to outrun him again, he lunges. His arms wrap around your waist, and for a split second, the world tilts. But instead of hitting the ground hard, he twists mid-fall, flipping the position so you land right on top of him, his back hitting the grass instead of yours. The impact is cushioned, controlled, his body taking the fall for you effortlessly.

You blink down at him, breathless, the warmth of his body radiating up through your clothes.

Minho’s grin is smug, his dark eyes flickering in the dim stadium lights. "Nicely played," he murmurs, his voice low, amused, his hands still resting against your waist, fingers just barely digging into your hips.

You smile, something mischievous flickering behind your usually calm gaze. Slowly, deliberately, you lean down, your lips barely brushing against his, teasing, soft, fleeting before you’re gone again.

You push off of him, sprinting away before he can even think about stopping you, the ball still firmly in your grasp. Minho bursts out laughing, a full-bodied, genuine laugh, as he scrambles back to his feet, his boots digging into the turf as he launches himself after you.

"Come on, sweetness!" he calls after you, his voice dripping with cocky amusement. "You can’t run forever!"

You know he’s right, his endurance is better, his reaction time quicker, and before you can dodge, before you can make another move, he snatches your wrist mid-sprint.

With one fluid motion, he spins you back into his chest, your body colliding with his, and in an instant, his mouth is on yours. The kiss is nothing like the last one.

This one is fierce, unapologetic, possessive, his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your skin, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you there, as if making sure you’re not slipping away again.

Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away, don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess. Instead, you press closer, your fingers gripping at his clothes, your entire body melting into the kiss like you’ve been waiting for it.

Minho makes a low, satisfied noise, something deep and approving, something that vibrates against your lips as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss even further, like he can’t help himself.

The football? 

Completely forgotten.

The swimming centre is buzzing with faint echoes of water slapping against tile, but the real noise comes from the group of seven loud-mouthed Alpha Phi assholes standing at the edge of the pool, all of them dressed in various pairs of swimming trunks, looking either confused, bored, or outright suspicious.

Minho stands in front of them, hands on his hips, grinning like he owns the fucking place.

"Good afternoon, bitches," he announces, his voice echoing through the space. "Meet Y/N."

You’re standing slightly behind him, relaxed but observant, dressed in your usual yoga shorts and a bikini top, arms loosely crossed as you watch them all process the introduction.

Chan, standing closest, immediately steps forward and wraps you into a warm, familiar side hug, squeezing lightly before pulling back just as quick. You return it, a small smile forming as his presence is steady, grounding, something safe.

Jisung, already grinning, waves happily at you, his expression bright, easy, open—completely different from the crackhead energy he had the first time you met him. You wave back, your movement small but genuine, and Jisung nods approvingly, like he’s decided he fully supports your existence now.

Then Hyunjin, who has been watching Minho with pure suspicion, tilts his head, arms crossed over his chest. "Why are we here, Minho, and why the fuck are you in swimming trunks?"

Minho’s grin widens, clearly thrilled to finally say it. "Because, dear Hyunjin, I can swim." He claps his hands together, turning slightly as he throws his arms out dramatically. "And I'm here to prove it to all you bitches." Then, his voice shifts, going softer, more playful, as he turns to you. "Not you, baby."

Your lips twitch slightly, but you don’t say anything, just watch as Hyunjin’s jaw actually fucking drops.

"What?" Hyunjin sputters, looking wildly at the others. "Are we being punked? Are there cameras? No fucking way."

Chan, still processing, frowns slightly before turning back to you, his eyes narrowing. "Y/N, you and Minho?"

You nod once, your face calm, unreadable.

Chan immediately loses it. "WHAT? NO, NO, NO! NOT MY LITTLE BABY!"

And then, before you can react, he fucking cradles you. Chan, all muscle, all protective instinct, literally wraps his arms around you, holding you like you’re an actual fucking child, his voice dramatic, pained. "This is a disaster. This is the worst thing to ever happen. No. Nope. I refuse. We are undoing this. Y/N, blink twice if you need saving."

Minho, completely unfazed, crosses his arms, rolling his eyes as he waits for Chan’s meltdown to pass.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Minho waves him off, stepping forward, leaning casually against your shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that Chan is still holding you like a toddler. "I corrupted your baby. Wasn't really hard anyway. It's me, Chan. Time to accept it."

Chan groans loudly, shaking his head. "I hate this. I hate everything."

Minho grins wider, fully basking in the moment. "And anyway, none of that matters because the real point is-" He gestures toward the pool with both arms, dramatic as ever. "Y/N taught me how to swim, so my only flaw? Gone. I am now perfect."

Jisung bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach, literally bending over as he wheezes. "Your only flaw? Minho, you are the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met."

Hyunjin claps sarcastically, still looking personally betrayed. "Wow. Wow. I’m so happy for you. This is truly a moment for all of us."

Seungmin leans against the edge of the pool, arms crossed, his expression completely unimpressed as he watches Minho stand there like he’s about to unveil the greatest athletic achievement of all time.

“Get to swimming then, Tinky Winky,” Seungmin deadpans.

Minho’s head snaps toward him so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. “Fuck you,” he shoots back, flipping him off before stepping toward the edge.

And then, without another word, he hops into the pool.

The water splashes around him, cool against his skin, but he barely registers it before he pushes off the wall, kicking off with force, and starts breaststroking up and down the pool. His movements are controlled, precise, smooth, nothing like the floundering disaster he started with weeks ago.

It’s not perfect, but it’s damn good.

The guys watch for a few moments, still processing the fact that Minho, Lee Minho, the man who refused to even put a toe in the deep end, is actually swimming like a normal fucking person.

“Pssst, Y/N,” Hyunjin suddenly whispers, leaning in slightly. "Hi, I’m Hyunjin. How bad was he when he started?"

You tilt your head, your expression calm, innocent, but there’s a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. "He wore a life vest and arm floaties."

Hyunjin’s hand flies to his mouth, trying to smother his snort, but it’s too late—a wheeze escapes him, and the others immediately zero in on the conversation.

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to make them hang on every word. "The first time he tried combining the arms and legs for breaststroke," you continue, straight-faced, "I thought he was going to die."

The guys erupt into laughter, the sound echoing through the swimming centre, bouncing off the walls as Chan doubles over, clutching his stomach, while Jisung literally collapses onto Felix. Seungmin is wheezing, Changbin is cackling, and Jeongin actually has to sit down on the edge of the pool from laughing so hard.

You smile innocently in Minho’s direction just as he reaches the wall, finishing another length.

He catches the look on your face immediately, and his own grin grows wider. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin, still laughing, straightens up instantly, clearing his throat. "Oh, uh, nothing, right Y/N?"

You tilt your head, playing along effortlessly. "Nothing."

Minho narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not buying it, but before he can say anything else, he reaches up, grabs Hyunjin’s wrist, and yanks him straight into the pool.

Hyunjin yells in betrayal as he hits the water, arms flailing dramatically, his voice muffled by the splash as he disappears beneath the surface.

The others cheer loudly, jeering as Hyunjin resurfaces, coughing and spluttering, glaring at Minho like a wet cat.

Felix and Jisung, still grinning, move toward you, offering their hands. Without hesitation, you take them, letting them help you into the water, the cool temperature washing over you instantly. Changbin, Chan, Seungmin, and Jeongin all hop in after, the pool filling with energy and laughter as the guys start splashing each other, the tension from earlier completely gone.

Then, from somewhere behind you, Seungmin calls out.

"CHICKEN!"

Minho turns to you immediately, his smirk returning full force. "Get on my shoulders, baby."

You raise a brow but don’t hesitate, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders as he ducks under slightly, guiding your legs around him before standing up fully, lifting you above the water with ease. For a second, the world tilts, your vision filled with stadium lights reflecting off the rippling pool, the sounds of laughter and splashing fading slightly as your focus shifts solely to Minho.

He’s looking up at you, his hands firm around your thighs, holding you steady. But his expression is different now, his usual cocky smirk softened, his dark eyes taking you in with something quiet, unreadable.

The lights from the pool cast a soft glow around you, catching on the strands of your blue and silver hair, making them shimmer like fucking stardust. And then, before he can even stop himself, Minho murmurs, almost in awe,

"You’re beautiful, you know that?"

You smile at him, a small, genuine thing, one that lights up your eyes. Minho smiles back instantly, warmth spreading through his chest, a deep, easy kind of happiness settling in his bones.

For the first time, he lets himself think about it, really fucking think about it. If the guys hadn’t bullied him into learning how to swim, if he hadn’t let his own stubborn pride push him to prove himself, he would have never met you.

And in Minho’s mind, that would have been the greatest fucking tragedy.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind

Lee Minho Taglist: @0haerireah0 @linowzzzz

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

[taycherouzz]

rodrick bf headcanons fem/gen reader pls? 💗🤗

this is a part of what I think Rodrick would be like, hope you liked and enjoyed it!

there is no doubt he ALWAYS invites you to his gigs and band rehearsals

As the band Löaded diper started playing, Rodrick's eyes kept drifting towards you. Every time he looked at you, he couldn't help but smile, his focus wavering. He tried to keep up with the beat, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Rodrick, dude, focus!" one of his bandmates called out, snapping him back to reality.

He chuckled and nodded, trying to concentrate, but it was no use. Your presence was too distracting, and every time he glanced your way, his heart skipped a beat. You couldn't help but blush, knowing you were the reason for his distraction.

During a break, Rodrick came over to you, shaking his head with a grin. "You're killing me here" he teased, his eyes filled with affection.

You laughed, playfully nudging him "I'm just here to support you". "Well, you're doing a great job" he said, leaning in for a quick kiss "Maybe a little too good".

when you both can't sleep (or just out of boredom), he would take you to have late-night drives

The city lights blurred past as you cruised through the streets, the windows rolled down and the cool night air filling the van. He played a mixtape he made just for these drives, the music perfectly capturing the mood.

As he drove, Rodrick took you to a secret spot he had discovered—a hill overlooking the city, where the lights twinkled like stars. He parked the van and you both got out, sitting on the hood and enjoying the breathtaking view.

"This is our little hideaway" he said, taking your hand "Just you and me" you completed his sentence while you smiled.

Rodrick wrapped his arm around you, and you leaned into him, the music still playing in the background while you both looked into the mesmerizing view ahead of you.

I feel like sometimes you both would prank greg

One afternoon, you both decided to play a classic prank on Greg: the old "fake spider in the bed" trick.

You and Rodrick carefully placed a realistic-looking spider under Greg's blanket, making sure it was positioned just right. Then, you both hid around the corner, waiting for Greg to come into his room.

When Greg finally walked in and pulled back his blanket, he let out a loud scream, jumping back in fright. You and Rodrick burst into laughter, high-fiving each other for the successful prank.

Greg quickly realized it was a fake spider and glared at both of you. "Very funny, guys" he muttered in a sarcastic tone while rolling his eyes.

he would 100% teach you how to play drums

"Okay, let's start with the basics" he said, handing you the drumsticks, he sat on the stool and he positioned you on his lap.

Rodrick's arms guided yours as he showed you the proper way to hold the sticks. "It's all about the rhythm. Just feel the beat" he explained, tapping a simple pattern on the snare drum.

You tried to follow his lead, your movements awkward at first. But with his patient guidance and encouragement, you started to get the hang of it. "That's it! You're doing great" he said, a proud smile on his face.

The garage was soon filled with the sound of your combined laughs, and the sense of accomplishment you felt was indescribable.

when you have a sleepover, you would definitely make marathons of horror films or comedies

One rainy Saturday, you decided to have an all-day movie marathon. Rodrick had a stack of DVDs ready, and you both created a cozy nest of blankets and pillows in the living room. As the first movie started, Rodrick pulled you close, his arm around your shoulders.

Halfway through the night, a particularly scary scene made you jump, and you buried your face in Rodrick's shoulder. He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her tighter "Don't worry, I've got you" he reassured.

Between movies, you'd debate which one was the scariest or funniest, sharing your favorite scenes and inside jokes.

By the end of the night, you were both sleepy but happy, the warmth of your time together lingering long after the credits rolled.

he has no problem on letting you use his löaded diper shirts, but I feel like he would make one shirt specially for you

Rodrick was incredibly proud of his band, Löded Diper, and he loved seeing you in their merch. One day, he surprised you with a special gift: a custom band T-shirt. The front had the band's logo, but it was the back that made you smile the most—it boldly read "Drummer's GF".

"You like it?" he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

You grinned and nodded "I love it! It’s perfect".

Every time you wore the shirt, Rodrick's face would light up with pride. He'd often brag to his bandmates about his amazing girlfriend who supported him wholeheartedly.

despite his though side, he has a soft spot for you, which causes him to be protective over you

One evening, you both decided to go to a local concert. The venue was packed, and the crowd was getting rowdy.

You felt a bit overwhelmed by the pushing and shoving, and Rodrick immediately noticed. Without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to his side.

"Stay close to me" he whispered in your ear. He navigated through the crowd, making sure you were safe and comfortable.

Throughout the night, he kept a watchful eye on you, ensuring that no one got too close or made you uncomfortable.

he would definitely make you a mixtape with songs that reminded him of you, and you listen to it together in his van while he explains why that song (or which part) made him think of you

You were parked in Rodrick's van, the low hum of the engine barely audible over the mixtape he'd made for you. The song "Think About You" by Guns N' Roses started to play, and Rodrick turned to you with a soft smile.

"Listen to this" he said, his eyes meeting yours "these lyrics made me think of you".

As the song played, he explained "It's the way the song talks about always having you on my mind. Whenever I'm not with you, I miss you... God that was just so corny" he muffled with a chuckle while looking down.

But he lifted his gaze and saw you blushing, feeling your heart swell with emotion. Rodrick's hand found yours, and you sat in comfortable silence, letting the music speak for the both of you.

you would help him with homework and have study sessions together (but you always end up making out instead)

Books and notes were spread out on Rodrick's bed, ready for today's session, but it didn't took long for distractions to take over.

As you leaned in to explain a math problem, Rodrick's lips found yours in a quick kiss, and then another, and another one after that, until you find yourself making out with him instead of studying.

"C'mon, Rod, we have to study" you murmured between kisses, trying to stay focused.

"One more, and then we'll study" he promised, but his lips met yours again, and you couldn't help but kiss him back.

Your kisses grew more frequent, each one stealing your breath away. You kept trying to remind him of your homework, but his persistence made you lose track of time.

