#Maybe I write my own 'Almost Kiss' AU where they just make the hell out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fuqnia · 19 days ago

Note

college AU! stan x fem bodied YN

stan and yn are reallyyy close friends, like REALLY close, to the point of kissing eachother sometimes. at this point, him and wendy are not a thing (unless you do poly and we could get some poly action, if not thats fine) and stan and YN like eachother romantically. stan knows he likes them but hasn't come to terms with it, while YN themselves are oblivious to their OWN crush on him because they don't understand their own feelings most the time.

can YN also be a brat (like maybe kind of stuck up and prissy) and also be flirty with people they're comfortable with?

that personality leads me to this: stan snapping and ends up fucking them (maybe confrontational? like, holds their cheeks and asks them if they're even aware how they make him feel, so fuzzy, but also so so so mad! (in a good way of course)

can i have themes of dom/sub (dom stan/sub YN), brat taming, light degradation with heavy praise, impact play?(if you're not comfortable with this one thats fine, i was just thinking maybe spanking of the ass, thighs, and clit), edging, orgasm control, dacryphilia, overstimulation, heavy teasing, and overall just mean but also super soft stan?

thankss (if this request makes you uncomfortable then thats okay)

Just Friends

stan marsh x fem!reader insert (college au)

(╥﹏╥) | [A/N] ah my first request ever! this is kinda long for a request, but i wanted to make it special. i'm so sorry for butchering dom/sub dynamics, i haven't really written that yet. and jesus christ i made stan talk alot in this, and i really highlighted how he would definitely wear tons of bracelets for some reason LMAO. again this was a challenge for me bcus i usually write stan kinda softish and quiet. thank u again <3 there's a scene where stan just goes on his phone during the middle of it and i almost died writing it was so funny to me

(╥﹏╥) | [CW] p in v, fingering, p eating, dom/sub dynamics, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation assholeish stan and reader, cartman is cartman, characters are aged up!

The room was dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the soft glow of Stan’s TV screen as he sat cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in his game. Faint sounds of gunfire and laughter from Cartman and Kenny filtered through his headset. Stan leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the controller tightly, his brows furrowed in concentration.

On the bed, you sighed loudly, barely glancing up from your phone as you continued scrolling through TikTok and Instagram. The endless feed of videos and posts did little to distract you from the heavy boredom pressing down on you.

You switched apps, opening Snapchat out of sheer desperation for something interesting. As you flipped through stories, your scrolling halted abruptly at one that made your stomach twist.

Bebe and Clyde were out on another date. The photo Bebe posted showed their hands intertwined across a table, captioned: “My fave person 💕.”

Your chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat settling there. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—it wasn’t like you were into Clyde or anything. Still, the jealousy gnawed at you, bitter and unshakable.

Shaking your head, you exited the app and glanced at Stan, who hadn’t once looked in your direction despite your exaggerated sighs. He was totally engrossed in his game, his headset cushioning his ears and his focus glued to the screen.

“Stan,” you called out, your voice edged with impatience.

No response. His lips twitched slightly, like he might’ve heard you, but he made no effort to acknowledge your call.

You huffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. If Stan wasn’t going to pay attention to you willingly, you’d have to force his hand. Sliding off the bed, you walked up behind him and bent down, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, grinning as his body stiffened in surprise.

“[Y/N]—what the hell dude?” Stan sputtered, almost dropping his controller as he glanced down at you.

Cartman’s voice blared through his headset. “STAN, YOU DUMBASS! MOVE! YOU JUST GOT US KILLED!”

Stan groaned loudly, hastily muting his mic before turning his full attention to you. “I’m in the middle of a game!” he said, his tone exasperated.

You tilted your head, a playful pout forming on your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m bored,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”

Stan blinked, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Because I’m playing with Cartman and Kenny? You know—my friends?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “But I’m more important than Cartman and Kenny, aren’t I?”

Stan stared at you, clearly unsure how to respond. His hands hovered awkwardly near your waist, his usual confidence suddenly replaced by uncertainty. “You’re being weird,” he said finally, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned closer, your face only inches from his. “Weird? You’re so dramatic.”

Before he could reply, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his, your chapstick leaving a faint, sweet taste behind as you kissed him. It wasn’t unusual for you and Stan to kiss—your friendship had always had an element of playfulness—but this time felt different. The way your lips lingered a moment longer, the way your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie...

You pulled back, giggling softly at the stunned look on his face.

Stan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips firmed. His gaze burned with something intense, something unspoken that made your stomach flutter.

But then he exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reached up and unmuted his mic. “I’m back,” he said curtly, his tone clipped as he picked up his controller and resumed his game.

You blinked, taken aback by his reaction. He didn’t push you off, didn’t say anything else—just continued playing as if you weren’t still perched in his lap.

Cartman’s voice crackled through the headset. “About time, dude. You literally lost us the game because you were being a dumbass.”

Stan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the screen. His hands gripped the controller, his movements precise and deliberate, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his reaction, but he didn’t budge. His jaw was still tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, though you caught the faintest twitch of his lips when you leaned in close and whispered teasingly, “Am I distracting you?”

Stan’s lips pressed into a firmer line, his knuckles whitening on the controller. “You’re fine,” he said evenly, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. His blue eyes stayed locked on the screen, his jaw tight, clearly trying to pretend you weren’t there.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and slipped the headset off his head.

“[Y/N], don’t,” Stan muttered, his voice tense, but you ignored him, slipping the headset onto your own head and adjusting the mic with a sly smile.

“Hey, idiots!” you chirped into the mic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cartman groaned immediately. “Why the hell are you here? Don’t you have something better to do, like annoying someone else or scamming free drinks with that dumb whore shit you pulll?”

“Cartman, don’t start,” Kenny chimed in, his tone amused. “She’s just here to make sure Stan doesn’t embarrass himself again.”

You laughed, leaning back in Stan’s lap and twirling the cord of the headset. ��Aw, Kenny, you’re my favorite. Cartman’s just mad because he missed me.”

“I do not miss you,” Cartman snapped. “You’re like a human migraine. Stan, can you tell your ‘friend’ to fuck off so we can actually play?”

Stan muttered something under his breath, his hands hovering uselessly over the controller. “Give me the headset back, [Y/N].”

But you ignored him, turning your attention back to the game. “Eric, don’t lie. You love when I’m around. It makes your miserable little life less boring.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Cartman barked. “You’re just here to mess with us. And Kenny’s a simp for eating this up.”

“You’re right, I am,” Kenny said, laughing. “At least she’s fun. Unlike you, Cartman.”

“Fuck you, Kenny!” Cartman shot back. “Stan, seriously, can you control your fucking lap gremlin?”

Stan sighed heavily, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the headset off your head and slid it back on. His blue eyes bore into yours, his frustration clear. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You blinked at him innocently, your lips twitching into a small smile. “What? I was just being nice.”

“Nobody buys that,” Stan muttered, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Not even you.”

“Come on, I’m always nice,” you teased, your grin widening as you tilted your head.

Stan stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowing as though he were weighing his next move. Then, without a word, he unmuted his mic and picked up the controller again.

“I’m back,” he said flatly, his tone cold as he resumed playing.

“Thank God,” Cartman grumbled. “She’s insufferable. Get her out of here, Stan, or I’m rage-quitting.”

“She’s not that bad,” Kenny said with a laugh. “Honestly, she’s more entertaining than watching Stan suck at this game.”

Stan ignored them both, his eyes glued to the screen, though you noticed the way his grip on the controller tightened.

You stayed perched in Stan’s lap as he continued to play, his focus unwavering despite your presence. The faint sound of gunfire and Cartman’s incessant yelling filled the room, but your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers moved idly to his hair, combing through the strands and twisting them gently.

Stan’s bleached hair had grown out since you helped him with it, leaving a stark contrast between the blonde and his natural dark roots. You smiled faintly, remembering the day he let you bleach it in his bathroom. He’d been skeptical at first, grumbling about how “Cartman’s gonna call me a wannabe TikTok e-boy.”

But when you revealed the final result, the look of surprise on his face had been worth every moment.

“Holy shit,” he’d muttered, running a hand through the freshly bleached strands.

“See? Told you it’d look good dude,” you’d replied smugly. Then, on impulse, you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

That kiss had been casual, friendly. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your fingers stilled in Stan’s hair as the memory brought another one to the surface—the first time you’d kissed him. It was at a party, the two of you leaning against a wall in some corner, slightly buzzed from cheap vodka. Someone had said something stupid, and you’d both dissolved into laughter.

And then, without thinking, you’d leaned in and kissed him.

It hadn’t lasted long—just a brief press of lips, fueled by alcohol and laughter—but it had been enough to make your head spin. Stan hadn’t pulled away. If anything, he’d leaned in slightly, like he’d been waiting for it.

But the moment passed, and neither of you brought it up again.

Kissing Stan had become familiar since then. It was just... something you did. A casual thing. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself.

Your gaze shifted to his profile now, the faint concentration lines between his brows as he played. The glow from the screen lit up his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. You couldn’t help but wonder: Did he ever think about those kisses? Did he feel the same pull you did, the strange comfort of it?

The thought made your chest tighten.

Do you like me?

The question lingered in your mind, unspoken and heavy. Stan had always been a constant in your life—steady, dependable, the one who tolerated your bratty tendencies without complaint. But did he like you?

And more importantly... did you like him?

Your fingers resumed their gentle movement in his hair, your heart beating a little faster as you struggled to untangle your thoughts. Kissing Stan didn’t feel like it should mean anything. But lately, you couldn’t stop wondering if it did.

“You okay dude?” Stan’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He didn’t look at you, his eyes still on the screen, but the concern in his voice was clear.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just... thinking.”

Stan nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re quiet.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stan muttered, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further.

You leaned back slightly, watching him play, the weight of your thoughts settling heavily in your chest.

You shifted slightly in Stan’s lap, your fingers still playing with his hair when your phone buzzed on the bed. The sudden noise made you glance over, and Red’s name lit up the screen.

“Oh, hold on, it’s Red,” you said, slipping off Stan’s lap. He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes glued to the game.

You grabbed your phone, swiping to answer as you perched on the edge of Stan’s desk.

“Hey, Red!” you greeted, your voice instantly bright and flirty.

“About time,” Red said, her tone teasing. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve been off the grid? And don’t say it’s because you’re studying babe—I know better.”

You laughed, glancing at Stan out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, you know me. Always finding ways to entertain myself. I’m at Stan’s dorm right now.”

Red let out a dramatic gasp. “Stan? Again? Wow, you two might as well move in together at this point.”

Stan’s fingers faltered briefly on the controller, but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Right? It’s like we’re married already,” you joked, leaning back and toying with the edge of Stan’s desk.

Red cackled. “God, you two are so weird. What’s he doing? Ignoring you like always?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice dripping with fake indignation. “He’s playing his stupid game. As usual.”

Stan adjusted his headset slightly, the earcups slipping off one ear now. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening.

“Honestly,” you continued, keeping your tone light, “it’s kind of tragic how bad he is at multitasking. Like, he can only focus on one thing at a time. I bet if I disappeared, he wouldn’t even notice until he lost the match.”

Red let out a snort. “Come on, [Y/N]. Give him some credit. He’s not that bad. And you’re always hanging around him anyway, so clearly he’s doing something right.”

“Eh,” you replied, smirking. “He’s tolerable. Most of the time.” You glanced at Stan again, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly.

“And?” Red prompted. “What about when he’s not tolerable?”

You grinned mischievously, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “When he’s not tolerable? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just trade him in for someone better.”

Stan froze. His hands stopped moving, and the room went silent except for the sound of Cartman and Kenny yelling through his headset.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Red asked, her voice curious but amused.

Before you could answer, Stan stood abruptly, pulling off his headset and letting it rest on the chair. He crossed the room in three long strides, his presence making the small dorm feel even smaller.

“Red, I’ll call you back,” you said quickly, hanging up before she could respond.

Stan loomed over you now, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. He reached past you and pressed the power button on his PS5, the room falling into silence as the screen went black.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice low but tight with frustration.

You blinked up at him, playing innocent even as your heart raced. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, [Y/N],” Stan said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “That shit you said to Red. What the hell was that about?”

Stan stared down at you, his blue eyes sharp as he waited for an explanation. You leaned back slightly against the desk, tilting your head innocently as you blinked up at him.

“What?” you said, feigning confusion. “I was just talking to Red about how you’re my bestest friend in the whole world.” You clasped your hands together dramatically, flashing him a teasing grin. “She loves hearing about how much I adore you.”

Stan’s jaw clenched, his brows furrowing deeper. “Your ‘bestest friend,’ huh?” he repeated, his tone skeptical, edged with something darker. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.”

You shrugged, letting out a playful laugh. “I mean, come on, Stan. Red knows you’re my favorite. I was just hyping you up, obviously.”

“Hyping me up?” His voice was low, incredulous. “You told her you’d trade me in for someone better.”

You waved a dismissive hand, still playing up your act. “Oh, that? That was just a joke. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Stan stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you against the desk. The space between you disappeared, and his intense gaze locked onto yours. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with tension. “Or do you just say shit for the fun of it?”

The teasing grin faltered on your lips for a split second before you forced it back into place. “Relax, Marsh,” you said lightly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his stare. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

Stan’s head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening as he studied you. “Am I?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Because it’s starting to feel like you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let it show. “Me?” you said with mock innocence, batting your lashes. “Why would I ever do that?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. His presence was overwhelming, and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close he was, how his body practically boxed you in against the desk.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered finally, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. For once, the teasing remark you had ready in your head didn’t make it past your lips. The intensity in Stan’s eyes held you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as the air between you grew heavier.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting, as you blinked up at Stan, trying to piece together what exactly had him so worked up. Sure, you’d teased him plenty of times before—this wasn’t new—but something about tonight was different. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was genuinely mad, and it caught you off guard.