Each kiss pulled you deeper into the moment, and soon enough, the textbooks were forgotten as you got lost in each other.

[zarvasace]

Description under cut. Aconite explodes. He can sure curse.

Masterpost for these guys

This comic is done in a sketchy, uncolored style with small-ish words and a light blue background.

Page One

Panel one: a hawk flies through the air and clouds and mountains. A pop-out panel shows an arrow flying through the air.

Panel two: this shows three people. On the left is Aconite (Acon), who wears a loose tunic and has a shy posture. In the middle is Malachite (Mal) who wears a quilted gambeson and has curly hair. His left arm appears to be missing. On the right sits Talon, who looks disgruntled. The bandage around his right eye isn't abnormal, but the sling on his left arm is. Mal speaks. “With Talon's wing—er, arm—shot out, we’re down a fighter. Looks like we'll be here for a few days… …which means we'll need to hunt or forage.”

Panel three: Same shot of Talon, but he's talking and gesturing over his shoulder, and the camera has moved to show the pile of supplies behind him.

“Hunting will be best, up this way,” he says. “Lots to shoot at.”

Someone off screen says snrk.

Talon continues. “Yeah, yeah. You can use my bow. Just gotta string it.”

Page Two

Panel one: Acon and Mal, in the same positions as before. Mal says, “That means you, Acon.”

“Me?” Acon replies.

“Unless you want to give the big, powerful, pointy thing to Link.”

Panel two: Link sits on the ground cross-legged, not doing much. A little arrow points to him and says: dead. Mostly inanimate.

Off screen, Mal and Acon continue to argue.

“He has a sword, Mal.”

“Do you think he could catch a rabbit or a pheasant with it?”

“…could you?”

Panel three: Mal puts his hand on his face in exasperation. “Yes—no—hold on. That isn't the point.”

Acon walks past him with a little smile. “I know. I'll do it.”

Panel four: full body shot of Acon in front of pine trees and forests. He holds an unstrung bow. He says, “Nice bow, Talon. What is it, a 30 lb?”

“40,” says Talon off screen.

“I could add some runes to it.”

“Food first, Acon.”

Page three

Panel one: Acon steps on one side of the bow and bends over to string it, which involves physically bending the wood enough. There's a little “tug tug” sound effect.

Panel two, a circle horizontally: Acon's face is surprised, with a “!?” effect.

Panel three: the same as panel one, but Acon is visible working a little harder now. The effect is in all caps: “TUG TUG.”

Panel four: A close up shot of Acon’s face, flushed and scowling. He his holding the unstrung bow horizontally.

“I can't do it…? >:(!” [mad face emoticon]

Panel five: Mal sitting cross-legged on the ground while watching, with Talon still sitting on his rock and talking.

“Acon, that thing is powerful enough that even my uncle has trouble. Don't be so bothered. I should have snares, too.”

Panel six: a further zoom in on Acon’s face. His scowl has lightened just a little. “I used to wear golden plate mail,” he says.

Page four

Panel one: Talon and Mal still sitting down. Talon winces and says, “That sounds.. . Ridiculous—”

“—ly unlikely…” Mal adds, smaller and presumably quieter.

Panel two: a big exclamation interrupts the panel. BY ALL THAT’S CRUSTY AND MOLDY!

Panel three: We see Acon from behind, throwing his hands up into the air and yelling into the sky. His words cover him and fill the whole panel:

By Hylia’s own hairy back, I can't believe my own incompetence—I might as well be wielding a tiny tin spoon instead of a weapon! Every sewage-filled, ridiculous year has conspired to rob me of any inflated ego I might ever have had—even a drunk Great Fairy would have trouble wiping more excrement over her life than I’ve clearly let you-know-who do! I'm a snivelling little Deku Scrub at a Goron wrestling match, to tried to absolutely nothing and burning enough that even a half-blind carpenter couldn't make paper out of me! Guess I'm safe from flesh-eating zombies! I'm a legend, all right—

Panel four: Talon and Mal again, both looking startled. “…who knew he had it in him?” Mal says.

White lines show Link as a ghost giving a thumbs-up and a big smile.

The end!

[marylight098]

꧁Blossoming Love ꧂

Summary: It was a normal day for you: tending the garden... painting... taking care of your aunt... being the healer of your village... amongst other things. That's until you find a dying kitsune close to your village pleading for your help; in a world where mythical creatures marginalized humans and humans tried their best to live hidden from them all. But you weren't just going to leave him there to die (even if you were full of fear). As always... empathy was one of the biggest weaknesses a human could have. And sadly you were one of those humans.

Rating: 🔞 mature bruh

Couple💕: Jeon Jungkook/Reader

Tags/Warnings 🚨🗯️: Fluff and Smut, Spit Kink, Hybrid Jeon Jungkook, Kitsune, Fantasy, alternate universe, Light Masochism, Dirty Talk, romantic, Animal Instincts, Past Lives, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, healer of the town, human and kitsune, Painter Jeon Jungkook, Painting, draw me like one of your french girls lol, Fox, Masturbation, some choking, He loves the smell of your arousal, Creampie

Word count: 15,541

Side notes: i usually write about dreams I’ve had. This is one of them. And if you see typos or something similar… english is not my first language; sorry 🤡 Im just testing the waters here… i usually post only in Ao3…. Meh hope you dont hate it lol

Pic of JK by @jkxxth1 (tiktok)

🌸

Your hometown was small; it only consisted of a few houses and a small plaza where everybody gathered to do their activities or do festivals. All of you were part of the small percentage of humans who still resided in this world full of mythical creatures; looked down upon because of your “weak useless nature”.

But the majority of you didn't care much for the opinions of the other races. You all knew you were so much more than what they had stamped on your foreheads.

You smiled to yourself as you painted the mountains on your canvas, thinking how lucky you felt to be part of these people. But that was not the only reason you were smiling right now… you were also smiling because you could hear your aunt fighting in the background with one of your chickens because it had pooped on her balcony.

You were laughing now as your aunt kept arguing with the chicken as if she could understand her. She quickly noticed, giving you a glare. But even though she was trying to be intimidating at first, she ended up giving in with a smile.

“Don't laugh, _____. This is a serious situation.”

“Yes, auntie… it's very serious that one of our chickens shat on your balcony.” You nodded and continued laughing.

She shook her head with a sigh and a smile, accepting defeat. “Could you at least bring me a bucket of water to clean it? My ankle still hurts from the fall. You would do me a great —”

“Of course, auntie.” You cut her off, giving her a reassuring smile. “No need to explain yourself; I understand.”

“Thank you, darling.” She returned the smile.

“I'll make sure to watch over your painting so the chicken doesn't leave his… “signature” on it.” She said, side-eyeing the chicken.

You laughed once more before making your way to the village’s well.

Your aunt wasn't the type to ask for favors; she always believed in being independent and doing things for her own growth as a person, and of course so she could give her all to the family and dear friends. So on rare occasions like these, you and others close to her, were always glad to help and return all that love she had always given you throughout the years.

For you, she was a role model you aspired to be.

“Great… There is a spider on the edge of the well. And it’s a big one.” You sarcastically smiled as you kept your distance; your bucket now placed on the floor as your hands rested on your hips.

Your village was in an open area where there were no trees. But around it, a forest resided and so did the well of the village… and spiders. Which was one of your biggest fears.

You didn't want to kill it. You may be scared of them but you know they are part of nature and you have to learn to live with them.

You thought of using a stick to get it off but you knew that was just going to be chaos: not knowing where it was going to run to. And you certainly didn't want it crawling up your legs or arms.

A chill ran up your spine just at the thought.

So you just decided it was best to ask someone else for help.

Grabbing your bucket, you turned around to go back to the village.

“P- Ple -ease help m-me.”

You had only taken a few steps when you heard the pleads; the voice was not recognizable to you. It was a man’s…

With your heart almost popping out of your chest, you quickly turned around to be aware of where the man was just in case you needed to defend yourself. But…

You were faced with a pale weak man whose face was covered by a fox mask and hands were placed over a wound under his ribcage, which had and was noticeably bleeding.

“A kitsune…” you spoke under your breath.

How many hours had this man been bleeding? And why hadn't he been healed? But most importantly of all: what was he doing here alone? He was a kitsune… a mythical creature that was supposed to be with his kind right now; not here which was really far away. Was he running away from someone? Was this a hoax?

“Please. I-I’m not here to— hurt you.”

He had noticed your uncertainty and alertness.

You didn't want to believe him.. you really didn't. You were scared of what could happen and the dangers you could be putting your village in. But you could see the sincerity in his eyes that stood out through the mask. Plus he was bleeding to death, what more proof could you ask for?

Dropping your bucket once more, you hurried up to him, placing his arm around your shoulders and letting him lean on you. You were struggling obviously; you weren't as strong as a man. But you could get through. And, thankfully, the village wasn't far away.

“Than—argh!— Thank y-you, madam.” He grunted as he tried not to put so much weight on you.

“Don't force yourself to talk. And you don't have to thank me; it's immoral to leave a man to their death per se.”

Plus you don't have to address me formally either. You thought to yourself.

You could tell he wanted to say more but kept quiet.

As soon as you were back at the village, you immediately began to call for help. Only a few of them came to help since others were intimidated that he was a kitsune; it was understandable. Kitsunes were known for mischief, being playful and deceiving. But you knew that was not the main reason they were intimidating. It was mostly because of their high rank amongst you living creatures; they were known also for their riches alongside other mythical creatures.

One of the villagers saw you struggling with the injured man, so he rapidly went to his other side to help you carry him. Your aunt was also one to respond, quickly going inside your house to prepare the necessary materials to help with his wound before you got there. She also prepared the large table you had for these types of emergencies to lay him on.

“Do you need anything else, ____?” Your aunt pointed at the items she had placed for you to work with.

You shook your head. “No; it’s all I need; thank you.”

She left the room quickly with the man that had helped, knowing it would be more comfortable for you and him that way. But even so, she stayed close by just in case.

Your hands began working instantly; cleaning up the area first. There were a lot of questions in your mind and they all involved the kitsune. How exactly did he end up here? Who was following him? Who or what attacked him? Who was he?

But you reserved the questions for later; making him talk in this state wasn't a very bright idea. Right now you had to focus on patching him and making him feel less pain.

Surprisingly, he wasn't flinching as much as you thought he would be; this is definitely not his first time being injured like this. Only some low grunts and furrowed eyebrows could be seen and heard.

After cleaning up, you grabbed your well-known elixir that you used for wounds like these. Us humans didn't have magic nor any special abilities. But you did have the desire to innovate and progress.

“W-what is that?” He asked, still having some difficulty breathing.

You momentarily looked up to him, eyes more visible since you are closer now. You gulped, remembering what you were treating.

You felt intimidated for a second, remembering all those tales you had heard and moments you had seen with your own eyes where creatures like him would take advantage of your people.

He noticed.

“I a-al- mm- already said, I-I’m not going to h-hurt you.” He gulped with his eyes closed as he tolerated the pain.

“Trust me…” he opened his eyes to look at you. “I would never hurt you.” He reassured you.

And, again, you could see the sincerity through his eyes so you relaxed once more.

“This… this is an elixir I made using an old recipe my village has. It’s for curing wounds like you have. But I will have to add something else for this one.”

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I can tell this was made by another kitsune by the shape of it and because it doesn't want to close. A kitsune’s main weakness will always be their own kind.” You replied.

“How… do you k-know this?”

“Because I’m the healer of my town.” You smiled at him as you opened the other elixir. “And I've treated a few like you before.”

“Like… me?” He weakly pointed at himself.

“Yes. But those were already friends or family with the village people. We don't usually allow Kitsunes here… or any other kind of creature… you know… for safety reasons.” You nervously laughed; still trying to make peace with him as if he hadn't stated enough that he is not going to hurt you.

Again, he noticed the way your eyes immediately averted to his wounds after speaking. He didn't say anything this time; he knew he'd have to instead show through actions his words. He just remained in silence as you finished with his wound; not wanting to stare at you so much to not make you nervous… even though he wanted to; the reason why he would take occasional sneaky glances.

But he couldn't watch you finish, as he soon fell asleep from exhaustion.

.

.

.

Your people were quick to ask you questions in the morning, worried about the unknown kitsune at their village; except for the few mythical creatures that resided there, since they didn't feel the right to judge. And you explained to each one of them about the situation, trying to remain calm as you did to not freak them out even more. You, yourself, were also a bit worried. But you had decided to trust and have the faith that the kitsune wouldn't take advantage of your village. His sincere eyes still hadn’t left your mind; you knew they were real; you felt it. So it was better to trust your heart rather than your anxiety.

As you finished explaining to one of the villagers, your aunt called you from the balcony of your house.

“He’s awake. And he is asking for you.” She called.

You gave your goodbyes to the villager and went rapidly to your house.

“Thanks for letting me know, auntie.” You smiled as your hand reached the door handle, but it was stopped by another familiar hand.

“You sure you’ll be alright all by yourself?” She asked with concerned eyes.

“I'll be fine, auntie. I'm still going to be careful so don't worry.”

“Ok.” She nodded, still noticeably concerned but decided to trust your words, leaving the area. But letting someone know to be attentive just in case.

As you entered, you noticed him standing as he curiously inspected the medicines on your shelf, one hand pressing on the wound.

But that was not the only thing you noticed. There were scars… old deep scars on his back. As if he had received some sort of punishment. You let it go; it was not the time, place nor situation to ask something so personal. It was not like he was going to stay for long anyway; getting close to him was unnecessary.

“Well you healed quickly.” You spoke with a smile, coming closer to him. But not too close.

“And that is thanks to you and these… potions? Are you a witch?” He asked as his eyes now laid on you.

You chuckled. “No, I'm not a witch. I'm just a plain human with very intelligent ancestors who crafted all those medicines and I happened to perfect them.”

“That’s… incredible!”

There it was again: that sincerity.

You blushed. “Thank you umm…”

“Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

He still had his mask on. You were so curious of what was underneath, but did not want to disrespect him so you remained silent.

“Can I check your wound?” You asked him.

“Y- yes, of course.” He replied as he snapped out of a trance. A trance you had put him on since he arrived there.

He was already shirtless so you were quick to get to the wound, removing its bandages first. As you did, you became really conscious of how close you were with this kitsune, feeling his breathing collide with your face occasionally. You were trying so hard not to touch him. But it was inevitable.

“Sorry if I'm being inappropriate.” You said nervously.

“No, not at all.”

“I don't mind.” He added.

You ignored his last comment, not wanting to think it had another meaning behind it.