“Stan,” you said, your voice softer now, though still carrying that teasing edge. “Why are you so mad? We’re friends. We do this all the time!”

Stan’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening as he took a slow breath. “Friends,” he repeated, his voice low and almost to himself, like he was testing how the word felt on his tongue. He leaned back slightly, straightening up, but his hands stayed braced on the desk, keeping you effectively trapped. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you asked, tilting your head in genuine confusion. “We joke around like this all the time. Why is it such a big deal tonight?”

Stan’s blue eyes flicked over your face, searching for something, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He let out a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his bleached hair, his fingers catching in the grown-out roots. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N],” he muttered, his voice tight. “You can’t just—”

He stopped himself, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he visibly struggled to keep his cool. For a moment, he looked like he was going to let it go, like he was going to step back and walk away from whatever was eating at him. But then his gaze snapped back to yours, and you saw the flicker of something raw and unresolved in his eyes.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but heavy, each word carefully measured.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “What I do to you?” you echoed, your brows furrowing as you tried to process what he was saying. “Stan, I—”

“You don’t get to act like this doesn’t mean something,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above a low murmur. “You don’t get to sit in my lap, kiss me whenever you feel like it, say the shit you just said to Red, and then turn around and call me your ‘bestest friend.’” He spat the last words with a bitterness that made your chest tighten.

“I thought we were just... I mean, that’s just how we are,” you stammered, the confusion in your voice genuine. “We always mess around like that. It’s not—”

“It’s not just messing around for me,” he cut in, his voice breaking slightly at the end. He took a step closer, closing the gap between you again, his hands moving to grip the edge of the desk on either side of you. “I don’t think you even understand what the fuck you’re doing to me, [Y/N]. How you make me feel.”

Your heart was racing now, the weight of his words sinking in but not fully connecting in your mind. “Stan,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“You make me feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind,” he said, his voice strained, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “You waltz in here, act like you own the place, and... fuck. You make me feel so much, and then you just brush it off like it’s nothing. Like it’s some fucking game.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You’d never seen Stan like this—so raw, so vulnerable—and it left you reeling. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s eyes were sharp and unwavering, his frustration palpable as he leaned closer, boxing you in against the desk. “You didn’t know?” he echoed, his voice low and edged with disbelief. “Really? So, what about all those times you kiss me out of nowhere? Like at that party last month, when you were drunk and decided to make me your personal fucking experiment.”

Your heart raced, and your lips parted to defend yourself, but he didn’t give you a chance. He pressed on, his tone growing sharper. “Or what about when you sat in my lap at Kenny’s place during movie night and kept playing with my hair? You acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean a damn thing, even though everyone was staring.”

“It’s just how I am,” you said defensively, your voice trembling as you tried to process the weight of his words. “You know that! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just... it’s just fun.”

“Fun?” he repeated, his jaw tightening as he let out a bitter laugh. “Dude, do you even hear yourself? You sit here, playing with me like I’m some toy, and you call it fun? Like it doesn’t fuck me up every single time you do it?”

“I didn’t realize—” you began, but he cut you off again, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Because you don’t think. You don’t stop for one goddamn second to think about how the shit you do might affect me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The air between you was heavy, charged with a tension you couldn’t name, and for the first time, you didn’t know how to talk your way out of it.

Stan’s gaze softened just slightly, though the frustration in his eyes didn’t fade. “You can’t keep doing this, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice raw. “You can’t keep acting like this is nothing, like I’m nothing.”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your breath hitch as the gravity of his words sank in. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I didn’t know you felt this way. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours for something—an answer, an apology, a sign that you understood. But all he found was confusion and guilt, and it made his shoulders tense even more.

“I don’t think you even know what you want,” he said finally, his voice softer now but laced with frustration. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence was suffocating, your chest tight with a mix of emotions you didn’t fully understand. Stan’s words hung heavy in the air, but something about them—something about the way he said you didn’t know what you wanted—set you off.

Your brows furrowed, and you straightened up, leaning closer to him, your voice sharp as you snapped, “Excuse me? You think you know me so well, Stan? That I don’t know what I want? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t have a clue.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone low and simmering with barely restrained anger.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “It means you don’t get to stand there and act like you’ve got it all figured out while calling me out for being confused. Maybe you’re just pissed because you’re too scared to deal with your own feelings.”

Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes darkening as he took a step closer to you. The tension between you crackled like a live wire, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something. Instead, he closed the distance in a single, deliberate motion, his hand gripping your wrist as he pulled you toward him.

“Stan—” you started, but the words were cut off as his other hand cupped the back of your head, dragging you into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, overwhelming, and commanding, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that left you breathless. Your body instinctively leaned into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His grip on you was firm, grounding, and you could feel the frustration and need pouring out of him in every movement.

Your heart raced, your head spinning as you pulled away from him. “Stan—”

“Stop,” Stan interrupted, his tone sharp as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. “You don’t get to play dumb about this. Not anymore.”

Your back hit the mattress before you could say a word, his body towering over you as he leaned down, his bracelets clinking faintly with the movement. His bleached hair fell into his eyes, messy and slightly damp with sweat, and his tan skin glowed in the low light of the room. His hands framed your face, steady but firm, his thumbs brushing over your warm cheeks as his intense gaze locked onto yours.

“You’ve been screwing with my head for months,” he started, his voice low but taut with emotion. “Kissing me like it’s no big deal, running your hands all over me, batting your damn eyelashes like... like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting to speak, but Stan didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s ‘just you being you,’” he pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get it, do you? How much you get to me.”

His lips crashed into yours, silencing whatever excuse or explanation was forming in your head. The kiss was heated, desperate, and when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his face inches from yours. A string of saliva broke between you as he spoke, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You make me feel insane, [Y/N]. Like I don’t know which way is up.”

Your eyes widened as he cupped your cheek more firmly, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed, and his voice softened, tinged with an almost hesitant vulnerability. “Have you even thought about it? What it’s like to be me? To deal with this—deal with you?”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but Stan wasn’t finished. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy bleached hair and laughing humorlessly. “You’re so fucking clueless. You act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters to me.”

His words hit you hard, a swirl of emotions rising in your chest—guilt, confusion, and something deeper that you hadn’t yet put a name to. “Stan...” you started, your voice trembling, but he cut you off again, his hand moving to gently grip your jaw, keeping your attention fixed on him.

“You make me feel so good sometimes,” he admitted, his voice raw and quieter now, almost like it was a confession. “Like... like nothing else in the world matters. But then you turn around, and it’s like you’re trying to drive me insane.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his words, the sheer weight of his emotions—it was overwhelming. But there was no mistaking the honesty in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

He sighed, his frustration ebbing slightly, replaced with something softer. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, shaking his head again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

“I...” You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, the words you wanted to say slipping through your grasp. You didn’t know how to explain what you felt—didn’t even know if you understood it yourself.

Stan gave a soft, almost exasperated laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Of course you don’t,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of fondness and frustration. “You never do.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours as his breathing steadied, his hand still cradling your cheek. “But you’re gonna figure it out, [Y/N]. You’re gonna figure it out real soon.”

Before you could respond, Stan leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours with a raw urgency that caught you off guard. His hand on your cheek softened, but his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. His bracelets clinked softly with the movement, grounding the moment in the quiet tension of the room.

His lips moved with an intensity that made your head spin, and he groaned low against your mouth, the sound sending heat coursing through you. But as his hand slid lower, you broke the kiss, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. Stan’s brows furrowed instantly, frustration flashing in his blue eyes as you sat back, a little too smug for his liking.

“What now?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, like he was already bracing himself for whatever nonsense you were about to pull.

You tilted your head, your fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. “Wow, Stan,” you started, your tone saccharine and laced with mockery. “I didn’t know you were so desperate. Did I mess up your game that badly?”

His jaw ticked, the muscle flexing as he let out a short, humorless laugh. “Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. His hands rested on his hips for a moment, his bracelets sliding down his forearms, before he leaned in, his expression darkening.

“No, seriously,” you continued, undeterred, your teasing grin widening. “Do I need to apologize to Cartman and Kenny? Tell them their carry bailed ‘cause you couldn’t handle a little distraction?”

Stan’s patience snapped. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, and before you could react, he yanked it over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The motion left you momentarily stunned, blinking up at him as he loomed over you.

“Stan!” you gasped, more surprised than offended. “What the hell—”

“You wanted my attention?” he cut you off, his voice low, the edge in it sending a jolt through you. “Well, you’ve got it. So go ahead. Say whatever smart-ass thing you were about to.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your waist, his grip firm but not rough, pulling you closer. His expression was unreadable, a mix of annoyance, desire, and something deeper that made your stomach twist. The way his messy bleached hair framed his face, the soft flush on his tan skin, and the glint of his bracelets as he adjusted his grip—everything about him right now was so painfully, undeniably Stan, and it made your head spin.

You tried to think of something witty, something sharp, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from your mouth. Sensing your hesitation, Stan let out a soft, dark chuckle, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

As if to emphasize his point, his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but deliberate as his fingers grazed over the lace of your bra. His lips dipped to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you shivering. When his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point, you let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his arms.

“You think you’re so funny,” he muttered against your skin, his tone carrying just a hint of exasperation. “Always running that mouth, always pushing me. But when it comes down to it...”

Before you could respond, he pinched lightly at your side, just enough to make you gasp. The sound seemed to satisfy him, and his lips curved into a grin as he kissed his way down your neck. “You never know when to quit, do you?” he added, his voice softer now, almost like he was teasing himself more than you.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice faltered as his lips found the edge of your bra, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pressed you back into the mattress, the weight of him anchoring you in place.

“You’re always so damn smug,” he continued, his tone quiet but sharp. His hand moved to cup your cheek again, tilting your head slightly so his lips hovered just over yours. “But you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your heart racing from the heat in his words and the way his touch seemed to set your skin alight. “Stan...” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he interrupted, brushing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve said enough.” His smirk softened slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression. “Now it’s my turn.”

Stan pulled his hand away from your mouth, his fingers brushing the strap of your bra as he met your gaze. His expression was sharp, almost unreadable, but there was something deliberate in the way his hand slid to your shoulder, gently pushing the strap down. He moved with an almost casual precision, like he wasn’t just savoring the moment but making damn sure you knew he was in control.

His lips found your neck again, his kisses slow and deliberate as the other strap slid down your arm. You shivered, the cool air against your skin making you hyperaware of every single touch, every bit of pressure from his hands. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he hesitated just long enough to send your heart racing.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” he muttered near your ear, his voice low and full of teasing disbelief. “What happened to all the shit you were saying earlier?”

Your cheeks burned, and before you could retort, he unhooked the clasp with an ease that made your breath hitch. He let the lace fall away like it was nothing, his hands immediately cupping your chest. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, his touch surprisingly tender for a moment—until he gave a sharp, calculated pinch that made you gasp.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching into a smirk as he watched your back arch instinctively. “That’s what I thought.”

His grip stayed firm, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks of your chest as his lips trailed along your jaw, hot and deliberate. “All that attitude,” he murmured, the words spilling against your skin. “And now? Not a damn word.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips when he pinched again, rolling your skin between his fingers with just enough pressure to have you squirming under him.

He chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and rough as his lips made their way down to your collarbone. “Does this feel good?” he asked, the mock sweetness in his tone making your stomach twist in the best way.

You tried to form words, but all you managed was a breathy moan. His smirk deepened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of satisfaction and that familiar intensity that made your chest tighten.

His hands started to move, one sliding down your side with an almost lazy kind of purpose. His fingers brushed over your waist before dipping under the waistband of your panties. He paused there, just teasing the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin.

“Look at you,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk as his thumb toyed with the hemline. “All that confidence, all that fire—and now you’re just laying here, waiting for me to decide what happens next.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, brushing close enough to make your thighs tense. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice shaky, “please...”

His laugh was soft but laced with a kind of smug triumph that made your cheeks flush. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he let his fingers skim just a little closer to where you needed him. “See? You don’t always have to run your mouth.”

Your body arched toward him instinctively, the anticipation driving you mad, but his movements stayed deliberate, controlled. “Maybe you’re finally figuring out how this works,” he continued, his tone equal parts teasing and sharp. “Or maybe you’re just that desperate.”

Stan’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with an almost lazy slowness. The fabric slid down your thighs, the cool air biting against your heated skin as he tossed them aside without a second thought. His movements were deliberate, but there was nothing showy about it—he just knew exactly what he was doing.

He shifted back, the bed creaking slightly as he knelt on the floor in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip—a mix of nervousness and something much hotter. Propped up on your elbows, you stared down at him, your breath catching as the full picture came into view.

His messy bleached hair framed his face, dark roots peeking through like a signature Stan move—half careless, half effort. His lips, swollen and pink from earlier, twitched faintly into a smirk that was both boyish and entirely too knowing. His band t-shirt clung to his chest, the faded logo stretching every time he breathed, and his gray sweatpants hung just low enough to show a hint of the waistband of his boxers. The bracelets circling his wrists—random, colorful, maybe from some flea market—clinked lightly as he moved, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Stan leaned in, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your inner thigh. The warm graze of his breath against you sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips shifted forward, searching for more contact.

“Seriously?” you teased breathlessly, your voice cracking slightly but still laced with a hint of defiance. “You’re really gonna drag this out?”