He just said it casually, that’s all. You repeated in your mind.

After finishing checking his wound and adding more medicine, you patched him up once again with clean bandages.

“Ok so…” you clapped your hands together.

“Good news is, you have healed almost completely; which not only has to do with my medicines, but because you are a kitsune and kitsunes heal faster if treated properly.”

He nodded.

“Bad news is… you’ll have to stay a few days more to make sure it heals completely.” You added with a sympathetic look, knowing he probably wouldn't like the idea.

“But you don't have—“

“I'm ok with it.”

You didn't get to finish your sentence; he already had the answer as if he had been expecting your suggestion.

“Oh! Ok. Ummm… Jungkook, right?”

He nodded; sparkle in his eyes as excitement ran through his veins knowing he would get to wake up to your presence.

“You can keep resting on the couch; that will be your bed for now if you don't mind.”

“I don't.”

“Perfect then let me notify the village.”

You were about to leave when he stopped you.

“Wait! Can I come with you?” He asked.

“S-sure.” You replied, taken aback by his sudden request.

“Let me take this off first.” He added as he took off his mask.

Your lips fell apart, taking in the beauty the kitsune held as he laid the mask on the couch. It was true what the rumors said: kitsunes were born with undeniable and inexplicable beauty. But it was understandable since they were born to charm. They always got their way; it was rare to see a kitsune who wasn't able to seduce or charm their target; they had a gift.

“Don't wanna scare anyone more than they already are.” He nervously chuckled as his hand ruffled his hair.

Your curiosity had been fed. And you couldn't help but to become shy and self conscious. Being around an attractive person always makes you feel nervous.

“It’s— it's ok.” You struggled to speak for a second. “They will eventually warm up to you; we’ve had kitsunes before so don't worry so much.”

As he saw your reassuring smile, the kitsune wondered if the rumors he had heard about humans were true: that they secretly possessed the ability to enchant or seduce other creatures like himself. As time passed, more and more creatures of high rank were eloping with humans to the point where it was getting normal. Things were changing, but the hate and contempt against humans was still there. And all of you knew it was going to be hard for it to leave. But he didn't care about what other people thought; he saw all creatures as equals even if they were mortals. And right now, he was ready to risk it all for you.

You both went outside to greet the villagers; you being up front and Jungkook following behind like a puppy, trying his best to make people like him.

You introduced Jungkook to each one of the villagers, also explaining the situation and why he was going to stay a few days more. It was necessary and it was also common courtesy; it was a random stranger that had entered the village and the “cherry on the top” being that he was a kitsune. This way people could be alert for any weird movements from the kitsune.

Jungkook bowed multiple times to each one of the villagers with a “thank you” and “sorry for the inconvenience”. He had already conquered the hearts of many. Not only because of his cuteness but, of course, because of his beauty. You could tell some of your friends were already trying to flirt with him. And you just couldn't help but to shake your head at them. Of course, there were always the doubtful ones that still didn't trust him. But did not treat him badly either.

The two kitsunes we had were the quickest to bond with him, for obvious reasons.

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Jimin and this is Hoseok.” Both bowed to him and Jungkook did the same. It was a common thing between their kind.

“Glad to see there is another kitsune as handsome as us staying here too.” Jimin said, making Hoseok roll his eyes.

“He is only staying here for a few days until he gets better.” You quickly intervened.

“Oh, ok.” Hoseok said, a little bit disappointed he wasn't staying; he could feel he wasn't a bad guy. But it was understandable to him and Jimin.

Jungkook’s expression changed as soon as you said those words and both of them saw right through their fellow kitsune. They both looked at each other, knowing all too well this situation: a kitsune falling for a human. They both had eloped with humans after all.

Well at least they hoped this was the case. They truly wanted you to be happy and being taken care of; both of them knew how devoted you were with your people. So they saw this as an opportunity for all that love to be returned to you.

After Jimin’s fanboying over Jungkook, you said your goodbyes to them and ended up in front of your house once again. But before you both entered, you remembered the painting you had left outside to dry. You needed to take it inside; chickens, pigeons and kids… they were all hazards to the painting.

“Oh! Give me a second.” You said to him.

The painting had turned out satisfying enough for you to showcase and you were proud. Even though you had some interruptions while trying to finish it… you were able to finish it on time.

Jungkook’s eyes followed you as you grabbed it and went inside the house, following behind.

“Were you the one to paint that?” He pointed, as you placed it on the table.

“Yes, I did.” You smiled, proceeding to cover up the painting with a blanket to protect it.

“Then teach me how to paint.”

You quickly turned to him, mouth falling open at his bold unexpected request.

“Pardon?”

“I want you to teach me how to paint, madam.” He said, taking a few steps closer to you.

“I… I’m no teacher, sir. And you are only staying for a couple of days.” You backed up a little.

“What if I wanted to stay longer?” His eyes sparkled.

Silence.

You had a lot of doubts at that moment. A random stranger had appeared out of nowhere and now he wanted to live there. And it's not like he seemed to not have money nor a home. You could tell that he was from a wealthy family because of his clothing.

“Why do you want to stay?” You asked.

“Just a hunch.”

“A hunch?” You repeated him, and he just nodded with a soft smile, showing one of his dimples.

Kitsunes were known to be very intuitive and spiritual, and you knew this very well. But you didn't think there was any purpose in him staying here when he clearly had it all. But you also knew that was a very ignorant thought. Still… why stay here?

A chuckle couldn't help but to escape your mouth at his absurd response. “You are a wealthy kitsune Jeon Jungkook, why would you want to stay here?”

“I may look like I don't, but I prefer simplicity over luxury.”

“And how can I trust you?”

“Give me a month and I'll prove to you and your village that I am worthy of staying here.”

You took a deep breath and exhaled, fear and worry crippling on you.

It wouldn't be fair to not give him an opportunity like the other kitsunes had. And besides… if he were to turn against you all… you not only had two kitsunes as your allies, but also a werewolf, a nymph and a fallen angel. It was a weird combination you had to admit, but a powerful one.

“I’ll talk to the village. But I do not guarantee anything.”

And his smile grew into an enthusiastic grin.

. . .

“I think we were wrong about him.” Your aunt said as you both sipped some chamomile tea on her balcony, watching the kitsune before you try to convince a kid it was time to go to bed after playing with him for hours. It was a funny sight indeed.

“It's only been a week, auntie. At least my trust isn't there yet.”

“Oh, come on. He has bonded with the village so well as if he had lived here for weeks already. People love him; he has helped with so many things.''

“I find it highly amusing how you were the most defensive about him staying here and now look at you.”

The kid had now started to run with Jungkook’s mask and he was now not only trying to get him to bed, but also trying to save his precious dignity.

You snorted out a laugh, making you cover your mouth with your hand, not being able to hold it in anymore.

“Don't come at me with that poop, darling. You like him too.”

“Poop? Seriously? And I do not like him, I only find him amusing.” You shook her head at her with a chuckle.

“You know I do not curse… and you do like him; just with the smile you're making at him right now… it says it all. Maybe… even more than a friend.” She sipped the tea right after.

You choked on your tea. “I do not— cough like him like— cough that.” Eyes watering.

She just shook her head at you knowingly; your reaction was enough for her. You weren't the type to get flustered easily. “Enough with the lying and go get me some apples so we can bake that big apple-pie for tomorrow’s showcase.”

“But I'm comfy right now.” You whined.

“And you are younger than me, so get going. Just ask Jungkook to accompany you like you always do when you are scared of finding spiders.”

“Hey! I can happily go alone.”

“Yeah, and the Earth is flat. Go on now, I'll be waiting inside.” She said, standing up and going inside as said with both of your teacups.

“Ugh!”

Reality was that you did want Jungkook to accompany you. Not only because of the spiders but because you actually liked his company as much as you hated to admit. He was funny, intelligent, caring, sensitive…

What the hell am I even thinking? Remember _____, he is a kitsune and they have the ability to charm; snap out of it.

Still, it wasn't that bad to indulge in those wants… right?

“Kai! Give him the mask back!” You scolded the child.

The kid immediately stopped running and stood straight as a stick, quickly handing the mask to Jungkook.

“Apologize and go to your mother’s house.”

“But I don't wanna go to sleep! The sun is still out.” The kid whined.

“It’s setting down already so you need to go get ready for bed; mother’s rules.”

The kid whined one last time, apologized and left for his house.

“Thanks for that. That was nice of you.” He cleared his throat. “… and hot.” That last part wasn't heard by you.

“Accompany me to the apple trees and we will call it even.”

“Scared of the spiders again?” Jungkook laughed.

You began mocking his laugh. “And do you wanna talk about how a kid took your mask and you couldn't get it back?

His laughter immediately toned down. “Hey! I almost had it in my hands again!”

“Yeah, right.” You started laughing again, remembering the scene.

“Have a nice time with the spiders then.” He smiled knowingly, turning his back at you as he began to walk away.

“Nooo!” You exclaimed at him, grabbing his arm.

You didn't see it. But he was smirking while he had his back turned to you. He liked knowing that you needed him. He wished you needed him more; In all types of ways.

Where the trees resided, wasn't so far away. But it did take a bit to get there. And since the night was starting to set in, you had a little more difficulty seeing even though you brought a lamp with you.

Jungkook on the other hand didn't have any problem with it since he could see at night, he was a fox after all. For that reason he didn't take his eyes off of you, worrying you might fall. But you didn't gladly. Even though he wanted an excuse to touch you.

There were already some lamps surrounding the trees and other crops since sometimes our people needed crops during the night for emergencies or just random hunger.

You quickly began to work using a ladder to lower the apples as Jungkook stayed on the ground waiting for you to throw him the apples so he could put them in the basket. At one point an apple fell on Jungkook’s head and you couldn't help but to laugh at him as he looked at you annoyed. But at the end he couldn't resist laughing too.

After you finished, you decided to take a break close to the nearby pond, drinking some water while you were at it. But Jungkook had other plans, he wanted to take revenge because of the apple on his head.

“Oh my god, _____! There is a big spider crawling on you!” He shouted.

You gasped. “What?! Where?!”

You quickly stood up trying to shake off whatever you had on you. But then you heard Jungkook laughing so loud, tears were forming in his eyes. And that's when it clicked.

“You ass—-” But your words got cut off as you tripped on a heavy branch and fell on your knees.

“Shit, _____. Are you ok?!” Jungkook’s laugh immediately stopped, quickly going towards you to help and check on you.

You sat on the ground and you raised your skirt up till you saw the knee that was hurting. And that's when both of you noticed you were bleeding.

“Fuck. I-I’m sorry, _____. Let me cure you.” he quickly grabbed your knee regretting ever scaring you like that.

Your anger had toned down; now you were more embarrassed than angry.

“I’ll cure myself at home, it’s ok.”

“That’s nonsense when I can just save you some pain by using my powers.”

“Powers?” You tilted your head to the side with a thoughtful look on your face, not remembering anything about kitsunes being able to heal. But, again, you only knew the basics.

“Here, I'll show you.” He said as he carefully straightened your leg for you to be more comfortable.

One of his hands went on top of your wound, being careful not to touch it, while his other hand rested on the backside of your knee. And a blue light began emerging from his hand to your wound.

“It will take a minute or two, so bear with me.” he said as he focused on your knee.

Gladly you didn't feel any pain. But the adrenaline from the scare and the fall began to dissipate and you were now conscious of where he was touching. You didn't want to think of it as anything else so talking was the best option to distract yourself from your body’s reaction.

“You know your little prank is going to cost you an art lesson, right?”

“Oh, come on. I’m healing you. I’m making up for my sin.”

“Pffft.” You laughed. “Don't say it like that, it wasn't that bad.”

“Well I am trying to convince you not to take an art lesson from our week.”

“I don't know why you want them so badly. You already know how to paint. Besides, you never pay attention to my lessons; you…always… stare at my face. I don't know why.” You chuckled nervously. Recalling all the moments he would drift his attention from his canvas to you, making you feel insecure. You kind of wanted an explanation of why he did that so maybe you would stop feeling so self conscious at your lessons.

His eyes lifted up to you for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but went back to your knee. “I… still need work and you know it.”

“True.” You responded, feeling even more insecure since he didn't comment on the “staring”.

The atmosphere had turned serious and you could feel it, mainly from him. You felt a little bit awkward because of it.

“Done.” The blue light faded and the wound had disappeared; you were completely amazed by it.

“That is amazing. I didn't know kitsunes could do that.” You said, staring at your now healed wound.

But Jungkook didn't say anything back nor did he take his hand or eyes off of your knee; you noticed quickly.

“Jungkook?” You questioned him, nervous you had said something wrong.

His eyes were trailing now to your still covered thighs as his thumb caressed where the wound used to be. And you could feel your heartbeat starting to accelerate.

Your skirt was now being lifted up centimeter by centimeter, slowly and steadily; thigh becoming bare to him before your eyes.

A broken gasp came out of your lips as his hand went up, making him look up at you. Both of you know staring into each other's eyes. The coldness of the night being ignored by your lustful warm body. Your leg was now fully exposed to him to do as he pleased. He didn't stop looking at you as his hand went up and down your thigh with a firm grasp, teasing you; getting dangerously close to your slit with some strokes.

“You still don't get it, huh?”

His head lowered to your inner thigh and began sucking on the skin.

“Fuck…” You said under your breath.

This feeling was new to you; you had never been with a man despising occasional confessions. Yes you had touched yourself, but this was different. You felt your chest fill with an overwhelming lust and slit starting to ache.

After leaving a noticeable red spot, he began kissing the rest of your thigh, momentarily licking a stripe from your knee to your upper thigh and rubbing his forehead against it, ending with a soft bite. After doing so, his eyes returned to yours.

“I stare at you because I think you are beautiful.”

“Not only because of your body but because of who you are.”

“I want to be around you every minute of the day.”

His hand was now stagnant as it laid dangerously close to your slit once more. “Be mine, ______.”

Be mine. You repeated in your head. And that's when you snapped out of it. You remembered they had the gift to get anything they wanted and for you this was an attempt to do so. So you immediately pulled your leg off of his grasp, leaving him with a confused look.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head scared.

“What?” his eyes were now full of preoccupation as he saw you stand up and walk away from him.

“_____! Wait!” He said as he stood up and grabbed the basket with apples. But you began running, not wanting him close to you as you were scared of him and yourself.

He also began to run towards you calling out to you. He could easily outrun you but he decided to not overwhelm you and just call you from afar.

You continued running despising his calls, eyes blurry from the tears, confused on what to feel or do. It felt like an eternity running, even though it wasn't. That's until you collided with another body, you were going to back away immediately thinking it was him again. But when you were about to run away, the body held you still forcing you to look up and that's when you calmed down a bit.

“____! Are you ok?!” Jimin asked worriedly.

“I… I don't know.”

As Jimin lifted his gaze up to see what you were running from, he saw Jungkook. He was going to confront him until he noticed he was equally as confused. So he decided it was best to leave it like that until he heard you talk.

“Let’s go to my house, Erika is there too so you can talk to us.”

Hearing one of your best friend’s name gave you another reason to calm down.

You nodded.

Before taking you to his house, he gave Jungkook one last look. And he could tell he was worried and at the same time scared. And that gave him the confirmation he needed to wait it out.

As soon as Erika saw you entering through the door, her expression changed.

“____, is everything ok? Did something happen?” she worried as she guided you to the living room’s sofa for you to sit and relax.

“Darling, please bring me a glass of water for her.” She told Jimin and he instantly went to the kitchen to prepare one.

“Please tell me what happened, _____. Don’t leave me worried like sometimes you do. Give me the opportunity to help you once in a while.” Erika said, hand resting on your shoulder.

She knew you very well, how sometimes you would hold onto things to not bother anyone.

Jimin returned with the glass of water and gave it to you.

You drank up a little bit before pondering over what to say. But in the end you concluded it was best to open up to them. One, because you didn't want them to think they were untrustworthy to you. And second, because your best friend was married to a kitsune. And what could be better than advice from a kitsune, himself, and his wife on this situation?

“Erika… Jimin… how– how do you know when a kitsune is mind controlling you?” A mixture of worry and shyness was evident on you, so your eyes stuck to the glass of water to hide them.

But silence was your response. And anxiety was quick to show up.

Is the situation worse than I thought? Did they already realize who I'm talking about? Did I offend Jimin and their relationship? Was I wrong?

Your mind was spiraling with questions. That’s until you decided to look up and face them. And instead of anger or worry, you were greeted with a Jimin who was trying his best to hold his laughter in. But in the end failed.

And all that could be heard was his laughter.

“Welp… prepared to be bullied for the rest of your life.” Erika said to you.

“What?” You were dumbfounded and confused. You just wanted him to finish laughing so you could finally hear his answer.

“Pfffft, it's that what you think we do?” He just continued laughing.

“Jimin, I'm serious. Please answer me.” You grew impatient.

He calmed himself down, whipping tears off of his face. “Fine, fine. I'll calm down now.”

He sat to the opposite side of you; now you were in between them.

“Look _____, I don't know from where you got that information but it's incorrect. Kitsunes do possess the ability to charm but it's because of their natural beauty and art of seduction. It comes natural to us. And it doesn't always work on everybody. Erika… She would be an example. Remember? She was a pain in the ass to conquer.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“What can I say? I just don't give up this piece of ass that easily.” She shrugged and Jimin just shook his head at her.

Red… you were completely red from embarrassment. All this time you were only listening to assumptions from other people and anxiety instead of doing actual research. Like for fuck’s sake you had two kitsunes as you friends. But you just felt embarrassed to ask. Even so, the result was the same: embarrassment. You had learned your lesson.

“Hey… does that mean you never trusted me and Hoseok?” His eyes went into shock mode. As he slowly realized that maybe you never even considered him or Hoseok a friend.

“N-n-no… w-well—-“

“I’m hurt right now.” Jimin said standing up with a pout that was more adorable than intimidating.

“Listen to me! It was only at the beginning but as I got to know you guys I began to trust you with time. And seeing how Erika and Delilah took time to be in a relationship with you guys, then I thought: hey, they are actually trustworthy; they didn't use their powers to make them fall in love.”

“Do you understand what I'm trying to say?” You added.

“Next time just ask us, please. I know us mythical creatures have a bad reputation among humans, but I can assure you, not all of us are snob assholes.” Jimin replied and you just nodded, not able to look him in the eye from the lingering embarrassment.

“Remember, we don't bite.” Jimin’s gaze landed on his wife: Erika. “Unless you want us too.” He winked.

“You are cringe.” Erika replied to his not so subtle innuendo, making you laugh for a moment.

“I agree." An unexpected, but all too familiar voice spoke. All eyes were now on one of the open windows that looked to the balcony where a Hoseok now stood resting his body on the edge of it.

“What the fuck? You were eavesdropping?!” Jimin exclaimed.

“Yes, but that's because I saw the whole thing and got worried.”

“Wait… who else saw what happened?” You quickly asked as embarrassment began to cripple on you once more. You only remember running until you collided with Jimin. But you didn't pay much attention to your surroundings.

“Who cares? What you should be worrying about is how you are going to repay me for defamation and violation of the friend code. Try making me noodles for a week and then maybe I'll forgive you.” Hoseok said.

“Oh! I want too!” Jimin added.

“You guys are asses.” Erika shook her head but then turned her attention to you while the two men planned on how to bother you for the next week.

You had gone into deep thought, analyzing yourself and trying to decipher your feelings towards him. If he wasn't “charming” you, then…

“Do you… do you like him, ____?” Erika read your mind.

Your best friend had deciphered the situation better than you; of course, she was your best friend after all. But…

“I don't know.” you responded as you got up.

“Thank you…for everything…I have to do something now. I’ll see you later! Thank you again!” you said as you rushed out of the door.

“Where are you going-?” You heard Jimin’s faint voice just before you closed the door behind you.

You didn't answer, you just wanted to get to your destination which was anywhere where Jungkook was right now. All you wanted was to apologize even though you still felt ashamed for your previous thoughts.

Your feelings were unsure. But you were sure about one thing: you wanted him to know you were sorry and that things were ok between the both of you.

How do I really feel? The question persisted in your head as you stopped half away, pondering on it, but your feet picked up speed again down the path.

No, I had to see him, I didn’t have a plan of action but I felt after seeing him it will make sense.

Nearby you saw your aunt with the basket of apples heading to her house, which meant Jungkook had been with her. So you immediately went to her and asked if she knew where he had headed, but she also didn't know.

She caught up quickly to the situation, asking you. “What happened between the both of you?”

“N-nothing.” You brushed off as you turned away and left to keep searching for him, ears blocking out your aunt's voice.

You went to your house and searched other parts of the village but he was nowhere to be found. Anxiety had started to creep in and cloud your mind with the possibility that he had left or something had happened to him.

Taking a deep breath in, you continued down the path to the nearby onsen the villagers sometimes visit but at this time most people would be in their homes, it was actually mainly you roaming this path tonight like a suspicious person. But you needed to take a break and calm yourself.

You pushed the bushes away from your face as you peaked at the back entrance of the onsen, the sight took your breath away and stopped your heart momentarily. The sun was setting, painting the sky with warm colors, the smoke from the onsen rising into the air and into the last rays of the sun, gold tinting the onsen and the shirtless man drying his damped hair after he had taken his bath. It was Jungkook, although there was no one else in sight he was wearing his kitsune mask; his hair was in a half up do and his bottom hair was still wet. His torso was still bare; he only had placed a towel around his neck as he gazed at the moon. You could sense the sadness, even though you couldn’t see his expression. He whistled a sad melody, the sight appeared almost like a kitsune crying out to the moon for it to come out.

The shame had returned, killing your determination and making you unsure if to approach him or just leave. But the universe had other plans. Because as the thoughts ran through your mind, something else ran over your hands from holding the bushes, and of course, it was a spider.

You immediately shrieked at the spider, rapidly moving your hand to shake it off. After successfully shaking it off, you noticed the whistling came to a halt and your eyes locked on Jungkook who was now staring your way, so much for stealth.

You needed his mask more than him, to hide from the embarrassment.

Trying not to show embarrassment and reveal your racing heart as you neared him around the onsen.

“...I’ve been looking for you.” You mumbled, not fully being able to look at him fully just yet.

“Are you ok, though?” He stood up and went to you, examining the hand where the unwanted visitor had been.

You nodded and he relaxed.

“It was a spider, wasn't it?”

“Yeah…” you chuckled nervously.

He laughed but his expression dimmed as he remembered. So he backed up and went to sit in one of the benches and took his mask off putting it to the side.

“You ran away from me, I didn't think you’d be looking for me.” He said quietly.

“I know...” You replied quietly too.

“You can sit if you want.” He offered.

You thanked him and sat next to him. Your eyes couldn't stop themselves as they slightly glanced at his body, you had seen it many times before but why was it suddenly making you feel this way, as if you shouldn’t look but also can’t look away. You watched one drop of water slowly making its way down from his chest to his abs.

“It’s pretty, isn't?” he said as he looked at the moon that glanced at you both and the now hidden sun. 

“Mhm…” Is all you replied as you secretly referred to his body.

“-about earlier..” He started, startling you out of your intrusive thoughts, making you blush even more.

“Ah..uh..um yes…” You stuttered.

There was a pause.

“I’m sorry.” You both spurted out at the same time. You looked at each other for a second until you both chuckled.

“You don't need to be sorry; I was the one who made you feel uncomfortable.” He smiled as he gazed at the water.

“You… you didn't make me feel uncomfortable. On the contrary… I…” You bit your lower lip as you blushed trying to finish the sentence.

“You liked it?” he finished for you; his eyes searching yours hopeful as yours shied away.

You nodded, staring at your fingers, not being able to look at him; taking advantage of the hair that fell on the side of your face so he couldn't see you blushing.

He bit his lower lip to keep his pleased smile from showing, gaze going to your legs, tempted to continue what he left unfinished earlier. But held himself back, not wanting to scare you again. So he looked away, taking a deep breath to compose himself as his grip on the edge of the bench tightened.

“I owe you an apology, Jungkook. I got scared because of ignorant beliefs.” You continued.

“Can I ask what those were?”

“I…I… thought you were hypnotizing me or…something.”

“Well that’s a compliment.” he smirked.

“Idiot.” you pushed him to the side playfully as he laughed. “I’m just happy I have other kitsunes in my life to explain stuff like this to me.”

“I’m also glad. Because if you didn't, I would've probably lost you after that.” he pushed the strand of hair that had been hiding you from him, behind your ear.

“No… I would've still come to you.” You chuckled. “You are too special to me to lose.”

Oh, how much he wanted to kiss you, but couldn't; not yet.

Your gaze then landed on his mask. “Why were you wearing your mask again? If I may ask?”

“I have a tendency to hide my face when I feel ashamed or angry.” He chuckles a little bit embarrassed. “I guess I use it to hide… my feelings and myself.” He said quietly.

You nodded in understanding; knowing the situation all too well; on your occasion, it was painting that helped you vent those emotions, turning them into something only you understood the entirety of.

“May I look at it?” You asked and he nodded, giving it to you.

You traced your fingers delicately on every feature of the mask; it was as beautiful as him.

“May I put it on?” You asked and he complied once again, never wanting to say no to you. But also because he was curious.

Placing the mask on your face you could smell his scent which made you very pleased.

You giggled. “I like it.” You looked at him, seeing he was smiling at you fondly and intrigued by you. Butterflies filled your stomach and thanked the mask for hiding your blush.

Not knowing how to deal with the emotions, you took off with the mask to tease him and avoid your feelings. “Now it’s mine!” You shouted as you giggled maliciously while running as fast as you can through the trees.

It took him a few seconds to react, not expecting at all what just happened. He wasn't surprised though, as he knew sometimes you could pass as a kitsune because of how naughty you were, especially with him and he liked that the most.

He followed behind you, not even caring to use his powers to outrun you as he was enjoying the chase and hearing you laugh.

But your running was brought to a halt as you encountered a nearby pond you had forgotten about and almost fell into it.

“Shit.” You cursed to yourself. You were about to take another route when a pair of arms grabbed you by the waist from behind abruptly, stopping you.

“Caught you! I won!” He exclaimed happily as he tried to take his mask back but you wouldn't let him.

All that could be heard was the sound of laughter as you both wrestled for the mask. At one point you lost balance and almost fell on your knees, but this time Jungkook softened the fall by holding you tightly, not wanting you to get hurt like last time.

You were about to stand up again but he went on top of you, trapping you.

The atmosphere had changed in a matter of seconds.

“I said… I won.” His voice turned suddenly low, his eyes turning lustful as they bore into you, loving the way you looked underneath him. “Now what do I get in return besides my mask, madam? Surely there must be more prizes for the winner… or does the winner get to choose? Because if so… the winner has a few things in mind already.” His eyes then went to your lips, casually licking his own.

You were flabbergasted by the situation and not in a bad way. Your eyes also went to his lips, but since you were shy, you took the mask and placed it on his face and gave him a kiss on what supposedly was his lips instead and chuckled afterwards oblivious to the tremendous effect it had on him.

“There… that was your—-“

Your mouth couldn't finish the sentence as his lips went for yours immediately after taking his mask off.

The kiss was heavenly for you. It was your first kiss so it was a little bit hard to keep with his needy experienced lips. But, even so, you found your way to reciprocate his kiss and feelings; it was something you wanted as much as he did.

You whimpered softly on his lips, making him stop and rest his forehead on yours with his eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed with his jaw clenched.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing himself. “You make me go insane, ______. You know that?”

Still on cloud 9 you just proceeded to caress his cheek and scalp. There was a brief moment of silence as he enjoyed your caresses.

“I have something for you, _____.” He broke the silence.

“And what would that be, sir Jungkook?” you playfully responded.

He laid beside you, facing you. Your eyes then went to his hand that was in a fist, blue light grabbing your attention as it went through the open spaces. Once the light vanished, his hand then opened, revealing a necklace with a little crystal jar as a pendant.

“What is that?” you asked.

“_____… I chose you as my mate.”

You sat up as soon as he said those words. You knew what that meant. It meant he couldn't be with anybody else after this, only you. Every tribe of kitsunes had their own ritual to choose a mate; you didn't know what his tribe’s ritual was but all you knew was that you were irritated by it. You never liked the idea of marrying an immortal to later leave alone to suffer for an eternity. It's not that you didn't agree with those types of relationships but it's just something you didn't want for yourself. You knew you were going to be constantly worrying about the future. Hence why you always admired Erika’s relationship by how fearless and in the moment they were.

“Jungkook, why would you do that?!”

“You already know the answer: because I fell for you, _____… and hard.” He sat up too, surprisingly calm to your reaction.

“Are you crazy?! I’m a mortal; I don't even last one century! You shouldn't have done that!” You were now standing.