His hands froze for a moment, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. His blue eyes burned, sharp with amusement, but there was a glint of something darker too—something that made your stomach twist. A slow, almost smug grin spread across his face.

“Still talking, huh?” he drawled, his voice low, edged with dry humor. “Bold of you, considering where you are right now.”

Before you could even think of a comeback, his fingers caught the lace of your panties and yanked them to the side with deliberate force. The motion left you exposed, and the cool air against your heated skin made you gasp.

Stan leaned in closer, his breath warm as it ghosted over your most sensitive spot. His gaze locked onto yours, and his smirk widened slightly, like he knew exactly how wrecked you were about to be.

“Guess I’ll have to shut you up,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Then his mouth was on you.

The sensation sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through you, your head tipping back against the bed as you let out a broken cry. His tongue moved slowly at first, tracing over you with an infuriating precision that made you squirm beneath him.

But when you tried to shift your hips, his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t,” he said against your skin, his voice muffled but firm, sending vibrations through you. “You’re staying right where I want you.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the sheets as his tongue worked you over. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, lingering strokes that left you trembling. When he slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, your hips jerked against his hold despite yourself.

“Stan—fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your chest heaved.

He chuckled softly, his fingers curling inside you in a way that made your head spin. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

The mix of his teasing tone and his rough hands left you breathless, every nerve in your body alight. Just as the pleasure started to build, his thumb brushed over your clit, adding pressure in a way that had your thighs trembling.

You moaned loudly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming. And then his other hand moved sharply, pinching you directly on your clit.

“Shit—Stan!” you cried, your voice high and breaking as your body jerked from the sudden mix of pleasure and pain.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at you with that same infuriating smirk, his lips glistening, his blue eyes lit with mischief. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone mocking but light, as though this was all a joke to him. “You’ve got all the energy to sass me, but now you’re falling apart? That’s cute.”

His fingers stayed inside you, his movements unrelenting as he dragged you closer to the edge with maddening precision. Your hands fisted the sheets, your body arching toward him despite the overwhelming sensations.

“Stan, please—” you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears pooled in your eyes.

“‘Please,’” he mimicked softly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s new.” His teeth grazed your thigh in a brief nip, and you let out another sharp cry.

Stan’s bracelets clinked faintly as his grip on you tightened, his hands firm against your skin as he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted. The sight of him—his messy bleached hair, his sharp jawline, his flushed face—burned itself into your memory, a perfect mix of control and smug satisfaction.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, the words barely audible between gasps.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dipping into something darker, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “I’m not stopping until I’ve got exactly what I want.”

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t even think of a response. His mouth returned to you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem as he pushed you higher and higher. The lingering sting of his pinch only heightened the sensations coursing through your body, leaving you a trembling mess.

Stan's tongue worked you with an intensity that left you breathless, each flick and swirl sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. When he added another finger, sliding it in with the same slow, deliberate motion as before, the stretch left you gasping.

"Stan—ah—I’m so close," you managed to whimper, your voice trembling as tears began to pool at the corners of your eyes. Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you clutched the sheets beneath you.

You sniffled, overwhelmed by the sensations, your head tipping back as your thighs quivered against his grip. "I’m—oh, God—Stan, I’m gonna come," you cried out, your voice cracking with desperation.

Stan’s mouth continued, his tongue teasing you with relentless precision while his fingers curled inside you, pushing you closer to the edge. You felt the pressure building, your entire body tensing as the release hovered just within reach.

And then he stopped.

Stan’s lips hovered over your inner thigh for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, before he pulled back entirely. His fingers left you aching and empty, and the absence was immediate and devastating. Your thighs trembled as you shifted, trying to seek out the friction you desperately needed, but Stan’s hands stopped you with a firm, grounding grip.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and steady, with a soft edge of finality that left no room for argument.

Your eyes widened, tears slipping freely now, as you whimpered, “Stan, please… I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted calmly, leaning back and sitting on his heels as he looked at you with a mix of frustration and quiet amusement. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, every nerve in your body screaming for relief, but Stan only sighed softly, shaking his head. His messy, bleached hair fell into his eyes again, and he shoved it back carelessly before gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

Before you could say anything else, he tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The motion revealed the toned lines of his chest and the faint tan that trailed down to the waistband of his sweatpants. His silver chain glinted against his skin, catching the dim light, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Stan raised an eyebrow, catching your gaze as he rested his forearms on his knees, casual but commanding. “You’re staring,” he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to find your voice, but all that escaped was a soft whimper. Your hands clenched into the sheets beneath you, and the heat pooling in your stomach twisted painfully as you realized he had no intention of letting you off the hook.

“You’ll live,” Stan muttered again, his tone quiet but deliberate as he stood, giving you one last glance before turning toward his dresser. The lack of attention left you buzzing with frustration and need, but he didn’t seem to care—he was in complete control, and you were left to grapple with the fact that he intended to keep it that way.

Stan walked to his dresser with a lazy confidence, the kind that only made the heat pooling in your stomach worse. More of the hemline of his boxers showed now, and the muscles in his back shifted subtly as he grabbed his phone from the edge of the dresser. He scrolled aimlessly, his bracelets jangling faintly with each movement.

You stared, your breaths shallow, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to calm the ache he’d left behind. He wasn’t even looking at you, completely unfazed, like he hadn’t just wrecked you moments ago. It made your chest twist—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to name.

“Stan,” you croaked, your voice cracking slightly, and he didn’t even flinch.

He scrolled for another beat, finally glancing over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow arching lazily. “What?” His tone was flat, indifferent, like you’d just interrupted him during an uneventful Tuesday.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You hated how small his lack of reaction made you feel, like the electric tension between you was entirely one-sided.

“I…” you started, but your gaze flicked down to his chest, to the light tan that lingered across his skin and the faint ridge of muscle beneath it. You swallowed hard, trying to piece together your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there— messy-haired, and so effortlessly unaffected—was enough to scramble everything in your head.

Stan sighed like you were being difficult and turned back to his dresser. His hand rifled through the top drawer, and when he pulled back, the foil wrapper of a condom glinted under the soft light.

Your stomach dropped, your body buzzing as he set the condom casually on the dresser, next to his phone. He leaned one arm against the edge, crossing his other hand over his chest, bracelets sliding slightly down his forearm as he glanced back at you.

“You gonna say something, or just keep staring like that?” he said finally, his lips quirking into a faint, cocky smirk.

Your cheeks burned, and you squirmed against the sheets, the ache between your legs sharpening as he stood there, fully in control. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, barely convincing even yourself.

“Right,” Stan said, dragging the word out as he looked back at his phone, tapping the screen lazily. “Sure seemed like it from here.”

The way he brushed you off, so casual and maddening, made the knot in your chest tighten. Your eyes darted to the condom on the dresser, and the implications made your head spin. “Why’d you—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as frustration prickled at the back of your neck.

“Why’d I what?” Stan drawled, not even bothering to look up this time.

“Y-you…” you faltered again, unsure if it was the tension in your chest or the growing need burning through your veins that had you so tongue-tied.

Stan finally turned, leaning fully against the dresser now, his arms crossed as he looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. His bleached hair was a mess, dark roots peeking through as a few strands fell into his eyes. He shoved them back with one hand, his bracelets clinking faintly before crossing his arms again.

“You’ve been running your mouth all night,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? Figures.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the heat in your cheeks spreading as you gripped the sheets tightly beneath you.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. “C’mon, [Y/N], spit it out,” he said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.”

Your chest tightened, every nerve in your body buzzing as your lips parted again, but the words refused to form. The weight of his gaze, the way his tone was almost mocking but not cruel—it all left you reeling.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally, the admission feeling heavier than it should.

Stan’s expression softened, just slightly, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said, his voice quieter now but still cutting. His sharp blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, reading you like an open book.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in your chest again as the knot of frustration and need twisted tighter. You glanced at the condom on the dresser again, and your voice broke as you murmured, “Why’d you grab that?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something closer to amusement. “Why do you think?” he said plainly, like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped, and you bit your lip hard enough to sting as your gaze dropped to your hands clenched in the sheets. The teasing tilt in his tone, the sheer audacity of his calmness, made your head spin.

He pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in a few slow, deliberate steps, stopping just short of the bed. His sharp gaze bore into you as he leaned down slightly, his bracelets sliding further down his arms.

“Say what you want, [Y/N],” he said softly, the teasing edge in his voice tempered by something quieter, something steadier. “Or don’t. Either way…” His eyes flicked to the condom, then back to you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I-...” you trailed off, your breath catching as you forced yourself to look at him. And in that moment, it hit you all at once, sharp and undeniable.

You liked him.

Not just liked him—you wanted him, craved him in a way that made your heart race and your stomach twist. It hit you all at once: the teasing, the flirting, the way you got jealous over nothing—it wasn’t friendly banter. It was so much more.

Stan leaned against the dresser, his bracelets jingling faintly as he shifted his weight. The condom in his hand hung lazily between two fingers, and his blue eyes locked onto yours with that sharp, assessing look he always gave when he was trying to figure you out. “You… what?” he asked, the slightest tilt of his head adding to the edge in his voice.

Your chest tightened, the words bubbling to the surface before you could stop them. “I want you to come back to the bed.”

Stan’s brows lifted, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He swung the condom lightly, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly do you want if I do?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as heat crept up your neck. “I want to kiss you,” you admitted, your voice trembling but firm. “I need to.”

The smirk on Stan’s face faltered, replaced by something softer, more serious. He straightened slightly, the humor in his eyes fading as he stepped closer, the condom now forgotten at his side. “You need to kiss me,” he repeated, his tone lower, testing.

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Stan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his lips quirking as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He placed the condom on the bedside table and leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of you. His lips brushed yours, a soft, fleeting touch that left you breathless.

“You could’ve just said so earlier,” he muttered, and then his mouth pressed firmly against yours, stealing whatever response you might’ve had.

The kiss was different—no teasing smirks or playful jabs, just raw, unfiltered emotion. His hands cupped your face, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss as his body pressed closer. You melted into him, your hands instinctively clutching at his bare shoulders as the heat between you grew.

Stan pulled back, his lips lingering just a breath away from yours, and his eyes searched yours like he was trying to piece together something important. “Do you even get what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I wasn’t sure what I felt,” you said softly, the words stumbling out. “But I know now. I—I want this. I want you.”

Stan’s gaze flickered, something vulnerable slipping through his usual guarded expression. His jaw worked for a moment, like he was chewing over your words, and then he let out a quiet breath, his hand sliding to cradle your face. “No more of this back-and-forth shit,” he said, his voice firmer now. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real. None of your games. No bullshit.”

“No games,” you echoed, your voice trembling but certain.

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. His other hand settled on your waist, grounding you as he leaned in again, his forehead lightly bumping against yours. “Because I don’t think I can deal with you driving me up the wall anymore without this.”

Stan scooted back slightly, hooking his thumbs casually into the waistband of his sweatpants. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar mix of irritation and amusement flickering in his gaze as he tugged them down just enough to reveal snug black boxer briefs. The way they hugged his frame left little to the imagination, and your eyes instinctively dropped, wide and unblinking.

“Wow,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating up as you scrambled to deflect. “Really going for the bold look tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a dry smirk. “Bold words coming from someone who keeps getting caught staring,” he shot back. His hands dropped to his hips, his stance casual, but the sharpness in his voice made your stomach flip.

“I wasn’t staring,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to look unbothered.

His laugh was short and incredulous, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, sure. Totally convincing.” He shoved his sweatpants down the rest of the way with an almost careless motion, stepping out of them as they pooled at his feet. Now just in his boxer briefs, he took a slow step forward, looming over you with that same unimpressed look that made you squirm.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always running it, even when you’re caught red-handed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get a single word out, he was climbing onto the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly, the weight of his body leaving you pinned beneath him. The shift in dynamic was immediate, leaving you breathless as his blue eyes bore into yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“You think you’re funny?” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word sinking into the tension between you. His thumbs brushed dangerously close to your panties, the teasing touch sending a jolt through your already-overheated body. “Making little comments like that when you’re already soaked? What exactly are you trying to pull here?”

“I wasn’t—” you started defensively, but your words faltered when his fingers trailed up, pressing against the damp fabric of your panties with maddening precision.

“Wasn’t what?” he pressed, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice dipped lower, taking on a mocking edge that sent shivers down your spine. “Wasn’t wet? Wasn’t about to beg me? Careful, [Y/N]. You keep lying to my face, and I might just leave you like this all night.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shifted your hips, trying to get more of his touch. But his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you firmly in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his smirk sharp and unforgiving.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his tone soft but cutting. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed himself back onto his heels, dragging his boxers down in one smooth motion. When he stood again, his cock stood hard and flushed, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. Without thinking, your hand reached out to touch him, but he caught your wrist before you could get close.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm that was so uniquely Stan. He shook his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you think you get to do whatever you want? Cute.”

His free hand came up to grip your cheek, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make your lips part slightly. “Look at me,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His tone was steady, but there was a flicker of frustration behind it, a heat that had your stomach twisting. “You’ve been pushing me all night, and now you’re just gonna sit there and wait until I’m good and ready. Got it?”

Before you could respond, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the condom, his movements deliberate. The soft crinkle of the wrapper made your thighs clench instinctively, but he caught the motion immediately, his eyes flicking down and then back up to yours with a faint smirk.

“You talk a big game,” he said, rolling the condom on with an unhurried precision that made your pulse race. “Guess we’ll see if you can actually handle it.”

He leaned back over you, his hands sliding deliberately up your sides before settling on your hips, his grip strong and grounding. His gaze stayed fixed on yours, his expression calm but charged with something unmistakably hungry.