Tears accumulated in your eyes, making your vision blurry. It was a reaction that even for you was unexpected; it made you realize how much you cared for him.

“What if I don't love you back, huh?! And what if I die tomorrow? What are you going to do then?!”

The tears were falling freely now. But they were interrupted by the pass of his caress.

“I already know the consequences, _____. And I don’t mind facing them.” He laid a kiss on your cheek, calming you.

“How… how are you not scared?” You hiccupped, wiping your tears away.

“Because my heart is where it belongs. And I knew from day one that you were my person; I could sense it as if… I had met you in another life; and I wasn't in the wrong.” He calmly assured you with a smile. “Now hold your hair up.”

You hesitated a bit but complied.

“This signifies my commitment to you; I want to marry you, _____.” Jungkook explained as he went behind you and placed the necklace on your neck.

“Jungkook, I don't think I'm there yet.” You shook your head and eyes began to water again; scared. But he continued clasping your necklace.

“The jar contains seven flowers. Each time you experience romantic love for me, one will bloom. Once the 7th has bloomed, that means you have fallen deeply in love with me and that’s when I'll marry you. In other words: I’ll wait for you.” He continued to clean your tears. “And even if they never bloom, and you want someone else… it will be ok. I’m not gonna lie to you, it will hurt.” He chuckled. “But knowing I'll still have you as a friend, would be enough for me.”

You couldn't understand how he was so sure after spending such a short period of time with you. You were scared for him; you didn't want him to live an unhappy life because of you and his decision.

But… At the same time, your heart couldn't resist feeling overjoyed at his words and the thought of spending the rest of your life with him.

Your hands then went to the pendant to examine it. It had flowers inside of it, seven different types of flowers about to bloom. You found it incredible how small they were; it was like a miniature garden inside of the jar.

“Can this be undone, the mate thing is only if i wear it, right?” You spoke more calmly now.

She is so cute. He thought to himself, chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, hugging tightly.

“You know... I have many things I love about you, but you worrying about us and our future, just drawns me even more." He smiled. " And no, it can't be undone because the necklace was made specifically for you; I've already committed to you to my creator: Inari.”

“Please ____, stop worrying. I've lived long enough to know that you are the only one for me. I’m going to be ok regardless; I just wanted you to know that my heart belongs to you.” He added.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, closing your eyes as your head rested on his chest; hearing his literal heart beat. You were overwhelmed and scared but you knew it was just anxiety talking. He was determined and you needed to remind yourself that he had lived centuries before you; that he had lived almost through every trial in life and that he was mature and wise enough to make this decision. You also reminded yourself that as long as you had each other, it was all going to be fine. And that living in the moment is what truly matters.

“Let’s go back before my aunt sends Jimin or Hoseok to find me; she knew something was off when I last talked to her.” You broke from his embrace. “…Or worse… Yoongi.”

“Who is Yoongi?” Jungkook asked, amused by your reaction to his name.

“He is a fallen angel and he is scary when he is mad.” You said as you walked the path back to the village, Jungkook followed behind.

“Why? He gets violent?” He asked, concerned.

“No! Not at all! He is just very strict. But let me tell you… he is very sweet under that hard shell he has and makes the best apple pie in the village… don’t tell my aunt I said that, please.” You said making him chuckle.

“Is it that good?” he asked, intertwining his hand with yours.

“Oh, yes! Wait till you try it! Yoongi has made it for me since I was little.” You squealed in excitement.

“Is that so?” he asked, intrigued but also in a trance with your beauty, like always.

And so the conversation continued to the village, without you realizing a flower had already bloomed: a Larch.

. . .

Everything was under a different light now. Every gesture, action and affectionate words were now felt differently. The feelings of love you neglected of him were now finally showing their colors, blossoming into something beautiful just like the flowers that rested on your neck.

Seven flowers… And one had already bloomed.

The second one, a Rumex, bloomed as his hand caressed your hair, both laying on your bed while he told you various stories from his childhood; one of them being how he had learned how to paint; and the others just showed you how naughty he was of a fox when a kid. All so you could fall asleep during the raging thunderstorm.

The third flower, a Spirea, bloomed when he told you how beautiful you were as you focused on your painting.

The fourth flower, a Buttercup, slowly bloomed as you both splashed each other with water in the nearby river and later on played hide and seek with the kids from your village; laughter and joy not seeming to cease.

The fifth flower, a Clematis, bloomed after reconciling on your first fight; making you understand that love isn't always perfect and that was ok. Because if the love is truthful, it is always bound to prevail over any circumstance or pride. That's what makes it so beautiful.

The sixth flower, a Sweershrub, bloomed when you saw him help an elder of the village to find and pick her favorite flowers for her balcony. Later on, bringing one for you too; one that he had found and had “thought of you” as he admired it.

The seventh flower… the last one… had bloomed as your hands cupped his cheeks and eyes went to his lips right after you had hugged him because he had finally shown you the painting he had been making; a painting where he had drawn you so beautifully as you concentrated on your own painting; it was so detailed and colorful, full of love… you just wanted to kiss him at that moment. But timidity overshadowed the courage to do so once again. And he himself had to restrict himself from kissing you as he knew very well that that kiss was just going to be fuel to the fire, and his body wasn't going to be able to be stopped from taking what it had been wanting. So he gently removed your hands and gave them soft kisses; apologizing before leaving you alone, wanting more from him; for him to love you.

“A tiger lily…” You stared at your reflection on the mirror of the vanity table, holding the pendant.

You sat there, amazed how all of them had bloomed so quickly. You also debated on when to tell him; for you it was a little bit embarrassing that your feelings were out there like that physically. For that reason you didn't always have it on your neck; sometimes it was in your pockets or as a bracelet. Although… he never paid much attention to it; he was more focused on just being with you. You did sometimes catch him looking but he would immediately look away. As if he reminded himself to not put pressure on you and just be happy that you were together even as friends.

There was a knock at the door, startling you since it was in the middle of the night. But then you remembered that Jungkook usually likes to sleep over. So you wrapped a blanket around you, not wanting your exposed skin to be seen, and went to the door to open it; revealing what you were already expecting: a smiling Jungkook with a pillow under his arm.

“I should start charging you for the overnight stays.” You joked as you walked towards the kitchen leaving him to close the door.

“But you won't because you like me being here.” He teased back as he entered, following you.

“Well maybe I don't; you always leave a mess on the couch.”

“But you enjoy my breakfasts so you won't kick me out. And I don't always leave a mess, madam.” He smiled.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Not after the over-salted eggs you gave me last time.”

“Hey! It was an accident.” He immediately started tickling your belly as punishment, making you laugh hysterically. You tried to escape his grasp but he held you from behind to not let you escape.

“Jungkook stop! I’m going to pee myself.” You laughed as your eyes watered; he grew weak as he began laughing at your comment and you took the opportunity to escape, and in that attempt to push him off, your blanket fell off, leaving you only on your satin nightgown that exposed your breasts through the fabric while a strap fell off your shoulder, making it worse for you.

As soon as your skin came in contact with the cold breeze, you realized what had just happened and gasped, backing away a bit, lifting the nightgown strap back up. You quickly looked at him, embarrassed. And you saw how his eyes had just finished scanning your body, going from your perked up breasts to your face. You couldn't take any longer the insecurities so you went to grab the blanket to cover yourself up again. But as you pulled the piece of fabric, something interfered: Jungkook's foot, stepping on it.

You stepped back, letting the blanket fall, looking at him with an arm around your breasts as you tried to decipher what he was thinking.

If a needle were to fall, it would be heard; silence and tension was all there was. But not a bad kind of tension…

He walked to you, taking extra steps as you instinctively stepped back, colliding with the kitchen counter. Even though you wanted him, it was your first time and it was instinct to hide yourself.

He removed your arm that covered your breasts, exposing them to him again. You hesitated a bit.

“Let me see you.” He stated.

Your eyes were glued to his lustful gaze on your breasts; his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to restrain himself.

Softly he grazed your neck moving to your collarbone… finally landing on your breast, grasping it firmly; and without warning, his mouth went to your bud and began savoring it, despising the fabric that was in between. Your gasp was followed by a moan and slight twitch of your body as pleasure was felt.

Hearing you moan made his movements more passionate and rough, switching between breasts. He wanted to see and hear more. His sucks were loud and licks were lewd; flicking your exposed nipples and nibbling on them occasionally; all while he massaged your breasts aggressively.

As your lips parted from pleasure, he took the opportunity to collide his mouth with yours as your lips looked too pretty like that to pass the invitation. His hand then traveled from your breast to your neck where the necklace resided. And as soon as his hand brushed the chain, that's when he remembered.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to remove his lips from yours, It took him every ounce of self restraint to complete that task. But went through it successfully, making you whimper softly from frustration at the loss of his sweet sinful mouth.

He rested his forehead on yours with eyes closed and untamed breaths as he tried to control the animal inside of him that only wanted to claim you before anybody else could.

“It was a mistake for me to come here. And I should stop coming over; it's dangerous for me and for you; I apologize.” He states due to the fact that it was getting harder for him to hold himself back, before stepping away and going towards the door at a fast pace.

“The flowers bloomed, Jungkook.” You made him stop on his tracks.

You wanted this too.

“What?” He asked, not because he didn't understand you, but because he couldn't believe it for a moment.

“All the flowers bloomed… yesterday, the last one blossomed; I noticed it today.” You smiled, excited but nervous at the same time.

He went back to you and picked the pendant, seeing every flower grown and colorful.

He smiled and lightly chuckled, placing his forehead on yours and hands on the counter behind you trapping you, relieved he no longer had to hold himself together when he was around you.

His fingers now held your chin, making you look at him. “You don't know how fucking hard was it to hold back and not fuck you like you are meant to be fucked, _____.” He said so casually; eyes physically changing and a pair of fangs now visible.

You weren't surprised by his choice of words since you knew how they behaved when they were in heat or just needy; sadly you know about this because you had to hear your friend, Erika, talk to you about her and Jimin’s sex life occasionally; more specifically when she had an “amazing night”; you always had to shut her up mid speech before you puked. But at least it helped you get to know a little better how kitsunes worked, or any other hybrid that was part animal.

His eyes… You thought to yourself as their pupil was now slit. Just like a fox.

“Beautiful…” You thought out loud, boring into his eyes; finally being able to see part of his fox side.

And that was enough to send him off edge.

“This nightgown doesn't hold any sentimental value to you, correct?” He asked.

“No, why—“

You gasped as one of his now exposed claws had cut through the middle of the night gown, ripping off the rest with his hands and pushing off the straps from your shoulders and throwing the gown to a side. You were now fully exposed to him. To you, it felt so weird to be naked in front of a man and you also felt self conscious. But the man that was in front of you was one that you deeply loved and trusted your body with; you wanted to give him all of you and you were ready to face and overcome your insecurities with him.

Your arms went to your breasts, but he was quick to remove your arms and place them on your sides, whispering to your ear, “Stop doing that or I'll tie your arms.”

He began tracing his fingers slowly starting from your hip’s stretch marks to the curve of your waist, passing your aroused nipple (making you shiver); ending on your neck followed by grasping it.

“Beautiful.” He repeated your words. “Just like imagined.”

You blushed once more; asking yourself if he had touched himself to the thought of you; the thought alone made you even wetter and wanting to hear more of what he wanted to do to you. Oh, how dirty you felt.

So the words came out of your mouth intrusively, “What else do you imagine?”

He was also taken back by your sudden loss of shyness. But reality was that, you were still scared. Nevertheless, you wanted him even so.

“Do you really want to know, darling?” The grip on your neck tightened, playing with his prey.

“Ye-es.” You almost moaned, loving his hand over your neck.

His mouth attacked yours desperately, connecting your tongues. The hand that held your throat, now positioning your head for easier access; his other hand pushed your crotch towards his so he could grind himself on you and get some relief from his aching cock.

“Go to the couch.” He broke the kiss, his loud pants overshadowing yours.

He had so much control over you; you complied so quickly. Yet, what you didn't know was the amount of control you had over him. Not only because of the smell of your arousal or your naked body, but because of the way you looked at him as if you were high on him; it was driving him nuts. He wanted to be gentle with you… oh how he wanted to. But you just made it so difficult for him… always.

Your living room had two sofas on either side of your wooden coffee table; facing each other.

He followed behind, eye-fucking your ass. He also grabbed the nearest canvas and some paints and pencils, making you curious of what he was going to do.

You stood awkwardly in front of one, waiting for him to give you instructions.

“You do not get to be shy now after you asked me what I think of when I touch myself.” He softly chuckled.

“D-don’t be an ass.” You retorted; somehow enjoying that you could still tease each other even during sex.

He chuckled again. But his expression went back to the previous one: fox eyes full of raging lust. It was like two different people.

An easel was already in front of one of the sofas since you had decided this morning to paint an idea that had come to mind… so it made it easier for him.

He placed the canvas on the easel followed by the words, “Sit.” And you complied.

He was on the other couch facing you as he grabbed a pencil.

Is he… is he going to draw me naked? You thought to yourself, only to be answered afterwards as if he had heard you.

“You asked me what I thought when I touched myself… then I’m going to show you; don't know how much self control I'll have, though.” He said sincerely as he took out his cock out of his lower attire.

You loved the way it looked with cum already dripping from the tip.

“I’m going to paint you bare before me while I touch myself.” He said, already beginning to stroke his cock, breaths of air longer and broken. “And I don't want you touching yourself, do you understand?”

You nodded, rubbing your thighs together, needing some kind of friction.

“But you are going to spread your legs.”

This is going to be hard for me to not touch myself. You thought.

And slowly, and a bit embarrassed, you exposed to him your dripping cunt.

He swallowed hard, thinking to himself that this was going to be harder than he thought. But he still wanted to show you how fucked up you made him all the time. Plus he was enjoying the anticipation before he fucked you like he wanted to.

His other hand gripped hard on the pencil as he began to draw you. He began doing the basics of the painting… your face… the form of your body… and then began adding some details. But the truth is, the drawing was sloppy since he was enjoying more tracing your body with his own eyes; admiring it; memorizing it and plotting ways he was going to fuck you. All while he was stroking himself, squeezing his balls occasionally.

He looked so beautiful: eyes furrowed and mouth opened as he cursed and breathed heavily while giving himself pleasure. You wanted to touch yourself so badly…

“Spread the lips of your cunt for me.” He panted. “I wanna see your hole begging for my cock.”