“I—”

Stan cut you off, his hand pressing firmly but not harshly on the back of your head, guiding you down toward the mattress. “Don’t,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with exasperation. The motion wasn’t rough, but it carried no room for argument. He wasn’t playing around anymore.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his eye, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as your manicured nails reached for his arm. “Stan,” you whined softly, dragging out his name in that teasing tone you knew got under his skin.

Instead of rising to your bait, he let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still at it. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar sarcastic bite. Without waiting for a response, his hands gripped your hips, shifting you until your head was down against the bed and your ass was up, fully exposed. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he wanted to draw out every second of the tension until it was unbearable.

Stan’s fingers skimmed lightly over your back, trailing down to the curve of your hips. His touch lingered, warm and steady, before his grip tightened enough to ground you. He leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ears, low and steady, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone.

“Look at you now,” he said, his words cutting through the thick air between you. “All that talk, and suddenly you don’t have much to say.”

His hands stayed firm on your hips as he lined himself up with you. The weight of his cock against your entrance made your breath hitch, and before you could brace yourself, he pushed forward in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and your gasp turned into a broken cry as he seated himself fully, leaving no space between you.

Stan didn’t move right away. He stayed buried inside, letting you feel every inch of him as his hands kept you still. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way he held you—it was all-consuming. Tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

“You’re awful quiet,” he muttered after a moment, his voice low and thick, almost casual. “What happened to all that attitude, huh? Thought you had something smart to say.”

A choked whimper escaped you, and you turned your head slightly, trying to meet his gaze through your tear-blurred vision. Stan’s face was flushed, his messy bleached hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and knowing, as if he could see right through you.

When you tried to shift your hips, seeking even the smallest bit of relief, his hands clamped down harder, holding you in place. “Uh-uh,” he said, his voice cutting through your quiet protests. “You don’t get to squirm your way out of this. You wanted me back here so bad, right? So take it.”

Your breath hitched again as you buried your face in the mattress, your muffled cries betraying how much you were feeling. “S-Stan…” you hiccupped, your voice trembling, barely able to form his name.

He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “Oh, now you’re playing the soft card?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock pity. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you’re gonna deal with what you started.”

As if to punctuate his words, he pulled back slightly and then thrust forward again, slow but deep, the motion stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t let up, finding a deliberate rhythm that left you clawing at the sheets beneath you, every thrust making your body tremble.

“You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational despite the roughness of his movements, “you’re always so damn sure of yourself. Always pushing, always testing me.” He paused, his hips snapping forward harder, making you cry out. “But now? Now you’re not so cocky, are you?”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks as you tried to keep up, your mind spinning from the overwhelming mix of sensations. When you tried to speak, to form even the smallest response, the words dissolved into broken moans, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Stan noticed, of course. He always noticed. “Aw, what’s wrong?” he teased, his voice softer now, but still carrying that playful edge. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm and teasing against your skin. “Too much for you already?”

You managed a shaky nod, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body trembled beneath him. His laugh was soft, almost cruel, as he trailed another kiss along your jawline. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. “Maybe now you’ll think twice before trying to mess with me.”

Despite the tears pooling in your eyes, your body betrayed you, rolling your hips back into him as best you could, chasing the pressure and the sensation. Stan let out a quiet groan at your reaction, his hands gripping your waist tighter.

“See?” he said, his tone shifting to something gentler but still laced with control. “You can be good when you really try.”

Stan’s movements faltered slightly, his hands gripping your hips as he took in the way your body responded to him. His lips quirked into a soft smirk, but his blue eyes betrayed something deeper—intensity mixed with that familiar, slightly sarcastic glint that was so him.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

You whimpered in response, unable to form words, your head pressed into the mattress. Stan leaned forward, his breath warm against your shoulder, and chuckled softly. It wasn’t mean—it was teasing, familiar, the same way he always had been, but now it carried the weight of everything happening between you.

“That good, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your breath hitch. “All this, just from me?”

Your body clenched around him at his words, and his sharp intake of breath was proof he noticed. He paused, his hips pressed flush against you as his hand trailed up your back, coaxing a soft arch from your spine.

“Okay, okay,” he teased, his tone shifting, dripping with playful sarcasm now. “You don’t have to answer. You’re kind of... busy.” He punctuated his statement with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Stan groaned quietly, his head dipping closer to your ear. “Jesus, you’re soaking me,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges. “I didn’t think you could get any better, but here we are.”

His praise made your chest tighten, heat flooding through you as your mind spun. He caught the way your moans grew louder, how your body tensed with every soft word that slipped from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, with that cocky-but-genuine air only Stan could pull off. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Your response was a broken whimper, your nails clawing at the sheets as you tried to ground yourself. Stan’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate, as his fingers trailed down your side, his other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep his rhythm steady.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice dropping. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? You’re fucking perfect.”

His words sent a shudder through you, and he felt it, his smirk widening as he leaned forward again. “I mean it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before biting down gently, making you gasp. “You’re driving me insane in the best way.”

You let out a choked sob, the intensity of his praise, his rhythm, and his control overwhelming you completely. Your legs trembled beneath you as your body clenched around him, and Stan groaned, his own composure slipping slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse now. “That’s it. Just like that. Keep doing that, baby. You’re perfect.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your mind hazy with arousal and emotion. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you gasped his name, your voice trembling as you tried to hold on.

“Stan,” you managed to whisper, your tone pleading and raw.

Stan’s pace faltered for a split second when he heard your shaky voice break through the heavy rhythm of your breathing. His blue eyes darted down to you, catching the way tears spilled down your cheeks, your lips trembling as you turned your head away from the pillow to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice thick with emotion as you sniffled, your body trembling beneath him.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching, though his movements didn’t let up. If anything, his pace grew more purposeful, his hips snapping into yours as his hands gripped your waist tightly, grounding you to him.

“Sorry?” he asked, his voice low, strained. “What are you apologizing for, huh?”

Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your lips trembling as you gasped, “F-for earlier. For... everything.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, the sound edged with something almost disbelieving, his forehead falling forward slightly as he leaned over you. “You’re apologizing now?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept moving. “Right when you’re about to come? Really convenient timing dude, don’t you think?”

You let out a choked sob, your body clenching around him as you struggled to keep your gaze locked with his. “I-I mean it,” you said, your voice breaking as your chest heaved, every nerve in your body alight.

Stan’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his expression softening for a moment before his hands slid up your body, one moving to your face to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed away a stray tear as his eyes bore into yours, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle, “I know you mean it. But I’m not letting you off that easy.”

Your eyes widened, another soft cry escaping you as his thrusts grew deeper, hitting the perfect spot that had you unraveling. “S-Stan, I... I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off, his voice dropping even lower, his thumb tracing slow circles over your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your entire body tensed. Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered, “Please.”

Stan groaned softly, his gaze unwavering as he pressed a firm, almost possessive kiss to your lips. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you focused on him. “Right now. I want to see you fall apart.”

And with his words ringing in your ears, you did.

Stan’s movements didn’t falter as he kept driving into you, his relentless rhythm drawing ragged whimpers and muffled cries from your lips. His hand stayed firm on your chin, holding your gaze as though daring you to look away. His messy, grown-out bleached hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, the pale locks contrasting sharply with his slightly tanned skin. The bracelets on his wrists—simple bands and one woven with multicolored threads—shifted and caught the light with every powerful thrust, his forearms flexing with the effort.

The sight of him was dizzying. His swollen lips parted slightly as his breaths came heavy, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the warm dorm lighting. It was impossible not to stare, the sharp cut of his jawline and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks making him look so effortlessly gorgeous, so thoroughly wrecked in the best way.

“God, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as his hips snapped against yours. His free hand slid from your hip to grip your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady. “I should be pissed at you right now, but—fuck—how am I supposed to stay mad when you’re like this?”

You tried to respond, your lips parting, but all that came out was a cracked moan as he hit just the right spot again. Gathering your nerve, you attempted to form words, the teasing edge in your tone still managing to peek through your overstimulated haze. “I-I was just gonna say—”

Stan cut you off immediately, his blue eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Nope. Not this time.” He shoved two fingers into your mouth without hesitation, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue firmly enough to silence you. “You wanna say something? Too bad. You’re done talking.”

Your wide-eyed stare and muffled protests only spurred him on. His bracelets shifted again as he adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing across your cheek almost tenderly, contrasting the raw intensity in his movements. “God, you’re such a mess,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Look at you—tears running down your face, trying to act like you’ve got something smart to say. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your moan around his fingers was muffled but unmistakably needy, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. The fire pooling in your stomach grew unbearable as Stan’s relentless pace brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Bet you love it,” he rasped, his head dipping closer as he brought his lips to your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hips slammed into yours again. “You can’t get enough, can you? Always pushing, always testing me. And now look where it’s gotten you.”

The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body pressing you down, the unrelenting heat in his gaze—it was overwhelming. You whimpered helplessly around his fingers, your eyes locking with his again, and Stan groaned low in his throat, the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked beneath him pushing him closer to the brink.

“You look so good like this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Completely mine.”

His pace faltered slightly, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his bleached hair falling into his eyes. But he didn’t let up, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh and pulling you even closer. “Keep looking at me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Stan’s thrusts slowed, his body trembling as he reached his peak. A guttural moan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his head tipped back, his bleached hair clinging to his damp skin. His grip on your thigh tightened for a moment before his movements stilled completely, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

For a few seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the faint hum of the dorm room fan. Stan stayed still, his hands resting on your hips, holding you close as he caught his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed with exertion, and the weight of his release seemed to hit him all at once.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you, there was a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even embarrassment. His gaze softened, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a faint, almost self-conscious chuckle, his hand brushing lightly over your waist as though grounding himself.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, more to himself than to you. His blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked almost abashed, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away entirely. “You… okay?”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you nodded, your lips parting to respond, but your voice came out in a whisper. “Yeah.”

Stan exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his messy hair as he pulled back slightly, his movements careful, almost tentative. He reached out to the bedside table, grabbing a tissue and leaning back down to press a quick, soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he muttered, his voice still tinged with that uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I—I didn’t mean to get so…”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake off the unspoken thought. His cheeks were still faintly flushed, his bracelets clinking softly as he adjusted his grip on your waist to help steady you. The moment was quieter now, the intensity replaced with something gentler, almost uncertain.

Stan’s fingers brushed over your cheek lightly, his gaze searching yours. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brows furrowing slightly.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice, and you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I’m okay, Stan,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Promise.”

He gave a small nod, his lips pressing into a faint smile, though the flicker of uncertainty didn’t entirely fade from his eyes. “Good,” he said again, softer this time. Then, after a beat, he added with a wry smirk, “You… really know how to make things complicated, don’t you?”

There was a teasing edge to his words, but his tone was light, almost affectionate. It felt like Stan was trying to bridge the intensity of the moment with something more familiar, something easier to grasp.

Stan exhaled deeply, his forehead briefly resting against your shoulder as he worked to collect himself. When he pulled back, he shifted off the bed, peeling off the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. His bleached hair was even messier now, sticking to his damp forehead, and the soft jingle of his bracelets filled the quiet room as he reached for a tissue to clean himself up.

You stretched out languidly, turning your head to shoot him a teasing smirk. “So… does this mean you’re not mad anymore?”

Stan froze mid-motion, his head snapping to look at you. The exasperation on his face was instant, though it was laced with amusement. “Don’t start,” he warned, narrowing his eyes but failing to suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You grinned wider, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I mean, you seemed really mad earlier. Like dude, I was kinda scared for a second,” you said, your voice dripping with playful mockery. “But now? I think you’re just a big softie.”

Stan rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath as he tossed the tissues into the trash with a flick of his wrist. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you how ‘soft’ I am,” he quipped, leaning over to lightly flick your forehead.

You pouted dramatically, rubbing the spot he’d flicked. “Abuse!” you teased, mock-gasping. “I’m gonna tell Red you’re bullying me.”

Stan shook his head, standing up to adjust his bracelets and reaching for his sweatpants. “You’re the worst,” he muttered with a laugh, grabbing the discarded blanket from the floor and tossing it over you. “Now shut up and go to sleep before you actually piss me off again.”

You laughed, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you watched him move around the room. The tension had completely dissolved, replaced with the kind of easy banter that seemed to define whatever the two of you had. Stan shook his head again, but you could see the faint grin on his face as he grabbed his phone off the dresser and flopped back down beside you.

i love red sm...

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park oneshot #stan marsh x reader #stan marsh x y/n #south park smut

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littlepolinlover · 6 months ago

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I have started a new fic for Polin. Not even the one I intended to start. I have absolutely no idea of what it’s about or where it’s going, but it’s going.

It’s modern AU set sometime after Colin and Penelope are married. Colin is a singer and she writes for a fashion magazine called Lady Whistledown (original, I know 🤪). I’m almost certain I’m gonna fuck it up and do some damage before making it all good again cause that’s how I’m feeling rn, but when it’s ready to be posted— I’ll post it in full on ao3.

“Ladies, do you mind if I borrow my darling wife for a few moments?”

“Colin if you try to shag her in the toilet while we’re still here– I will make sure you never have the children I know you’re aiming for.” Eloise threatens him, and he rolls his eyes at her, and reaches for Pen’s hand. She sets her glass of wine down and takes his hand and lets him lead her to their bedroom.

His lips descended upon hers as soon as she closed the door behind them. He spun them around so he could press her up against the door. She let out a tiny moan as his hand started to run up her thigh– stopping when her hand reached out for his. As much as she would love to continue this, they had company.

“No, Pen– I haven't gotten to touch you all day.”

“You literally accosted me in the shower this morning,” she laughed, pushing at his wandering hand. They really couldn’t. They had company present. There was no way in hell she was allowing that to happen. He could wait until everyone had gone home.

“And you made me late for my meeting, and the boys were giving me shit for it.” Colin pointed out and she shook her head at him, reaching for his hand and tangling her fingers with his. He was correct, essentially– she did make him late, but he started it.

They had barely woken up when he pressed into her backside, pressing his morning wood into her. And she wasn’t wearing clothes, as they had fallen asleep after a rather adventurous round the previous night.

He pressed into her, and she wasn’t inclined to not have a very good morning. Then, they were in the shower, and she was trying to shower, but the erection pressed into her backside again as she washed her hair, his lips on her neck, and she spun around and dropped to her knees. It was his own fault he was late.

“It was only a few hours,” she pushed them away from the door. She turned to open it. “It couldn’t have been that hard.”

He grinned at her, his eyes darkening a moment as he took their clasped hand and pressed it against the front of his trousers. “Do you have an idea of how hard it was today?”

“Colin!” She yelped as she felt the hardness of him underneath her hand. She could feel him pulse in her hand, and then she heard laughter coming from the kitchen and she regretfully removed her hand from his person.

“Maybe I can help you out with that later.” She leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I need to get back out there.”

“You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

Her laughter is all he heard when the door opened and then closed with her leaving him in the bedroom alone. She was pure evil that one.

#shadowsfictionwrites #bridgerton #polin #polin fanfiction #I love a good AU #modern AU Bridgerton #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton

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merao-mariposa · 7 months ago

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I have your back, you have my heart

Day three of the pissa/death duo week! This au was the idea of @amymorningstar in this post I really wanted to write about the Mafia Pissa and this was a good excuse for!

“Mafia + I promised you as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again”

(…)

Philza Minecraft had been on the dark side of the streets for a very long, long time, since his first interventions dismantling brothels that were a little too... “flexible” with the idea of consent going to authentic inhumane places, all falling under the scourge of the Angel of Death until a man, a friend, appeared in front of him with the idea of dominating the criminal world, converting it to his ideals. That was a long time ago but corruption spreads like a fire in gasoline and Phil was there to suffocate it until it went out.

Maybe it was his cruelty in how he snuffed out the lives of those corrupt men that led him to pay the karma he was paying right now, he doesn't know.

The man sitting at his desk looked miserable for say the least, from the outside you feel the discord in the trademark half-twisted hat or the uncorked bottle of wine resting on his messy desk but you can see how the damage runs deeper than that if you know Philza well enough, the immaculate two pieces-suit stand out like a sore thumb on a man so casual and relaxed, the white shirt is buttoned at the neck almost restrictively, and his trail of beard is just a little more prominent than it has been in recent months.

The last few months, that sugar-filled almost year where mafia boss BOLAS had been closer to being an angel than he would ever be since he lived in what he could only call heaven.

His arrival in heaven was a young man with messy, dark hair. His purple eyes dragged him deep into the flames of hell now that they were no longer looking at him.

The fact that he had no one else to blame but himself didn't make it any easier.

But when Sinfonia appeared everything was perfect. He was reserved but easy to smile, aloof but with loyal friends, so pathetic (and cute) yelling at the slightest threat but he was a real threat in front of some of the most ruthless members of BOLAS, selective but had two beautiful kids who looked alike barely in the whites of the eyes, even his last name “Sinfonia” evidenced the harsh contradiction that surrounds the object of the crow's loves, a man as gifted in every possible musical instrument as if he had the Midas touch, and yet that very appropriate last name wasn't real. His Missa was a set of contradictions and embarrassing coincidences over knots in lavender stems.

Which in retrospect must have been a loud alarm, a siren announcing the disaster that his false moon left in its wake in the crow's heart.

It turns out that his love lied, the fire burning inside him to abandon important meetings for the sole purpose of sharing more time of his life with him as opposed to the absolute security of being understood as someone returning to his childhood home (beloved, cared, welcome) with the ease of riding a bike. All of that had been a waste.

The soft hugs that lulled him into deep dreams (chasing away the nightmares that Missa shouldn't know about for his own good) to the chaste kisses all over the face that released the negativity from his husband's shoulders (and if instead of being a result of his low self-esteem was his guilt taking charge?) to the private kisses that said “I miss you” and “one last time, love” without the words, all were nothing but lies.

Not that he had cared much about anything at that moment, he found himself focused on his children (because now they were also Phil's children) they were angels and he only had the head to raise them with Missa, who returned with a sweeter demeanor after his night walks and long work trips, he tenderly asked for nap together as a family.

He should have questioned more why Missa disappeared like that, coincidentally, just when Phil was paying for the services of the most dangerous mercenary on the black market, unlike the assassins he had on his payroll, this guy had the prestige of killing only with his touch, too lethal and above all cautious, Phil did not even met him in person, they only contacted through third parties who agreed on the service and only told about his violet hood and his skull mask. It is said; no one has seen his face and lived to tell.

Like I said before; Phil is old, he's been in the environment for years where only an intelligent man could live as long as he does, with that in mind how was it possible that he didn't know that his sweet husband was actually the most dangerous bastard in the underworld? Shocked by the discovery, in this kind of world, someone you trust can stab you in the back so how can you trust a man who lied to you?

And Missa knew who Philza Minecraft was, what his name means, he always knew, he did always know when something had gone wrong and Philza needed more comfort, always two steps ahead of his needs because he knew it.

The time after their fight breaks up, everything is a drunken blur in the crow's mind, he doesn't remember what they said, he only knows the screams and the revolver clicking in his left pocket while Missa, The Reaper or whoever it was have knowledge of the gun in his pocket and as soon as he pointed it at the man he said he loved time ago the gun was already on the ground, rolling behind this man who was unrecognizable to Phil, the shouting match continued more heated after the blonde pointed his gun at the helpless and clumsy Missa.

That was the last time he saw Missa.

Phil has been so distracted, tired and paranoid since then, even the security is a disaster ignoring the advice of the rest of BOLAS. Philza has scattered guards in unimportant areas, some stuck to him all day but the majority watch that Missa does not return or get close to the children (his children; Missa's own children) Chayanne almost bites him at the slightest suspicion of not being able to see his father, so his impenetrable fortress suddenly becomes a weak place.

Literally and metaphorically

He ordered several guards not to even dream of setting foot in certain areas of the family mansion (those such as the music room, the kitchen and the art studio, any room with traces of Missa must remain identical to how it was before his departure, as if they were waiting for him)

Philza feels betrayed and hurt but above all he is so confused, his rational mind tells him to defend himself, to put up the highest walls to protect himself, his organization and his family but his family is Missa. He is outside and Philza once promised that he will demolish every wall in the world that did not open its doors for the man with purple eyes.

And yet here he is.

Inside his fortress it can breathe the air of a broken family, the kids have believed him for the moment but the tension is felt increasing with every minute they pass without hearing from their papa. Inside the fortress are no longer him and his chicks but a greedy and lonely crow with two brittle shells and a broken heart.

The days pass in that agony until there is a surprise attack from which they cannot respond.

Tensions with the Federal mafia had gotten much worse in recent months, after his formal alliance with Soulfire he did not believe they were going to attack seriously.

But they did.

Thank his Goddess, thank The Lady for allowing Chayanne and Tallulah to be in the school while the white clad mercenaries broke down every door and shot at anything that moved.

At least Missa would get them back and they would be together again. Just as they should have been before he and his greedy hope for a family took that away from them.

As soon as his office door is kicked down one of those white masked sons of bitches puts his hands on him, something happens.

Penetrating in his vision when he sees him but there is stealth in his steps, he is the only one to notice his presence until two bullets (how quickly are repeated) knock down two of the men to dead, wound another in the shoulder, and the last one misses just centimeters away for paint the wall with Philza's skull.

Four shots, two fired before the reaction time of their distracted predators and attacked from the purest darkness, shots fly towards the door and if it was not absolutely broken after that rude kick it is now unusable, falling from its hinges under the siege and behind it are no signs of the mysterious shooter.

Tense seconds pass until one of the feds quickly puts one of his dirty hands in Phil's hair, pulling hard on the golden strands in a hissing threat and that's when he enters the scene.

The men on each side of the door were the first to fall, one quickly takes the place of his fallen companion, his gun raised, ready to shoot, followed by the one with the shot in the shoulder, unfortunately with that wound he is not able to shoot at time to prevent another bullet from the darkness from taking the life of the other one.

The bullets fly again while the threshold of the door swallows the corpse, dragging it out and soon, very soon, his savior enters the room with a constant step carrying the dead body as a kind of human shield.

A well-placed shot, other fall.

And the guy who touched him is one of them, his screams are muffled by his mask and by the gunshots exploding around him.

Phil hides under his desk as fast as he can but not before taking a bullet in the shoulder, it hurts like shit.

But it seems that it hurts them more because he can hear how one by one the white masks fall with sharp blows, they could barely scream in horror before fall with a fatal shott.

Fast, efficient and lethal

When it seems that the rain of bullets is ending, Phil distinguishes the voices from outside his office. That sounds like… Chainsaws? And laughs Phil knows immediately that his best people, who should be with his children, are on and from what he hears they are having fun.

He slowly peeks out of his desk, his hand warm from the blood dripping from his shoulder, and finally sees the reason of his recent insomnia.

Missa, or also known as The Reaper, moves almost with grace but the anger burns in his every movement, it is a wild spectacle as soon as the bullets run out, each man who even tries to get close to Phil is shot down with ease, he watch in trance as his husband smash anyone who tries to get close to him to pieces.

“M- Missa…?” he comes out as a dismayed whisper

The Reaper turns to look at him for half a second, which one of them takes advantage of to kick him in the stomach. Missa lets out a grunt of acute pain but holds the guy's leg with his hands, taking advantage of pushing him forward, knocking another of them against the favorite glass table.

The two guys are left on the floor, one on top of the other and one's suit is now full of glass.

And just like that Missa goes for the next one and Phil can only watch in shock.

Missa is The Reaper, The Reaper is Missa. They are both the same person; they have been forever.

Missa, his Missa is his mercenary and his mercenary is his husband.

he approaches, slowly, as slowly as he can with a bullet embedded in his shoulder. The cacophony of screams shakes the floor and Philza suddenly realizes that he must have gone down to the panic room.

The weight of not doing so clings to his shoulders, the clear implications trying to cross the capo’s tired mind like a malicious whisper makes him feels so wrong, so manipulative.

But he was waiting for him to save him

Of a thousand people in this aggressive environment who swore their loyalty to him and finds himself depending on the arrival of the one who not only never swore anything to him but also betrayed him.

Oh well, who betrayed who?

After yelling at him for lying to him when he also lied, pointing a gun at him and taking him away from his own children, he knows that the Philza of the past would have sent him to hell for ruining the things with Missa.

Missa knew who he was before, he knew it from very early on and that affected Phil, it made him feel cornered and at a disadvantage. He realized at that moment that he was afraid; he didn't fear the hitman under his roof as much as he feared the man under his sheets. feared he was so vulnerable letting him walk around the red mafia's base of operations, taking the children to school every morning, training Chayanne and hearing Tallulah's flute in the distance did terrified him, his worst nightmare was in how his heart was warmed by them so soft and gentle in the reaper's expert hands he could take out his heart and the worst thing is that he would have left it in order to see the children and Missa every morning when he woke up.

My God, he was crazy, he went crazy when he fell in love with him and even crazier when Phil sabotaged his own happiness.

Loneliness tasted bitter on his lips, power and honor became poison with the diffuse days, with his cold bed at night, with his absence piercing his chest.

The last man fell and with the elegance of a dancer stabbed by a steel dagger into his chest, he did the same with the other two men on the ground. The Reaper left no witnesses or loose ends.

He could hear in the distance Baghera and Cellbit stopping their chainsaws which was a good sign. The Federation had basically sent a mini army to his grounds and he partly wondered if his men knew that Missa was there with him.

His name tasted salty when it finally left Phil's lips in a whisper, it tasted like the tears he shed every time he was sober to remember his absence. Behind that mask it is almost impossible to perceive the purple eyes but he knows well that look that is hidden in front of him.

Missa wipes the blood on his own pants with slow movements, the dagger pressed against his thigh until it's clean enough.

“Missa…” Phil insists, he shouldn't insist to the man who has the dagger, especially when he is hurt.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he feels (not sees) the intense gaze on his shrunken figure, well, at least he now has his attention. The purple eyes that he loves so much scan him from top to bottom and a wave of shame hits the stunned and guilty part of his subconscious as he remembers how he looks even worse for being in the middle of a fucking shootout. That wasn't how he would have wanted to see him again see but it was the most likely way to meet again now that he knew they were in the same work area

His eyes seem to linger on the wound on his shoulder and if he could see his husband's face, he would say he was not pleased with it.

“…Phil” Missa's voice sounds like a late greeting and is focused on him.

Goddess, how he had missed that voice

The professional, and infamous mercenary approaches, a little more hesitant than he should for a man of his reputation and a wave of affection breaks over Philza, he too takes a single step closer and they are looking at each other as the first time, feels like looking at the moon at its peak or the sun descending. He can't, he doesn't have the right to act like a wet cat after tearing up his enemies and expecting Phil to be normal about it. Missa just can't do that to him, he bites back a light laugh and takes another step in his direction. noticing that there is blood on his clothes and some cuts on it but if I had to guess I would say that most of it is from the others and Phil is already losing blood himself.

Missa takes another step, knowing the bleeding has stopped and believing the bullet grazed but he won't be sure until he concentrates on something other than mustering the words to ask him to fucking take off the mask.