For you that was even more torture since you just wanted to rub your clit or have him touch you or be inside you. But you did it anyway, making him hiss and grunt as his hips thrusted forward instinctively as he saw how it was pulsating from need.

“Fuck.” He clenched his jaw.

The painting was long gone, abandoned. And all that could be heard was the sound of his moans/grunts and hand stroking himself.

This was too much for you, seeing him like that… and your slit aching for him… your fingers just slipped inside you without you noticing as you looked at him touching himself to you.

“Jungkook...” You whimpered as you closed your eyes for a second, focusing on the feeling; your other hand now touching your breast.

The crash of the easel, canvas and pencil with the floor made you open your eyes again. Jungkook had pushed it to the floor and was now moving towards you.

He pushed your back to the couch and held your legs while he aligned himself on your entrance, spitting on his cock to use as additional lube.

“Jungk—-“ you were going to protest because he was going too fast but it was already too late. His cock was already inside of you, pounding you hard.

“Shit!” You yelped as your eyes watered from the sting.

“I wont be gentle, _____.” He grunted as he pounded into you. “But I’m going to make you feel good, I promise.”

It felt so different from your fingers for obvious reasons. There was a mixture of pain and pleasure and you didn't know how to react; you were confused. But one thing was for sure: you felt full and in ecstasy with him finally inside you. And you just wanted more even on uncomfortableness.

Had you just discovered you were a masochist? Probably.

One of your hands went to his and grabbed it, guiding it over your neck. You wanted him to hold you there; you liked the feeling.

“You keep playing with fire, _____. Do you want me to break you?!”

You nodded, too overwhelmed by lust and pleasure to speak.

He cursed.

Your arm was grabbed and in a matter of seconds you were flipped over. You were on your knees, forehead pressed to a cushion by his hand on your nape. This position allowed him to go faster.

Since you were looking down, he grabbed you by your hair and positioned your head sideways.

“Don't want to miss those pretty reactions you make while you take my cock.” You moaned at his words as he thrusted harshly into you, making you yelp.

“Touching yourself and then asking me to hold you by your neck? What a dirty virgin you are. You really don't want me to go easy on you, huh?” He added.

Every word he said, your body reacted to it. And he knew by the way you were squeezing in on him, which you could tell he loved by the way he cursed under his breath.

“Such a slut… my slut.” He commented; his hand never leaving your nape as he fucked you.

He then lowered himself on you, pushing you down to the sofa, your bodies now touching as he pounded you deep. His thrusts were now more paused but each thrust was harsh and loud.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered.

“I know, beautiful.” He whispered into your ear and licked a stripe of the shell and bit it softly.

You were drooling at this point; so focused on him, his sounds and touches. You also knew for sure that your ass was going to be bruised and red as fuck after this by how hard he had be fucking you. Not only were you probably weren't going to be able to stand up tomorrow, but also sit. You were fucked. But it was worth it to you.

“I’m close.” He grunted as he picked up the pace again, lifting your ass up again; both of his hands digging into your hips; more bruises you knew you were gonna have tomorrow.

You turned your head sideways to watch when he came. But you were also enjoying how his eyes never left your cunt as it took him so nicely.

“You were made for me, _____. Your pretty little tight cunt was made to take my cock.” He panted, high on you.

Suddenly, one of his harsh thrusts came with a sharp pain on your shoulder, extending to your neck; feeling drops of a warm liquid dripping from it; it was your blood. He had bitten you as he came inside you. You were now full of his cum, scent and with a mark claiming you as his.

It was so fast that it didn't give you time to react. But the pain was still there, he could see it on your face. So he licked the area to soothe you and clean it, giving your neck and shoulder kisses afterwards. He still didn't pull out.

“Mine finally.” He said burying his nose on your neck, smelling the mixture of your scent with his; he couldn't get enough of it. He couldn't get enough of the idea that you were all marked up by him; it was satisfying.

“You ok, love?” He asked, checking your wound to see if it stopped bleeding.

“Y-yes.” You replied, still surprised by the bite. You had forgotten when Erika had told you about the bite they give you when it's your first time together; it injects the pheromones into you; marking you as his not only by smell but physically.

“You haven't orgasmed yet, right?” He asked, still inside of you, laid on your back as his breathing returned to normal.

“No… sorry; I thought that was going to be enough.” You apologize, somehow feeling guilty that you didn't come during the intercourse. But again, you were new to this. You only knew some things because of Erika.

I should’ve listened more to her even if I puked afterwards. You thought.

“Love, why are you apologizing? That is perfectly normal; please don't force anything; just enjoy my touch.” He said, finally pulling out, pleased to see that you were filled to the brim with his cum.

You relaxed at his words but whimpered as he pulled out, missing feeling full.

“Turn around for me.”

You were facing him now as he hovered over you. He kissed you… lips now more gentle but full of passion; occasionally licking your lower lip.

His hand then slipped to your cum dripping cunt, playing with your folds before going down on you.

“W-wait! What are you doing?” You quickly questioned as his head was now between your legs; still insecure of your body.

But he ignored you.

“What a pretty sight.” He almost moaned seeing your hole still filled with his cum.

“I'll paint this next, what do you think?” He smirked at you and you blushed looking away.

His thumb circled your clit a bit before spitting on it, making it easier for him to pleasure you. But he did not miss the almost silent moan you released seeing him do that.

He smirked, once more. “You really like that, don’t you? When I spit on you.”

“Can— Can you stop teasing me?!” You said annoyed/flustered and he giggled.

He chuckled. “I knew it… that look you gave me when I spat on my cock was enough to let me know.“

He gave your clit more rubs while he hovered over you again.

“Open.” He gestured to your lips with his eyes.

Confusion was evident on your face, not understanding but you still complied.

“My slut is so well mannered; now stick your tongue out for me.”

A ball of spit fell from his mouth into your tongue.

“Swallow.”

It was embarrassing for you how quickly you complied and wanted more.

What is wrong with me?

You were discovering things about yourself that you never imagined existed.

“You want another one, doll?” He asked, begging for you to say yes as he was also enjoying every second of it. He never knew he was going to like this as much as he does right now; but maybe it was just because this was another way for him to mark you.

You nodded, opening your mouth again. And he smirked.

Another ball of spit fell into your mouth. And this time he continued with a kiss, connecting your tongues.

Every touch, kiss, action… was guiding you towards your high and you were starting to feel it. And he could see it by the way you were grinding your hips on his hand.

He lowered his face to your cunt, taking a whiff of it. “So good.” He moaned before sucking your clit.

You were a moaning whimpering mess by the way his tongue was going so fast on your bud; taking a few whiffs in between as he loved the way you smelled. At this point all his lower face was covered in your fluids. And he didn't mind one bit.

His other hand was now stroking his cock.

He is hard again.

You wanted to touch him so badly too but you were about to come.

Maybe next time. You thought.

But you did have one request. “Jungkook, I’m close. I want you to— to touch my clit with your cock.”

He didn't think twice to do so, wanting to make you go crazy for him, to lose all sense of reason for him, to just think of him only him. He wanted to break you.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He cursed loving how lewd you were when about to climax.

Occasionally he would slap his cock on your clit as he rubbed himself on your clit, making your body jolt from overstimulation.

“fu— uck, Jungkook!” You grabbed onto his arm while you rode your high on his dick.

You had come before by your own hands but this… this was way different.

Jungkook, seeing your climax, also came on you, strings of semen landing on your belly and tits.

As you came down from cloud nine, he left wet kisses on your neck and then switched to your lips, connecting them.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead on yours with his eyes closed as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Finally… mine.” He exhaled in relief as if he had held his breath all these months that he was with you. Because even though he told you that it would be ok if you didn't feel the same way, reality was that he knew very well it wasn't going to be ok for him; he knew that being with you and not being able to touch you… kiss you… hold you… make love to you… or just watching you with another man… was going to be torturous and unbearable pain. But he was willing to go through it just so he could see you everyday and make sure you were ok.

“I love you.” You said to him, wanting to reassure him you weren't going anywhere and that your feelings were true.

He chuckled as he sighed. “That just makes me want to go for round two. But I know you are tired and sore already so I will save that round two for later.”

You lazily chuckled; body so relaxed…

He noticed your heavy eyelids so he picked you up bridal style and took you to your bed. The sudden gesture shocked you a little bit but later relaxed in his arms.

After he gently laid you on the bed, he left the room and came back with a damped towel and proceeded to clean you up. As he did, your enamored eyes went from his face to his beautiful body, focusing on his caring actions. But the scars of the injury you cured grabbed your full attention after. Till this day you hadn't asked him what exactly he was running from and who had hurt him; it had been four months already. There were some times where you wanted to speak about the subject, but decided not to; scared of making him remember something he didn't want to. But right now, you felt so in tune with him; like your souls had reached their peak in connecting… that it gave you tranquility; you just knew he was willing to share his vulnerability with you.

“Jungkook… what were you running from that day?” You finally asked, his eyes quickly going up to you.

He was definitely not expecting that question now but he was already preparing for it; he knew you both would eventually talk about the subject. But he didn't mind; even if it meant going back to such a miserable past. You were his and he was yours, and he wanted to share everything with you.

“My family.” He said as he kept cleaning you.

You were shocked; that was an answer you were definitely not expecting. You were expecting maybe thieves… someone who just didn't like him… or just bad people in general. But his own blood? No.

“Why, if I may ask?” You said, now sitting on the bed.

“You can ask all you want, beautiful.” He smiled, rubbing your thigh as a sign of reassurance.

“They just… didn't like the idea of me going against their— no, her word.” He chuckled softly, but there was pain evident in his eyes.

“Her?” You asked curious of who he was referring to.

“My mother, it was always her and everyone followed… my whole childhood consisted of her controlling every little thing of my life; even the way I dressed. But as i got older, I began to rebel; starting with my hobbies… that's when I learned how to paint.”

It's incredible for you how well he hid the pain and reality of his childhood when he talked to you about it. He always told you the nice memories but never the bad ones. And you could tell there were a lot of bad ones.

“I changed the way I dressed; I got piercings and tattoos… I always got shit for it but I didn't care; I could take it… that's what I always said.” He continued.

And damn does he look good… You were happy he got the courage to be himself.

“But my tolerance was cut short when she forced me to marry a woman from a well known vampire clan. Apparently she got interested in me at one of the many balls I attended. And since she belongs to a very rich and powerful clan… it was all about gain.”

He threw the towel away and went to rest beside you, laying his head on your thigh. He took your hand and placed it on his head. And you already knew what it meant: he wanted pets.

“So I ran before the wedding could take place. But she found out and went looking for me; she sent my two brothers to search for me. The commitment they had to find me was astonishing because I was already far far away when they found me. And that's… that's when my own two brothers that I grew up with, almost… killed me.”

His last two words sounded doubtful, as he still couldn't believe that had happened.

“They tried to talk it out at first but when I kept refusing… all they said was that they didn't have another choice. I was always the strongest one out of the three so that’s the reason why she sent them both. But… even so, I managed to escape and lose them.”

You wiped the tears that had not gone unnoticed by you.

“Damn, I'm crying?” He chuckled and you nodded.

“It’s ok.” You reassured and kissed his hand that cleaned his eyes.

That action secretly drives him crazy.

“I ran all I could; I remember passing a lot of trees. And then… I saw you. Even though I was in pain, once my eyes laid on you I felt that you were someone who was going to be really important to me; I could feel it; as if we had known each other in a past life. But at the same time I was doubtful; probably because my intuition was being clouded with my fight or flight instinct; but once I saw you turn back because of a spider.. I knew I was ok and that you weren't going to hurt me.”

“I don't know if to feel flattered or insulted.” You said making him snort out a laugh.

“So that spider technically made you trust me?”

“Yeah… I thank that spider every day. Because otherwise, I would’ve probably just bled out.”

That was scary just thinking about; knowing that there could’ve been a possibility where you didn't meet each other. You look back and you for the first time in your life… feel thankful for a spider showing up.

“In that case, I'm grateful for the spider too.” You both laughed.

Your fingers kept running his hair while his eyes closed, enjoying your touch like always. There was silence but it was a comfortable one. As you sat there giving him affection, your eyes scanned all his features. Still admiring his beauty as if it was the first time you saw him.

“You are so beautiful.” Those words just needed to come out from your mouth.

His eyes opened with a shocked flustered expression; he was blushing and moved one of his hands to cover half of his face as if it was helping cover the obvious blushing cheeks and ears. He always did that when he got shy.

You chuckled at his cuteness. “Too bad I'm gonna get old and won't match your youthfulness.” You chuckled again but this time a bit more sad.

His expression changed to a more serious one. “Why are you thinking like that?”

“Because… my body will change and… I won't be able to keep up with… you know… your needs.”

The harsh truth; one that had been bothering you for a while now but tried your best to ignore it; you wanted to live in the moment after all. But the problem was that you wanted to make him happy always; to please him and be there for him when he needed you just like he does for you now. You didn't want to lose that ability. Because you knew for a fact he was going to love you unconditionally but it was still going to be hard for you.

He sat now, placing a hand on your cheek. “_____, look at me. Your hair will turn gray and your skin will prune. But your smile won't change, the way you make me laugh won't change, the way you love won't change, your fear of spiders probably won't change either.”

“Hey!” You protested.

“And your way of knowing me so well… the way you have me at the palm of your hands… the way you turn me on… won't change either. All those things are what made me fall deeply in love with you.”

“Even if my ass and tits drop?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh my god, ____. Yes, I will love you even if your ass and tits drop.” he rolled his eyes and began to laugh and you joined.

You were in love; mad, mad in love.

“In other words… Till my end comes, you will always have my heart. Even after our inevitable parting happens, I'll never let go of you.”

Tears unavoidably fell from your eyes as you smiled; feeling so lucky and so loved. Was this the world reciprocating all the love you gave to it al this time?

“Besides, we can just make potions for stamina and endurance. If you know what I mean.” He winked and smirked.

You slapped his arm and began laughing. “You had to ruin the moment you fucking degenerate.”

“Only if it's you.” He stuck his tongue out, stopping it between his teeth with deviousness in his eyes; a playful flirty expression he tended to make.

He really never failed to make you flustered, shy or blushed even if it was sometimes corny. It was something that you knew that even if decades passed, you would still experience.

“I hope I get to see you in my next life too, Jungkook.”

“Oh believe me, I will always find my way back to you.”

And as always, that sincerity in his eyes was undoubtedly one of your biggest weaknesses. Your lips couldn't help but to reach for his.