Fortunately, he seems to read his mind as Phil doesn't even finish taking another slow step towards him when the mask is finally gone, The Reaper has officially left the room and his husband looms in front of him in his place. Is it strange to say that death is good for him? His face, his hair and the sparkle in his eyes or is the blonde just delirious?

Be that as it may, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in the middle of the destroyed office as if it were his own world.

"You went"

“You kicked me out.”

“You still shouldn't have left” he replied very intelligently and Missa smiled, a little nervous.

“Does it hurt so much?” The black-haired man worried, looking at his injured shoulder and Philza wasn't having his partner distracted just like that.

"No, no. It doesn't hurt" He responded, knowing that lies were not the best for the relationship at this time.

Missa frowned like a kitten about to sneeze but he allowed this one for him, just for now.

“You… you're right Philza” Missa lowered his head in shame and a confuse “what?” died in the blonde's throat.

"I shouldn't have left-"

“I pointed at you with a gun, mate” he interrupted, feeling guilty and a little freaked out by whatever that means, it all was his fault, why was Missa saying that?

“Still, I should have stayed, I wanted to stay” hesitantly he noticed how Missa’s arms floated loosely around him. They weren't very elegant clothes, just good enough for work and Philza wanted to focus on that and the stains of blood all over his man instead of the new confession, after everything he did, but how could Missa still wanted him?

“Missa…”

“I promised, right?” Phil raised his head suddenly, searching for his gaze between the strands of black hair that escaped from his messy ponytail. “I always keep my promises, dear”

When the members of Bolas made sure they had the entire area clean, they advanced, covering the entire perimeter until they climbed the stairs that led to the red leader's office, they found themselves face to face with the splintered frame of the door, an office in an absolute disaster. with the imposing doors thrown next to the lifeless bodies and in the eye of that past storm was the mob boss.

Philza was leaning against his desk (which was out of its place) the purple cloth acted as an improvised tourniquet and in his arms was the waist of a tall man with black hair that they had trouble recognizing at first if it weren't for the clear display of affection, unaware that they had company. Now Phil kept his face buried in the taller man's torso as if he were afraid to let him go again and Missa hummed, deeply satisfied with having his little bird in his arms again, he carefully avoided the other man's shoulder but remained attentive, didn't want to leave that wound out of sight until he could drag his husband stubborn ass to the infirmary. Ignoring the living and dead audience, the couple was trapped in their own world, little giggles that didn't seem to go anywhere, dying and returning with each other's laughter in a vicious circle, finally together.

“I promised you, I didn’t? as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again, cuervito”

EXTRA:

“You look pretty good with that ponytail you know, mate?”

“Philza!”

“So, guys, do I tell Jaiden that there will be no divorce?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie”

#qsmp #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #pissa #pissa week #pissa/deathduo week #pissa au #qsmp shipping #tw mafia themes #tw dead mention #nothing graphic #but still #qsmp bolas

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littencloud9 · 29 days ago

Text

fanfic writer interview!

tagged by @frankenjoly ! tysm hehe <3

—

how many works do you have on ao3?

88! but i think there’s a few on anon

your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

grimaces. these r not my best works bUT

[T] you’re the one that never lets me roam || voltron, klance || 5.1k

[T] in the heat of your electric touch || bsd, sskk || 2.6k

[G] mortal bodies, timeless souls || voltron, klance || 3.4k

[T] move fast, keep quiet || bsd, sskk || 8.4k

[T] smoke in the summer rain || atla, zukka || 5.1k

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

usually yes!! comments are fun and make me happy :)

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

hmm… i don’t really write angsty fics but maybe this one:

[T] [vlog 002] melancholia || voltron, keith-centric (implied klance) || 1.1k

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

almost all of them /hj. i love my blorbos happy

do you write crossovers?

not really but i’m open to the idea!

have you ever received hate on a fic?

i feel like i have but i don’t remember akdjfkd 😭

do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes… every once in a blue moon. what kind? um. the kind that makes my heart happy :)

have you ever had a fic stolen?

other than that one time where a bunch of fics were getting uploaded to that other site. i sure hope not

have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!

have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope. i think that would intimidate the hell out of me but it does sound fun skdjfk

what’s your all-time favourite ship?

GOD don’t do this to me. okay idk about all-time favourite but itafushi holds a very special place in my heart

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

kicks rock. so many. i have a kunichuu high school AU that i’d love to get back to someday. maybe 1000 years later </3

what are your writing strengths?

uhhh. i’ve been told my fics flow easily and that i’m good at writing chaotic friend group dynamics a lot :)

what are your writing weaknesses?

an absolute inability to shut up /lh. also i think i need to work on my vocab. i keep using the same words,, snorfles. and i can’t do purple prose for the LIFE of me

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i tend to use japanese honorifics in my own writing or chinese family terms like jiejie, only cause i’m familiar with those 😭 i think it’s a cool detail in fics! though i do appreciate translations in the a/n if possible so the exact intention comes across bc google translate is unreliable lol

what’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

fandom: MORIARTY THE PATRIOT 😭😭 it’s one of my all-time favourite animangas EVER i’m just so busy with other fics djfjfj. also blue lock and alien stage but i’m in fandom events for them so there Will be fics soon

ships: god there is just TOO MANY. atsulucy and odango and odaran from bsd, matsuhana and kiyoyui from haikyuu, bachirinsagi and karahio and otokara from blue lock, to name a few

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

ahhh this is so hard. either one of these:

[G] every kiss, it gets a little sweeter || haikyuu, oisuga || 10.3k

[G] i’ll be summer sun for you forever || bsd, kunikidazai || 10.7k

—

no pressure tags: @bnesszai @zukkaoru @ixapixie !!

#tag game

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mercurygray · 4 months ago

Note

Happy weekend Merc! How about 'gravel underfoot' and 'broken zipper' from the small details prompt list for Billie doing something ill advised 😏 Juno xx

Juno, these three little snips have been sitting in my drafts for the better part of a week now, so I suppose I'd better publish them if I'm not doing anything better.

Fair warning: this is a TDS AU where the Girl Gang is flying. And it is🌶️🌶️.

He'd known the girls would be trouble, but why was it always her?

Harding looked at the pilot across from his desk and exhaled heavily. "I need officers who obey orders, Mitchell. None of this write your own rules nonsense."

The woman herself didn't seem to think too much of that. "Seems to be fine when Major Cleven does it, sir."

And maybe it is - for Major Cleven. But not Lieutenant Billie Mitchell, fresh from the states and here only on the sufferance of God and the manpower needs of the United States Army Air Force. "Major Cleven is a decorated officer with more flying hours than you."

"And a man, sir."

"What do you want, Mitchell?" He was in front of his desk, his face inches from hers.

"A fuck against the wall would be fine, sir." She stared him down, her smile just visible in the midst of his stunned silence. "Come on, Colonel. Who lets you off your leash? It'll be fun."

"You tired of the squad room?" He was trying not to let her get to him, and he wasn't sure he was succeeding. Had she disobeyed orders just so she could be here, in front of his desk, in front of him, alone?

"I'm tired of boys who think they know what they're doing." Her smile widened knowledgeably, trying to coax him out. "Come on, sir. I've danced with you. How long's it been?"

Too damn long, he'd almost said. "Get out of my office" was what came out instead.

He gave in later.

He did not say her name - did not even speak - only grabbed for her wrist and pulled her away into the dark, cool shadows of the supply shed.

He only had to shut the door behind them then she'd pulled him back by his lapels to start undoing his jacket, her lips greedy for his as her hands fumbled with belts and buttons and the front of his fly and he was pulling the shirt out of her trousers and pushing her back against the wall. His hand pushed for a moment into the front of her now- open trousers, thinking he might try with his fingers first, but she laughed into their kiss and pushed his trousers open a bit more. "A fuck, sir," she said, like she was reminding him.

"Against the wall," he growled, rubbing himself against the mound of her body and their hands, her underwear and his own. He could smell her perfume, faint and distant on her skin. "I heard you the first time."

"A real one," she replied, groping him so that he moaned. "Don't take your time."

He didn't. And she dug her nails into the back of his neck and panted with pleasure into his ear for it, hot and urgent and human, until he remembered just in time where he was and who she was and pulled himself from her so he might come between them, breathless and heavy, his whole body wrung out and, impossibly, longing to do it again. How long had it been? Too long, and now he wanted it a second time, and a third. The night was dark and full of secrets and he wanted all of hers.

How dare she stand there like that, smiling and flushed and looking for all the world like she knew what he was thinking? "Damn you to hell, Billie."

“I thought we were already here,” she said with a smile. “Might as well make the most of it.”

Wasn't it always the same story?

Marion's office had a view of the supply shed door - hardly busy on a Friday afternoon without a mission in the air tomorrow. The sound of footsteps on the gravel made her look up. Who was it this time, looking for privacy?

Billie Mitchell, hair a mess and uniform crumpled, was struggling with a zipper that was probably broken, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the canary. Not a surprise - those blue eyes and red hair had never had a problem getting a date for a dance, or for something after, either. Marion couldn't help watching the door, wondering whose heart she would be breaking in a few days time when she moved on to her next conquest, who would be mooning after her when she told him no.

But the face that emerged next was not one she expected to see looking around with boyish, fearful eyes like he expected to be caught, carefully closing the door behind him. Oh, no. Not you. In the moment she could smell his aftershave.

He stepped out from the supply shed and looked carefully around in the approaching evening light, adjusting his tie, smoothing his jacket, and then, somehow, impossibly, his eyes found her window and the semi-open shade. The guilt in his eyes went straight through and left her breathless. She stepped back from the window, feeling shaken. He'd seen her - and seen that she knew.

Oh, Chick. What have you done?

#asked and answered #junojelli #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #all the alternate universes #billie mitchell

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dukeofdelirium · 4 months ago

Note

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "dukeofdelirium "?

Oh lord. Fav fanfics? Idk if I could even come up with 10.

I don’t really read fanfic that much these days unfortunately, mostly bc I haven’t rlly had time with my current job. I do write fanfic on my AO3 though (but my updating is random bc I work a lot). You can find me on AO3 at dukeofdelirium

I have multiple ongoing fanfics, including a Death Note/lawlight one that I’m writing the 2nd chapter for when I have free time.

As for my all time fav fanfics? Ummmmmmm

1) Genius Is a Curse by Bloodshot Eyes both on ao3 and fanfiction.net.

This is a DN AU where Light never finds the DN. I will say it’s very heavy on mental illness and things like that, and ppl might find the content triggering so I would read with caution if this is the case for you. It’s a fanfic that I still think about to this day and that I’ve reread maybe 5 times in the last 14 yrs. Something about it rlly stuck with me and I still think about it all the time.

2) The Hinterland Doctrine aka Those Who Stand For Nothing Fall For Anything by Halfpromise both on ao3 and fanfiction.net

We all know where we were when this shit dropped lmfao. This is one of the most iconic death note/lawlight fanfics ever written and just so you’re aware, it’s almost 800,000 words. It has its own tv tropes article and everything 😂 I remember reading this fic in highschool and it had me fucked up in all sorts of ways. I’ve been thinking about rereading it bc I haven’t read it in years but I remember how much I loved it. It’s also an AU where Light is a politician, I’m not telling you anything else 🤫

3) motion picture soundtrack by lowlightt on ao3

this author…. This AUTHOR…. Nahhhhhh their writing makes me actually insane I’m serious. Me and my bestie kept sending their fics back and forth in our group chat and we were literally quoting the fics and going crazy until like 4am for multiple nights in a row 😂 see I’ll do it right now. IT’S VIOLENCE, THIS KISS! god that knocks the wind out of me 🤣

4) Drag You Down by chocomd on ao3

This is a Katara x Aang long fic where they break up and eventually get back together. I rlly love this author and I’ve read most of their works. I recommend all their stuff, especially Midnight Meditations and Without Water which are both one shots I believe? Don’t quote me on that tho

The only other fics coming to my mind are fanfics that my friends have written. Like I said, I don’t rlly read too much fanfic these days and when I do read them, I am very selective and picky about it. For a fic to hold my interest and actually be memorable, they rlly have to scratch a highly niche itch in my brain lol. I’ll link some of my besties fanfics if anyone wants to check them out :)

5) Golden Hour by FuelMyDelusions on ao3

This is a Jacob x Bella longfic and a Breaking Dawn rewrite (thank god cuz we all know it needs that) and I’m WAITING FOR BESTIE TO UPDATE 🙄 jk I can’t talk cuz I know she’s waiting for me to update my shit too 😔🤚🏻

6) Aurora - A New Dawn by poizonivory on ao3

This is another twilight Jacob x Bella longfic that is fixing the hot mess that Breaking Dawn aka Smeyer Hell created. I love this fic so much 👹 you’ll catch me in the comments acting weird

Anyway lol, I can’t think of any other fanfics at the moment. Feel free to shoot me other asks if you want, but yeah I don’t rlly read too many fics these days except for what my friends write and stuff that rlly catches my attention.

And to answer your last question, there isn’t any particular story or meaning behind my username. I’ve just had the username for years and so I use it for practically everything. My URL used to be different over a decade ago when I joined tumblr (I was a 100% death note blog at the time) but then I changed it to dukeofdelirium so I’ve kept this username for many years 😋✌🏻

#fanfic #ao3 #death note #lawlight #team jacob #twilight #anon #kataang

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altruisticalastor · 11 months ago

Note

So, I saw your AlastorXWife!reader fic and loved it, did a bit of an AU where it goes in a little bit of a different direction. Feel free to have a tidy up or a rewrite and post it if you like - or dont, and you are the only person other than me that is gonna see it. I relinquish all the sin for writing this apon thee if you do though ;}

Personally I'd like to see the scene upstairs afterwards but I have never written smut before.

---

Lucifer was a rather charming man, but you were spoken for. So when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm, your hand yanked away in the blink of an eye. You could have sworn you heard a crackling growl escape your husband's lips as he watched Lucifer offer you a lustful gaze- and that was simply unacceptable.

"I see you've met my wife!" Alastor let out a forced chuckle as he looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You let out a sigh of relief. All thanks to your husband's rescue. Lucifer gave Alastor a pointed look before he blurted out, "You're joking... right?" He scoffed.

Your face scrunched up in anger at Lucifer's rude remark. "Oh, he's as serious as a heart attack." You spat, snaking your own arm around Alastor's back. You squeezed his waist, a habit of yours that let your dear husband know when you were livid.

"But- look at you! You're gorgeous, sweetheart, and he's just... freaky." You were about to snap back before your husband's maniacal laughter tore through the room. "Ha Ha! That's rich coming from the short stack!" Alastor quipped, grip tensing around your waist. Lucifer's chest puffed up in defense before he let out an airy laugh.

"Aha! The height I lack up here, I surely make up for below the belt! Maybe I can show your wife sometime." Lucifer shot you a playful wink, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. Alastor tensed beside you.

---

'well' you said, releasing Alastor and beginning circling behind hells overlord 'I thought you had seen my darling husband grow into a 20ft tall ravenous beast. Let's just say, things stay proportional in the bedroom. I am sure you've seen those tendrils of his too?' you place your hands on his shoulders and lean in almost conspiritorially. 'he can do far more with them than you've seen, incredible skill - one might even call it...heavenly.'

Lucifer let out an audible gulp as he seemed suddenly rooted to the spot. Seeing his confidence waver as he couldn't help but imagine the depravity you suggested, you quickly gave the back of his ear a sharp lick and turned to saunter up the stairs pausing briefly to address your husband.

'Al dearest, our schedules for this afternoon are both suddenly... very...full.' managing only a half turn before adding 'Thanks for the inspiration Luci baby' and delivering a suggestive wink at the demon, whos face was flushing deeply.

After a short pause Alastor chuckled, his usual bravado returned.

'well well' he said, eyeing the bulge in the front of Lucifers trousers. 'looks like we are all busy this afternoon. Enjoy your date with your right hand dear fellow. I do hope your imagination measures up.' Melting into the shadows with a resounding chuckle that could be heard long after he could no longer be seen.

After a very long and awkward silence with Lucifer seeming to have short circuited in place - Husk decided to be the one to break the tension, Slowly placing down the glass he was cleaning on the bar and clearing his throat

'So Angel, I've been wanting to try out this new place that opened up on the other side of the pentagram.'

Angel finally managed tear his eyes from the top of the stairs to respond.

'yea man, you uh, wanna go right now?' he stood 'Last time I was here when those two got busy I got super fuckin traumatised by the noise, and I do that kinda shit for a livin!'

I LOVE YOUR RENDITION SO MUCH!! definitely sassy and fun, thanks for sharing!! 🩷🩷

#it’s good to be back on the air ♡

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

Note

I was the one who asked for the reverse au and ASGDHDOEJSUCJ

Amazing. Brilliant. Showstopping

Villain Roach making me act UP, if you don't mind writing another drabble of it, please do. Roach was perfect and Makarov is so strong, if I were him I would've folded at the tounge move

Thank you again (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠)

Okay its finished you may read it now, I apologize for posting early i am too clumsy apparently

Anon you are iconic for coming up with the idea, we adore you and ultranationalist Roach will be making many more appearances here! Here is another drabble for you my friend

Warnings: Dub-con, threats, little bit of knife play, some minor nsfw

Makarov felt like he was being tested. This entire thing had to be some elaborate test or scheme from Sanderson. It just had to be. There was no way that the man had actually left him alone, in a house, with a working computer and phone.

He stared at them carefully, his hand itching to reach out and grab one. He could just call his teammates, they could get a track on him, they'd have the place surrounded in hours. But it was too easy. Because surely, surely, a man who had gone through whatever great lengths to kidnap him, wouldn't leave him alone, in a house, with a working phone and computer. It just didn't make sense.

Perhaps he was hallucinating? That would certainly explain things. Maybe the previous night had all been a hallucination too. Sanderson, the way he'd kissed his neck, how he'd grinned at him and claimed him as his own before taking his mouth. Perhaps what had followed had been a hallucination too? Being guided up the stairs and led to a room that seemed almost personalized to his tastes. The way Sanderson had pressed up against him with a purr and kissed him again before leaving him by himself. If all of that had truly happened, then why the hell had he woken up in an empty house, alone, with a working phone and computer left out on the counter of the kitchen.

He hesitated for a moment, looking around him to see if there were any visible cameras. This had to be a trap. He stared at the computer and phone for a moment longer. His thoughts raced around his head. He slowly began to reach out for the phone.

"If you're thinking about trying to contact your team, it won't work."

Makarov nearly jumped out of his skin, turning with rising panic in his chest as he met the gaze of the figure that had managed to sneak up on him. It was a man in a wheelchair. He was almost unassuming, but Makarov could see the muscles of his arms and, more threateningly, he could see a gun strapped to his leg. "Who are you?" His eyes narrowed onto the weapon.

"Paul Jackson," the man moved toward him just slightly. Makarov recognized the name, his eyes went wide and his heart picked up speed as he looked the man over in a new light.

"You're-"

"Roach's second in command?" Jackson gave him a smirk, "You're tense, don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you."

Makarov pressed himself back against the counter behind him, "Really?" He scoffed, "Then what are you here for, and why the gun?"

Jackson looked down at his lap, as though he'd forgotten that he was wearing the weapon. "The gun is for protection," he looked back up at him, "Roach wanted me to have it in case you tried to attack me. Don't worry, takedown shots only though."

Makarov tried to ignore the fact that Sanderson didn't want him dead, even if he attacked his second in command. He really didn't want to think about what that meant for him or the way that the knowledge burned pleasantly through his mind. "And the other? Why are you here?"

"Roach wanted me to show you everything, give you a quick rundown," Jackson looked him up and down for a moment, "we'll be seeing more of each other soon, and he wants us to get along at least a bit."

"And," Makarov hesitated for a moment, "Where is Sanderson?"

"Roach," Jackson was quick to correct, "Call him Sanderson and you might actually make him mad. You're a friend, you call him Roach."

Makarov hesitated for a moment, but at the man's warning look he was quick to acquiesce, "Alright, where is Roach?"

Jackson gave him a grin, "He's in some meetings for the day, he'll be back tonight. Now then, I'll show you the ropes." He motioned behind Makarov to the kitchen. "As I'm sure you can tell, this is the kitchen," Makarov gave a small snort at the man's words, "Fully stocked at all times, use whatever you want to, make whatever you want to. If we don't have something, there's a number on the fridge for a local grocer. Just call and tell them what you need and they'll get it for you and have it sent to the house. If its less urgent, you can put it on the list on the fridge," he pointed toward a little notepad stuck with a magnet to the large stainless steel fridge. "If you want something permanently stocked in the kitchen just ask Roach and he'll put it on the list for you." Jackson motioned for him to follow with his hand and Makarov had no choice but to follow the man into one of the back hallways, to a sliding glass door.

"I assume they're here to keep me from leaving?" He raised an eyebrow at the several guards that he could see milling around the property.

"Surely you didn't think Roach was going to just let you stay here unsupervised?" Jackson shot him an unimpressed look. It made Makarov flush, just a bit of anger running through him. He glared at the man, but all it seemed to do was pull a grin from his lips. "There," Jackson pointed to one of the buildings, "Is the personal gym. Connected to it is the indoor pool. The guards will let you go over there, by the way. You can also use the outdoor pool when its warm enough, which," he shrugged, "isn't right now."

"Well I could guess that," Makarov raised an eyebrow at the man, the frost outside the window making it fairly clear that there would be no swimming.

"Just had to say," Jackson turned away, beginning to guide him back into the living area, "I never know with you Russians."

Makarov glared at the back of the man's head again. He had to be doing this to fuck with him. No way he was actually such an asshole. He didn't say that though, instead he just let himself be lead into the living room.

"Every other room on the first floor is entertainment," Jackson stopped, turning his wheelchair to face him. "Games, TV, Internet, books, whatever you could want. If there's something you want that we don't have, just ask Roach and he'll order it for you." He pointed to the TV, "About the internet and phone shit, do yourself a favor and don't try to contact your team. If you do, the system will know and boot you out for a bit." The man turned away from him, beginning toward the front door, "Thats really it. Like I said, Roach will be back later. Have fun."

With that, the man was out the front door, leaving Makarov by himself in an unfamiliar home, apparently just waiting around for a terrorist to come back home. The thought made him want to tug his hair out.

He was sleeping when Roach got back. Laid out on the couch in the living room, his eyes had betrayed him and he'd found himself slipping off into darkness. He was woken up by something, or someone, crawling into his lap and laying their head on his chest.

His eyes flew open when a hand began to rub across his chest teasingly. His face went red as he met the bright grin and wide eyes of Roach, the younger man looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive. It made his heart race faster as much as it made heat creep over his skin.

"Roach," he acknowledged weakly.

Roach only gave a hum, leaning up closer to him teasingly before asking, "You just had to try didn't you?"

Makarov felt his face go red. He knew exactly what Roach was referring to. Nearly every computer and electronic in the house was currently on a countdown. Jackson hadn't been lying when he warned that if Makarov tried to contact his team, he would be booted from the system.

It was frustratingly quick how fast the system had picked up on what he was trying to do. It was almost like a child safety lock, the entire computer going black as a little timer popped up telling him that he would have to wait twenty four hours before being let back into the system.

"Can you blame me," He asked, his face bright red.

Roach gave another hum, burying his face into his neck to begin placing kisses along his throat. "No," he muttered finally. He didn't say anything else, just kept his hands running teasingly over his chest as his mouth worked at his throat.

Makarov was flustered, but he was also terribly surprised. He'd expected for Roach to be enraged with him, to maybe hit him or do something other than just touch him and leave oh so tempting little kisses across his throat. "You," Makarov gasped, feeling Roach grind his lower half against him. It pulled a mischievous grin to the younger man's face and he left a bruising nip just under Makarov's jaw, "You- you're not mad," he finally managed to get out. His voice was absolutely wrecked, sounding high and needy to his own ears. It was frustrating, like his own body was fighting against him.

Roach pulled away from his neck, sitting up to straddle him fully. "Of course I'm not mad. I expected you to do it silly." He grinned at him, "besides, I'm sure being locked out of the system and bored all day was punishment enough. No need for me to do more." He bit his lip, staring down at him with a demure little smile as he ground his hips into him. It was clear to see that any and all innocence he had was fake.

Makarov could say nothing as Roach fixed his hands against his chest and started to slowly, languidly, rock his hips against him. He could feel how hard the other man was against him and, much to his own embarrassment, how hard he was from the attention. He watched as Roach tilted his head back temptingly, little gasps escaping his throat as he rutted against him. It was almost too distracting. Almost.

Makarov had a plan though. He had a plan and he intended to stick by it. He let his hands slowly move, trying not to gain the other man's attention as he slipped one hand into his jacket pocket, searching for the little blade he'd hidden there earlier. To his confusion, his hands met nothing. He tried his other pocket. Nothing.

Suddenly, the rutting against him stopped and there was a snicker from the man above him. "Looking for this?" Makarov watched in horror as Roach twirled the little knife he'd stashed in his pocket between his fingers.

"How did you-" there was a knife against his throat. It didn't press hard, just sat there against his skin. The threat was somehow worse.

"Checked you while you were alseep," Roach leaned down, their noses touching as he pouted at the man, "I figured you try something like this. I'm a little offended," he rolled his hips down again, still achingly hard in his jeans, "I thought we were enjoying ourselves."

"I-"

Roach tutted, cutting him off by pressing the knife closer to his skin. He spoke to him again, his voice dropped into a tone that one would use when encouraging a child who'd just failed at something, "You did such a good job though! It was such a good try, maybe next time baby." Makarov flushed red at the man's mocking tone, his eyes narrowing in anger. Roach seemed to take delight in the fire in his eyes. "Oh, isn't that a fun look to see." He pushed himself back up, removing the knife from Makarov's neck and twirling it in his fingers again. "Apologize, baby. C'mon, say you're sorry."

"Sorry?" Makarov hissed out, "You kidnapped me! You're crazy! I'm not-" Roach wrapped a hand around his throat, the knife pressing threteningly at his cheek. That face that had been fixed into a teasing grin was now hard and cold, watching him, daring him to continue speaking.

"Apologize," Roach said again, his voice almost scarily calm.

Makarov grit his teeth, cool shame running through his system as he bit out, "I'm sorry."

Roach closed his eyes, a small smiled crossing his lips as he tilted his head back. "Again," he ordered with a roll of his hips. Makarov gasped in response.

"I'm sorry."

That grin returned to Roach's face. The knife was removed from his skin and the hand at his throat moved up to stroke along his cheek. Roach leaned down, quickly and excitedly placing kisses all along his face before lunging down to crash their lips together again, his tongue quickly forcing its way into Makaorv's mouth to enthusiastically explore. "What a good boy," Roach muttered against his lips. Makarov tried not to shiver at the words, but with the delighted giggle that pulled from the man above him, he assumed he'd failed.