Now the next thing was to plan the wedding. You didn't have any ideas yet. But one thing was for sure. And that was that Yoongi was going to make the pastries. It was a perfect excuse to make him do pie.

Sorry Yoongi.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Thirty One

Jungkook leaned back in his leather chair, one hand gripping the phone to his ear while the other drummed impatiently against the dark mahogany desk. His office was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, where the city stretched out in endless golden streaks against the night.

His jaw was tight, his voice low and steady. “I need you to do a job for me.”

A pause.

The voice on the other end was smooth but skeptical. “Didn’t think you’d be calling me of all people. You sure about this?”

Jungkook’s grip on the phone tightened. “Find out whatever you can about Aylah Jace Banks.”

There was a brief silence. Then, a low chuckle. “A name. That’s all you’re giving me?”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. “I don’t have much else. But you’re good at what you do, aren’t you?”

A rustling noise came through the line, followed by the faint sound of keys clacking against a keyboard. “Alright, alright. I’ll bite. You want a standard background check or… something deeper?”

Jungkook hesitated for half a second. Then— “Everything. Where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. I don’t care how long it takes, just get me answers.”

A low whistle. “Must be one hell of a girl.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer.

The man on the phone didn’t push. “Alright, I’ll see what I can dig up. Might take a few days, might take longer. Depends on how easy she is to track.”

Jungkook’s fingers tapped against the desk, his mind already racing through the possibilities. “Just let me know the second you find something.”

“Fine, fine. But let me ask you something first.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What?”

A pause. Then, the man’s voice dropped into something almost amused. “What exactly are you hoping to find?”

Jungkook clenched his teeth, the answer sitting heavy in his chest.

That she’s okay.That she doesn’t hate me.That she’s still mine, even if she never was to begin with.

Instead, he simply said, “Just do the job.”

The man chuckled again. “Whatever you say, champ.”

Aylah’s POV:

I swirled my straw absently in my caramel frappuccino, watching the golden-brown liquid mix with the melted ice as my mind drifted back to yesterday.

The way Adam had reacted. The way he had towered over me in the storage room, his arms caging me in, his voice laced with barely contained irritation. His eyes—dark, unreadable, but holding something underneath. Something I couldn’t quite place.

I sighed, taking another slow sip of my drink. What the hell is his problem? One minute, he was acting like I didn’t exist, and the next, he was catching falling boxes and getting all up in my space like—

“BOO!”

“OH MY GOD!” My entire body jolted as I nearly spilled my drink, clutching my chest as my heart tried to recover from the near heart attack.

Cyrus burst into laughter, doubling over at my reaction. “Damn, AJ, I didn’t think you’d jump that hard. Didn’t realize you were so deep in thought.”

I exhaled sharply, placing my cup down before I actually dropped it. “Jesus, Cyrus! I swear, one of these days, you’re gonna be the reason I go into cardiac arrest.”

He smirked, plopping into the seat across from me. “Sorry, girl, but you were looking way too serious. What’s got you all spaced out?”

“Nothing,” I muttered quickly, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”

Cyrus gave me a look like he knew I was lying, but to my relief, he didn’t push it. Instead, his lips curled into a grin, his entire demeanor shifting as he clapped his hands together excitedly.

“Anyway, forget all that! It’s Bank Holiday, which means—” He stretched out the words dramatically. “—we can close up early.”

My head snapped up so fast I probably gave myself whiplash. “Wait, really?” It was like life suddenly flooded back into my body.

“Yep,” he confirmed, looking way too smug at my enthusiasm. “So, how ‘bout me, you, Serena, and Leah hit up that pizza place in Central? You know the one.”

I let out a groan, pressing my hands together in mock prayer. “Oh my God, yes. I’d kill for pizza right now.”

Just as I was about to start fantasizing about all the cheese and carbs I was about to inhale, the café door swung open, and Leah and Serena strolled in, looking suspiciously guilty.

“Guys,” Leah started, her tone careful. “We… may have a slight change of plans.”

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. “What? Why?”

Leah winced, rubbing the back of her neck. “Soooo… I may have mentioned to Adam what our plans were.”

My stomach immediately twisted.

Cyrus blinked. “Okay… and?”

Leah let out a slow breath. “Aaaand… he’s kinda coming with us.”

The entire café went silent. Even the coffee machine seemed to stop making noise.

Cyrus leaned forward. “Wait. He agreed?”

Serena nodded, eyes still wide like she couldn’t believe it herself. “Yeah, I was literally listening to their conversation, and I was shocked when he said yes. He always turns us down when we ask him to hang out.”

Leah groaned. “That’s why I asked! I didn’t want to be rude and not invite him, but I wasn’t expecting him to actually say yes.”

Serena suddenly grinned, nudging my shoulder. “Maybe it had something to do with little miss over here.”

My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

Cyrus wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, think about it. He’s never hung out with us outside of work before, and now—suddenly, after your little run-in with him today—he magically decides to come?”

I crossed my arms, scowling. “That’s ridiculous.”

Serena smirked. “Is it?”

“Yes!” I said firmly. “Adam doesn’t even like me.”

Leah hummed, tapping her chin. “Mmm… Are we sure about that?”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Guys, seriously. He’s coming because he wants pizza, not because of me.”

Cyrus grinned. “Suuure, AJ. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I grabbed my frappuccino and took a very aggressive sip. “I hate you all.”

They burst into laughter.

Before I could argue any further, the door chimed again. We all turned at the same time—

And there he was.

Adam was dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his usual cap pulled low over his eyes, his sharp jawline illuminated by the café lights. He stepped inside quietly, his gaze sweeping over the four of us before locking onto me.

My breath hitched.

His stare was unreadable. Not necessarily hostile, but… intense. As if he was trying to figure me out, trying to understand something about me that even I didn’t know.

I swallowed. What is with this guy?

Leah cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Uh, hey, Adam. Ready to go?”

Adam tore his gaze away from me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”

Cyrus leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Girl, I felt that in my coochie, and I ain’t even got one.”

I shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He smirked but didn’t push it further.

Leah clapped her hands together. “Alright then, let’s go get some damn pizza.”

The cool evening air wrapped around us as we stepped out of the café, the sky painted in deep shades of purple and navy as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The streets were still buzzing with life—cars honking, groups of friends laughing as they passed by, and the scent of street food wafting from nearby vendors.

Cyrus jingled his car keys in his hand as he led the way, grinning like he was up to something. Leah walked beside him, scrolling through her phone, while Serena and I trailed just behind them. Adam, as usual, was silent, walking slightly apart from the group with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

I tried not to think about the fact that he was right next to me. Tried being the keyword.

“So, what car are we taking?” I asked, mostly to fill the silence.

“Mine,” Cyrus answered over his shoulder. “Biggest one out of all of us.”

Leah smirked. “And you just love driving us around, don’t you?”

Cyrus scoffed. “Please. You peasants should be grateful you get to experience my excellent driving skills for free.”

Serena snorted. “Oh yeah? Tell that to the parking ticket you got last week.”

“That was a setup,” he argued. “The parking sign was misleading, and I refuse to take responsibility.”

Leah shook her head, laughing. But then, her eyes flicked to Cyrus, and her expression shifted slightly—mischief flashing behind her gaze.

Cyrus slowed his pace, letting the distance between us and them grow just enough before he leaned toward Leah and whispered, “I’ve got a plan.”

Leah arched a brow. “Oh? Do tell.”

A devilish grin spread across Cyrus’s face. “So, you know how I have two boxes of weights on my back seat? The ones I use to work out at home?”

Leah nodded slowly, catching on. “Yeah…?”

“Well, I conveniently forgot to take them out, and there’s no space in the boot.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Which means our dear AJ is gonna have to sit on Adam’s lap.”

Leah gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Cyrus. I love the way you think, my friend.”

They shared a sneaky high-five behind us, completely unnoticed by Serena, Adam, and me.

As we continued walking toward the car, completely oblivious to the scheme unfolding behind us, I let out a content sigh, stretching my arms. “Man, I can already taste that pizza.”

“Right?” Serena chimed in. “I’m getting extra cheese on mine.”

Adam, as expected, didn’t say anything. But I could feel his presence beside me, a silent but undeniable weight in the atmosphere.

Leah and Cyrus, on the other hand, were grinning like two kids who just got away with something very bad.

As we finally reached Cyrus’ car, he suddenly gasped dramatically, throwing a hand to his forehead like he had just remembered something crucial. “Oh no,” he said, voice laced with faux distress.

I blinked at him, confused. “What? Oh no what?”

“My weights!” He motioned toward the car like it was some tragic scene. “I completely forgot I had them in the back seat.”

I frowned. “Weights? What weights?”

Cyrus sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I work out at home, obviously,” he said, flexing his arms for emphasis. “And I bought some new ones yesterday, but I completely forgot to take them out.”

Adam, who had been mostly quiet the entire time, finally spoke. His deep, calm voice cut through Cyrus’ theatrics. “Why don’t you just move them to the boot?”

Leah perked up immediately, jumping in right on cue. “Ohhh, yeah, about that…” She winced, rubbing the back of her neck. “I may have borrowed Cyrus’ car a few days ago and may have forgotten to take out my shopping bags. Sooo… the boot is kind of full.”

I glanced between them, something about this situation feeling oddly off, but I wasn’t sure what exactly. “So… what are we gonna do? There are five of us and only four available seats.”

Leah smirked, and I swore I saw something mischievous flash in her eyes before she spoke. “Well, Cyrus is driving, obviously. And I’m a passenger princess so that seat is mine.”

I turned to Serena, already knowing what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“Yeah, no way am I squeezing in the back with someone,” she said, shaking her head. “I get motion sickness way too easily so I need my own seat.”

Which left—

My stomach dropped.

Leah’s smirk grew wider. “Sooo that leaves you and Adam.”

Before I could even begin to protest, Cyrus clapped his hands together like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “AJ, you can just sit on Adam’s lap.”

I swear my entire body combusted on the spot.

“What— no, absolutely not—”

Before I could finish, a low, impatient voice cut me off.

“Fine. Get in the car.”

I turned to Adam so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. He was standing there, looking completely unfazed, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just agreed to this situation with zero hesitation.

Behind me, Leah, Cyrus, and Serena squealed excitedly, but the moment I turned my head, they immediately coughed and looked away, trying (and failing) to contain their delight.

I was so going to kill them for this.

But, at this point, what choice did I have? Everyone was already climbing into the car, and I’d look even weirder if I kept standing there, refusing to move.

Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly opened the back door. Adam was already seated, legs spread slightly as he leaned back, one arm draped over the headrest as he scrolled through his phone. He didn’t even look at me.

I hesitated, shifting my weight between my feet as I stared at him from outside the car.

That’s when Adam finally glanced up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

“You getting in or what?” His tone was even, unreadable.

“O-oh, yeah, yeah, I am,” I stammered, feeling beyond awkward.

Gripping Leah’s seat for support, I carefully climbed into the car, lowering myself onto Adam’s lap with extreme caution. I tried to leave as much space as humanly possible between my back and his chest, my entire body rigid with tension.

Well, that was until Adam suddenly grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back flush against him.

My breath hitched.

“Sit properly,” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and firm. “Or you’re going flying forward when he brakes.”

I swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “O-okay.”

I tried to ignore the warmth of his tattooed hand resting around my waist, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the way his scent—something dark and woody—wrapped around me like an embrace.

In front of me, Leah and Cyrus exchanged triumphant smirks.

I had just fallen perfectly into their trap.

Jungkook’s POV:

Jungkook sat in his office, the dim glow from his desk lamp casting shadows across his features. He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the cool surface of his desk as his phone buzzed beneath his palm. His patience was wearing thin.

He had given it two hours. That was already more waiting than he was used to.

Without hesitation, he picked up his phone and dialed the number, pressing it to his ear. The call barely rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

“Yo.”

Jungkook didn’t bother with greetings. “Did you find anything?”

A dry chuckle came through the line. “Bro, you called me two hours ago. I told you it would take a few days to get all the information you wanted.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. Days? He didn’t have days.

“I’ll pay you triple,” he said flatly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Make it quick.”

Silence.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the guy sucking his teeth, clearly irritated. But Jungkook knew money talked, and sure enough—

“Well,” the guy sighed, his tone shifting. “She’s in South London. Works at some café.” There was a brief pause before he added, almost amused, “So far, that’s all I’ve got.”

Jungkook sat up straighter, his grip tightening around his phone. His brain latched onto two word.

South London.

His pulse quickened as he processed the information, but he kept his voice calm, steady. “Send me her address.”

The guy let out a low chuckle. “Damn. Not even a ‘thank you’? Thought you’d want more details. Like, I don’t know, what she’s been up to, who she’s hanging around, maybe even why she left—”

“You can find all that out and tell me later,” Jungkook interrupted, his patience wearing thinner by the second. “Just send me her address. Now.”

The line was quiet for a moment before the guy finally sighed. “Whatever you say, man. Sending it through right now.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzed almost instantly. He pulled it away from his ear just in time to see a notification pop up on his screen—an address in London.

His lips curled slightly.

Found you.

Before he could hang up, a thought gnawed at him. He brought the phone back to his ear.

“How’d you even find her?”

The guy snorted. “Man, it was easy. To be honest, you could’ve found her yourself.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

The guy let out an exasperated chuckle. “That iPad you gave her? It’s still logged into your Apple ID. You could’ve tracked her using the Find My app.”

Jungkook froze.

Then, realization slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

Fuck.

How had he forgotten about that? The iPad—he had given it to her back when—

His jaw tightened. He shoved the memory away before it could drag him under.

Doesn’t matter. He knew where she was now. That was all that mattered.

“Right. Got it,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy drawled lazily. “Anything else?”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, running a hand through his curls. “No. That’s all.”

“Alright, man. I’ll keep digging. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Jungkook ended the call without another word and tossed his phone onto the desk, staring at the address glowing on the screen.

He leaned back in his chair, letting the information settle. The city that had swallowed her up, kept her hidden from him all this time—he was finally about to break through.His fingers tightened around his car keys, the cool metal pressing against his palm.

He didn’t know why he felt this rush of adrenaline. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find when he saw her again. All he knew was that he had to see her again.

A smirk ghosted across his lips as he pushed himself up from his chair.

"London, here I come."

Aylah’s POV:

The heat in the car was stifling, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made every breath feel a little too shallow. It was more than just the summer warmth, though; it was the overwhelming sensation of being so close to Adam. His hand was still on my waist, a firm, constant presence that sent a strange fluttering sensation spiraling in my stomach. What was worse, though, was the way he casually moved his fingers in small, slow circles, as if it was no big deal. It made everything feel a little too intimate, a little too personal, especially considering the tension between us.

At first, I tried to ignore it, focusing on the blaring horns and the constant stop-and-go of the traffic around us. But with each passing second, I felt his touch more acutely, the warmth of his palm pressing into the soft skin of my midriff. The fabric of my crop top offered no barrier between us, leaving my body fully aware of his presence.

His touch was making my heart race, my thoughts scatter. I was trying to make sense of it all, trying to figure out why he was acting this way. He didn’t like me; of that, I was sure. But then why was he here? And why did he feel the need to touch me, to keep his hand where no one else’s hand should be?

Just stop thinking about it, I mentally told myself, but the words did nothing to quiet the chaos in my mind. The car seemed to grow smaller, the air thicker. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on anything but him—anything but the way his hand felt on my body.

But then, as if the universe decided to add another layer to my already overwhelming thoughts, the car jerked forward. Cyrus had swerved suddenly, his eyes wide as he tried to avoid a drunk man who had somehow found it necessary to start twerking in the middle of the road. It was an absurd sight, one that should’ve made me laugh or at least acknowledge the ridiculousness of it, but I couldn’t. My attention was still on Adam.

“Get out of the way, you nitty!” Cyrus yelled, leaning out the window to shout at the man who seemed completely oblivious to the chaos he was causing.

Leah’s laughter echoed through the car, a sound of pure amusement at the ridiculousness of the situation. But I couldn’t join her in her laughter. I couldn’t even appreciate how comical the moment was because everything around me seemed distant. Adam’s hand. His touch. His proximity.

My head snapped back to reality as Adam spoke, his voice laced with mild concern. “You’re going to hit your head on the headrest if you don’t move.”

I blinked, confused for a second, before I realized that the car had stopped moving, and I had been inches away from slamming my face into Leah’s headrest. Without thinking, I tilted my head downward, my cheek now resting against Adam’s shoulder.

There was no escaping it now. His scent, the warmth of his body, the proximity—it was all too much, too close. I could feel his breath against my skin, and it made the air between us feel thick. It was uncomfortable, yes, but also strangely intimate, as if the whole world had narrowed down to this moment, to the feeling of his body against mine.

I barely had time to process the discomfort before I felt his hand move again. This time, it wasn’t on my waist, but on my upper thigh. His fingers stretched across my skin, draped lazily but firmly there, resting in a way that made me acutely aware of every muscle in my body. The contact, the subtle pressure, the warmth of his touch—it was impossible to ignore. My body tensed instinctively, and my heart skipped a beat.

I couldn’t keep my focus. Every breath felt too short, too shallow. Every shift of the car made his hand feel more invasive, more overwhelming. He wasn’t even paying attention, scrolling through his phone with the kind of casual indifference that made it feel like this was normal.

Desperate for a distraction, I turned my head to glance at Serena. She was slumped in her seat, her head tilted back in a deep, seemingly effortless sleep. It almost made me angry. How could she be so relaxed while I was practically suffocating in this charged silence?

Motion sickness, my ass, I thought bitterly.

I shifted my gaze back to Adam’s phone. I needed to focus on something else, anything but the way his hand felt on me. That’s when I saw it—sketches. Detailed, beautiful sketches of the café. The lines were sharp, the shading precise, and the designs looked almost like something out of a high-end architectural magazine. I was mesmerized by the intricate detail, by the way each curve seemed to flow effortlessly into the next.

“Wow,” I muttered, unable to hide my awe. “These are amazing.”

Adam didn’t look at me. He didn’t seem to notice my growing fascination, his attention still fixed on the screen of his phone. But then his voice cut through my thoughts, teasing but with an edge to it.

“Didn’t know you were nosey.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the humor in his voice or because I was trying to ignore the fact that my pulse was racing, but I let out a breathless chuckle. “Hard to miss when your phone is practically right in my face.”

He smirked, his lips curling into that trademark expression of his. I felt it—a slight brush against my cheek, a fleeting contact that only made everything worse. My stomach fluttered again.

“Fair point,” he replied, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

I wasn’t ready to stop there. Not with these incredible designs in front of me. My curiosity was overpowering. I had to know more.

“So, whose sketches are these?” I asked, leaning in a little closer.

“They’re mine,” Adam said without hesitation, his voice sounding almost bored, as if it was no big deal.

I couldn’t stop myself from blinking in surprise. “Wait, these are yours?” I repeated, my voice a little too high-pitched. “You designed the café?”

He shifted in his seat, his hand adjusting on my thigh as he did so. The sudden pressure made me gasp, but I quickly tried to regain control of myself. “Yeah,” he said casually, almost as if it were nothing special. “Interior design was my thing. It’s what I studied.”

My mind was racing. “No way,” I whispered, still processing what he was saying. “I studied design too. But in car design.”

Adam’s eyes met mine then, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there was something in his gaze—something soft and sincere. It was gone as quickly as it came, but for a second, it felt like we were connected in a way I couldn’t explain.

“It’s a rewarding degree,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Hard, but rewarding.”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. “Yeah, you’re right,” I murmured softly.

But as I looked at him, at the way his hand still rested so comfortably on my thigh, the question that lingered in my mind was no longer about design. It was about us—about what the hell was happening between us, and why it felt like everything was shifting so quickly, too quickly for me to keep up.

For once, I didn’t have an answer.

Sure, let’s extend and enhance this scene:

We pulled up in front of the famous pizza place, its familiar neon lights blinking in the early evening dusk. The whole group, myself included, had been craving this pizza all day—the kind of pizza with the crisp crust, gooey cheese, and just the right amount of toppings that made it the local legend. But as we approached the door, Cyrus came to an abrupt stop, his face turning from eager anticipation to utter disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath, his hand falling away from the door handle as he stared at the sign on the window. I leaned in to get a better look, and my stomach dropped when I saw the bold letters.

Closed for Bank Holiday.

I groaned, staring at the sign in shock. The pizza, the one thing that had been keeping me going today, was now off the table. Serena, who had been half asleep in the backseat, suddenly jerked awake, her face contorting in disbelief.

“It’s closed?!” she said, her eyes wide, as if hoping that maybe the sign was some kind of cruel joke. “No fucking way!”

Leah, standing at the front, looked equally shocked. “What the hell? These guys are never closed on a Bank Holiday! What gives?” She knocked on the door as if trying to will it open.

We all stood there, staring at the closed doors like they held all the answers to life’s problems. The weight of disappointment settled in my stomach, making it feel even emptier than before.

“So what now?” I asked, glancing around at the group. Nobody seemed to have an answer.

Cyrus sighed, looking up at the sky like he was trying to draw some cosmic inspiration. “I vote we go back to the café. We can cry while eating dessert,” he said dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.

Leah perked up, nodding enthusiastically. “I second that. There’s nothing better than drowning in your tears while eating cookies and cream ice cream.” She glanced at me, giving me a playful grin.

I let out a little laugh at that, trying to shake off the frustration. As much as I hated to admit it, there was something comforting about the idea of heading back to the café and indulging in something sweet to lift my mood. I was about to agree when my phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of the moment.

I glanced at the caller ID: Kayla.

I slid the phone open, lifting it to my ear. “Hey, Kayla!”

“Where are you?” Her voice was warm and chipper, but there was an underlying curiosity in her tone.

I sighed, glancing at the group. “I’m just with my coworkers. We were going to grab lunch, but that famous pizza place in Central is closed.”

Kayla let out a dramatic groan. “Awe, man, I would’ve killed for some pizza.” Her voice was light, but I could tell she was just as disappointed as I was.

I smiled, a little amused by her over-the-top reaction. “I know, right? It was the only thing you ate in college.”

She laughed at that, the sound soft and easy. “True, true. But hey, I just got back from work. If you guys aren’t going anywhere, how about you bring them all to my place? I’ll whip something up.”

The offer was tempting. Kayla could cook, and her meals were always incredible. I looked back at the group, trying to gauge their reactions.

I spoke up, excitement creeping into my voice. “Hey, guys,” I called. “What do you think about eating at Kayla’s place?”

The change in Cyrus’s demeanor was immediate. “Kayla? The Kayla? The one you said cooks like she came from heaven?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly excited by the idea.

Leah’s eyes lit up too. “Is it that Kayla?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, that’s her.”

Serena, who had been unusually quiet up until that point, perked up. “Then what are we waiting for? To Kayla’s, it is!”

I nodded, pulling my phone away from my ear to tell Kayla we’d be there in a bit. “Cool, I’ll get started on the food. See you soon,” she said before hanging up.

I felt a familiar pull—a strange twinge in my chest as I looked at the wallpaper on my lock screen. It was a picture of Jungkook’s car, the one I had designed. My pride and joy.

Adam, who had been standing beside me, glanced down at my phone as I put it away. His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment before flicking up to meet mine. “Is that an F1 car?” he asked, his voice genuine, curious.

I nodded, feeling a slight rush of pride at his attention. “Yeah. I actually designed it about a month ago for the Monaco Grand Prix.”

His eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. “Wow. I didn’t know you were that talented.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. I wasn’t used to this—getting compliments, especially from someone like Adam. It felt a little surreal. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

His eyebrows quirked, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on mine. “Oh yeah?” There was a challenge in his tone, playful but layered with something else I couldn’t quite place.

I felt a knot twist in my stomach at his words. My heart picked up pace, but I wasn’t about to let him see how much he affected me. “Well,” I said, holding his gaze. “If you stick around, maybe I’ll tell you.”

The tension between us grew, thick and unspoken. For a second, the air around us seemed to hum with something almost electric. But before anything more could happen, Leah’s voice cut through the moment as she whispered into my ear.

“Let’s get going before you two start fucking each other in front of us,” she teased, giving me a playful nudge.

I snapped out of it, feeling my cheeks warm slightly. “Right, right. Let’s go to Kayla’s. I’m starving.”

And with that, we all piled back into the cars, the mood lifting slightly as we drove through the streets. But as we made our way toward Kayla’s place, I couldn’t help but feel that strange mix of excitement and nervousness again.

[basilpaste]

hey i got into a Media you know what that means.

(im classpecting the beebos. lmao.)

this is not!!!! going to be super in depth!!!!!! im lazy and theres a lot of characters to go through. gonna !!! put it under the cut so its not super long, though.

Beebo - Rogue of Light Light is fortune and information and Rogues steal their aspect for the sake of others. Oliver would be the puzzle solving classpect, taking information and using it for the benefit of the people around him. Rogues also do the stealing thing passively, though. In giving his information away, he also gives away his luck. He's an awfully unlucky guy.

Ángel - Heir of Void Look I know this is Equius's classpect. I try not to overlap. But look at him. Void is the aspect of secrecy and Heirs become their aspect. Things kinda work out for him, but it's not like he fades into the background. He's surrounded by obscurity but his actions are known - it's just the guy himself who's a mystery. Everything Ángel is is a lie.

Vivi - Knight of Heart Heart players are self oriented and Knights serve others. Which makes a Knight of Heart sound oxymoronic. Unless its someone who uses their knowledge of people and their own importance to serve others. Like, I dunno, a reporter who gets someone jailed? The photobook also screams Heart.

Nina - Sylph of Hope Sylphs are considered the 'healer' class, Hope is the aspect of belief. Gestures. She believes in the good of others and on multiple occasions her convictions lead to them bettering themselves. She's also very willing to believe in people who others think don't deserve it. She'll throw herself away for the sake of others.

Marigold - Witch of Mind Witch of Mind is a scary classpect lmao. But more than that Witches are manipulate their aspect. Mind is logical but not always rational. Mari's smart and knows when to put her foot down, she also plans real carefully. But more than that, the combination can lead to her sometimes coming off as cold or uncaring even when she knows she's making the correct choice.

Eugene - Bard of Doom I think being a passive class would piss him off. I think being an aspect associated with death would also piss him off. But for serious: Bards tend to reject their aspect and he lives life like it's a checklist. Like Doom can't come for him if he works hard enough. The house plays into that, he can't die! He passes the Doom onto others. But he can't run forever. Eventually it will catch up to him.

Nadia - Mage of Rage Rage is volatile but Mages have a clear understanding of their aspect. Nadia's an angry kid, y'know? But she uses that to her advantage. She pushes peoples buttons when she needs to and she's not often very outwardly afraid for herself. She serves her own whims but she's still more than willing to go out of her way for people she cares about!

Simon - Page of Blood Pages are the class most likely to be written off and also the one most desperate for approval. Blood is about bonds, connection. Simon tries desperately to gain and maintain the approval of his father only to be repeatedly sidelined and hurt for his desire for that connection. It makes him feel worthless.

Owen - Prince of Light There was bound to be some overlap at some point. And I think it's sweet for Owen's aspect to mirror Oliver's. Princes destroy their aspect with their aspect so they mirror their opposite. Owen takes information and shrouds it in mystery while still giving that information away. He also, unfortunately, ends up pretty unlucky.

[canisalbus]

I did a little pixel headshot of Vasco! I was originally planning on doing it for artfight but I ran out of time and motivation, so here it is now. I'm a little out of practice with canine faces, and I find drawing gradients in pixels difficult, but overall I'm pretty happy with how it turned out

.

[library-whale]

I wonder if Parker misses the fans as much as we miss him... does he wish he could've spoken to us at least one more time?

(I hope he's having a good birthday, at least.)

[chaoticly-shy-dragon]

(it's may the 4th?!)

may the fourth be with you! enjoy: ashla from my fic orderly facade, a few months after the first chapter

also a version without the scarf/shawl/head scarf

this was actually a redraw from some old colored doodles I did back in 2022 (I will probably make a comparison bc the gap between the two is something that astounds me)

[hollow-keys]

The Wicked adaptation is actually so painful it's like if the musical got all the cunt surgically removed from it.

[speakofshinee]

Ballad King Taemin 😌💕 [x]

[doubleedgemode]

The Dandy with his Hand on his chest

I wanted to do a big piece before the month ended and I had been thinking on drawing a study of "The Nobleman with his Hand on his Chest" by El Greco with Slayer for a good while, because I adore that painting and believe it fits him, since it has a mysterious yet noble aura to me. Very dandy!

I love Slayer's Rev2 Color 4, so I got really happy when it returned as Color 10 in Strive, now with a very stylish nail polish, too.

[eudikot]

Paperweight