After a moment, Roach pulled back, "Lets get rid of this thing," he held up the knife, quickly twisting it in his hands before pulling back and throwing it, impaling the little piece of metal into a little dartboard hung on the wall with surprising accuracy. The thing had stuck directly in the center of the board. "Now then," Roach looked down at him, his hands drifting down his chest to slip under the edge of his shirt. He rocked his hips down on him again, pulling a choked out moan from Makarov, "I think you should show me how sorry you really are, don't you think?"

#you asked luke #gary roach sanderson #vladimir makarov #makarov x roach #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 fanfic #cod

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lesbianwyllravengard · 2 years ago

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Hell yeah i got some recs!! Most of mine are going to be more Hank and Connor or Reed900 centric, so keep that in mind.

From it's Own Wreck by Jivvin is my current favorite! It's a ghost au based on the film Just Like Heaven (2005) and it's full of gorgeous writing and has lots of great moments in it. I can't recommend it enough. It is incomplete, but the author regularly updates and it's a few chapters away from being finished.

Deviating and Solving Crime with 100% Human Detective Connor by CaptainKenway. Exactly what it says. You're solving crime with a 100% human detective, nothing else. Nothing suspicious about him. 0_0 It has some good angst and funny moments, and i really enjoyed reading it.

Detroit 07 by Rhinozilla is INCREDIBLE! It's a 38 part series (i know, im stilling working through it) and it's got so much angst, found family, comfort, crack shenanigans, and just as much plot as there is silly oneshots. It's got some OCs in it that are amazing and fit so well into the story, and it does deviate a little bit from the norm (different name for Nines for example, and no reed900) but it's still really good. Since there are so many parts to it and two of the parts are over 400k each, here are some of the smaller oneshots that can be read easily by themselves:

Color Wheel: Connor sustains minor damage to the hardware controlling his appearance. Everybody in the bullpen is united with one singular mission: do not let Connor know that his hair keeps changing colors.

The Breathing Graveyard: The DPD sends Connor to talk down a volatile deviant that's holed up in a trailer near the android scrapyard. It doesn't go the way any of them expect.

Bubbles: Connor gets stuck watching a lost little girl while they wait for her parents to come pick her up at the station.

And then i'd recommend Chapter 51 of Camaraderie if you're up for a wholesome father-son moment.

Through Your Veins by AceEmerson: Nines gets hurt and Gavin takes him back to his apartment to patch them up. There is also an android cat, first kiss, and TENSION

Secret by sv962: Role-reversal Reed900, first kiss. Tis very good. Semi-short at less than 5k and you want a good little role reversal, i recommend it.

The unexpected benefits of having a therapist terminator by texs_sins: Undeviated Nines decides to become Gavin's therapist to help improve their work partnership. 'Surely exposing himself to human emotions won't make a difference, after all nothing has ever made him deviate, right?' it's a fantastic fic and i love their take on Machine Nines and Deviated Nines. (fair warning because it's not listed in the tags, there's a little bit of smut in the last chapter, but easily skippable if you aren't up for it)

Beautifully Unique and Strange by cliffhanging: autistic Connor oneshot because we need more autistic Connor fics

Only Skin Deep by the AsexualofSpades: pre-relationship Reed900, where Nines tries to hide as much of his androidness in response to his anti-android partner five times and the one time he doesn't. It has a nice follow up fic too and i recommend it!

i think that's a fair amount to stop at, oh my god. And thanks again for your recs!! I'm gonna get reading to them tonight!! <3<3<3

Ahhh hell yes! Thank you so much!!

I have read the texs_sins fic (and most of theirs) but I'd definitely reread them bc I love them a lot so thank you for reminding me!

I am ALWAYS DOWN for more father son content with Hank and Connor, thank you SO much. It's so hard for me to find any these days.

Detroit 07... Almost sounds like a kind of Brooklyn 99 AU? In which case idk if I should read it just yet because I am also writing a dbh brooklyn 99 AU and I don't want to accidentally steal ideas or be influenced by someone else, but maybe after I post my own work I'll check it out! (two cakes!)

These all sound super fun thank you for the recommendations!! <333

#Dbh #Dbh fanfic #Fanfic recs #Thank you!!

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shinidamachu · 4 years ago

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Hi Ma’am who works at Wendy’s!!!!! Can you give me your take on inukag’s almost kiss in TFA?? Not sure if you’ve covered this already :$

Hi, ma’am. Here at Wendy’s we got you!

I most definitely haven’t covered this topic yet and for two simple reasons: one, it frustrates me to no end! Like, I’m already getting riled up just thinking about it, LMAO! Two, anything I say on the subject will fall flat to the brilliance that is @dyaz-stories take on it. Her thoughts on it took the form of the amazing one-shot Opposites.

That’s right! You’re getting a fic rec as a treat, totally on the house. For those of you who haven’t read it yet (you should), this is our big, old “What If Sota Hadn’t Walked Into The Damn Bedroom?” trope, except that instead of the Epic Kiss™ Kagome actually takes time to sort her feelings out.

As we all know, this event happened after Kikyo’s final death and with that in mind, in Opposites, Kagome can’t help but think Inuyasha is only making a move on her because Kikyo is no longer around, so she feels like second best and tells him so. And I absolutely love that.

I still think that, without the interruption, they would have definitely kissed in canon. But only because throught the whole story, Kagome’s feelings are pushed aside (or not adressed at all) by the narrative when they’re not convinient. It sucks because this shit end up creating plot inconsistencies and hurting hers and Inuyasha’s character development, both as individuals and as a couple.

In my opinion, the almost kiss scene is a classic example of that. It was pretty obvious that they both wanted it. In fact, Kagome had wanted it for a while. Of course, Inuyasha was in love with her too, but even thought they acted like a married couple for most of their journey, he hadn’t been as forward about his feelings since the very first time he tried to kiss her, right at the beginning (creating one of the best Inukag paralels ever, at least in the anime):

On both occasions, Inuyasha is the one making a move. On both occasions, Inuyasha looks at her with this soft, decided, almost solemn expression. On both occasions, he gently takes her hands on his before leaning in. On both occasions, Kikyo isn’t in the equation at all. In the first “almost kiss”, because she hasn’t been ressurected yet. In the second, because she was dead. For real this time. And on both occasions, the kiss doesn’t happen.

It’s not hard for us, the audience, to recognize and understand this padron. Once Kikyo is gone, Inuyasha feels free to seek a relationship with Kagome, which clearly is what he wants to do. But with Kikyo around, comes duty. And guilt. How can he allow himself to be happy when Kikyo is miserable out there? How can he turn his back on her after everything they went trought? He feels responsable, even though he isn’t.

Kagome, God bless her (canonically) large ass soul, doesn’t fully understand that. She tries. We can all agree that she tries. But her jealousy gets the best of her and clouds her judgement. To make matters worse, Inuyasha is far from helpful whenever it comes down to this issue.

Ironically (or not), when he tried to kiss her for the first time, she was just calling him out for not looking her in the eye since the day before, assuming it’s because she looks like Kikyo and that’s why he hates her, to which Inuyasha replies that it’s nothing like that.

What I’m trying to say is: Kagome doesn’t shy away from calling Inuyasha out on his bullshit, especially if it’s Kikyo related. On the contrary, she has been pretty vocal about it through the whole story. To me, the TFA almost kiss should have been one of those occasions because I think it would be more in character for her (again, read Opposites and tell me I’m wrong) and more consistent with the bagage she now has, courtesy of the insecurity the love triangle caused.

From Kagome’s perspective, I feel like she had every right to question Inuyasha’s motivations. How could she not, when he went from 0 to 100 with no further explanation? She was by his side the whole time and... nothing. Now, all of a sudden, he wants to kiss her? Sure, another canon kiss would have been amazing! But Kagome (and the audience), deserved to hear from Inuyasha’s lips that she was not a consolation prize, that she was not the second best.

Because, yes, she has been his first choice all along. Inuyasha told that to us time and time again through his actions, and as meaningful as it all was, using words to show his true feelings is a very important thing to his character development and we only got that when he made his “Kagome was born for me” speech, but Kagome herself never heard it (which... you know... it’s a war crime).

So we could have an epic kiss. We could have a honest conversation that would set things right between them. We could have both! Or we could have Sota interrupting them for the sake of comedy.

Guess what happened.

#I might still be just a little bit bitter #Don't mind me #Inuyasha #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #Sidposting #Thank you for asking #Maybe I write my own 'Almost Kiss' AU where they just make the hell out #Just for fun and giggles

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amakumos · 2 years ago

Text

kiss and cry — yang jungwon.

synopsis. At the age of 22, Yang Jungwon wants to retire. The ice, which was what he considered his second home, does not seem as welcoming as it used to be. Figure skating is no longer fun - the sport that he devoted his entire childhood to seems more of a chore, rather than a passion. He claims that this season will be his last as a competitive figure skater - that is, until he meets you, who somehow makes him fall in love with the ice (and you) again.

genre. fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, slowburn (?), figure skating au

pairing. figure skater! jungwon x figure skater fem! reader

warnings. swearing, mentions of injury, coaching abuse and unhealthy training habits, jungwon is 22, reader is 21, and both compete for south korea. set during the 2025/2026 figure skating season. major character retirement (wait and find out)

word count. 22k

author's note. gosh. am i surprised that the most i've ever written is a figure skating fic? no, not particularly. i was watching so many of yuzuru hanyu's programs while writing this and oh god. only fanyus will understand the immense impact the beat drop into the chsq has in pyc seimei. fucking hell that's powerful. anyways, this fic is my baby and i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it ^_^ here's a playlist u can listen to while reading if you'd like and feel free to lmk what u think!

ONE. negative (goe.)

Where is home to Yang Jungwon?

Jungwon thinks that he has two.

First, he would obviously say his apartment. The plush couch, the comfort of his own bed, and sunlight peeking through the curtains in the morning – Jungwon is comfortable when he is home.

His second home, albeit a little bit unconventional – is the ice skating rink. His blades gliding against the smooth ice, cool air hitting his face as he skates, the chatter of his training partners ringing in his ears when he’s trying to focus that he finds annoying when he’s trying to focus.

But his second home seems a little less welcoming and comfortable lately. The passion that he once held for the sport that he loved seems to be diminishing day by day, like a fire that’s almost been put out.

Jungwon devoted his entire life to this sport. Maybe a little too much of it, even.

His childhood was seemingly swept away by the ice. Instead of running around the playground, making friends with other children his age, Jungwon was spending hours of his day jumping and spinning, wearing boots with blades on them.

At one point, even falling over on a jump that he’d have to repeat for hours seemed like something he could use as determination. I’ll be able to do it the next time I jump it, was his thought.

But now, when he falls, all he feels is that he wants to quit.

Jungwon knows that if he gave up that easily when he was younger, he wouldn’t even be half the figure skater he was today. Standing on top of that podium didn’t bring him the same amount of joy as when he stood there a couple years ago. A small smile would grace his lips, showing courtesy – but deep inside, Jungwon could only describe the feeling he felt as numbness.

Because what did all these medals truly mean to him? Success brought him joy a couple years ago, but now it only puts pressure on him.

Pressure to do better. Pressure to get the scores that he deserved. Pressure to show the other skaters that he was better.

Figure skating is no longer fun for Yang Jungwon.

The sport feels draining – as if every minute spent skating on that sheet of ice sucked all the energy out of him. The movements that he did with such vigour just a couple years ago now seem sloppy to him, even if they aren’t to the audience. His limbs move around robotically, without elegance or gracefulness.

Yang Jungwon feels like a robot.

Programmed to do this quad lutz at a certain moment. Programmed to execute the hydroblade to perfection a few seconds later. Even programmed to smile brightly, holding up the gold medal while standing at the top of the podium when he doesn’t feel a single emotion at all.

So, Jungwon thinks it’s time to hang up his skates.

Yes, 22 might be a little too early to end his career as a competitive figure skater, but Jungwon is done. He’s tired of the ice, which is something that he never thought he’d say, or even think. The ice doesn’t bring him joy, and competitions don’t bring the adrenaline and thrill that he’d used to feel. Winning doesn’t make him feel pride. Instead, he feels burdened.

“Next season will be my last season as a competitive figure skater,” he tells his coach, Irene.

Irene isn’t shocked. But she’s strongly against Jungwon’s decision. Jungwon knew she’d react like this.

“You’re so young, Jungwon! You still have a couple of years to go – you can make it to the next Olympics too. You’ll be 26 then, and you can… you know, retire after skating at the biggest stage.”

“I will be skating at the biggest stage next year, if I make it into the Olympic team. Then, I will be retiring at the biggest stage.” Jungwon tells her, lacing up his skates. Even tying the laces feels frustrating – and Jungwon knows that he truly does not want to do this anymore.

“But you have to give a reason, Jungwon. I know you’re tired, and you lack passion for skating, but why don’t you just take a break? Maybe you’ll regain your motivation, regain your passion for the sport. You’re already one of the greats – you could be even greater.”

Irene would consider Jungwon to be her star pupil. He’s stuck with her ever since he swapped coaches when he was 8 – and he’s never spoken a word about wanting to be coached by anyone else. In fact, Jungwon was one of Irene’s first students after she herself retired from competition. Jungwon was her first student to podium internationally, first student to land a quad in competition, and first student to make it to the Olympics in 2022, back when Jungwon was 18.

He placed 6th. Not bad, for his first ever Olympics.

Jungwon remembers the day when he was called up to the South Korean Olympic team. All he felt was pride. On every young athlete’s bucket list, being able to compete in the Olympics was at the top of that list, and Jungwon was no exception. He remembers being an emotional wreck, crumpling into tears of joy. The Olympics was a figure skater’s biggest stage. Skating on Olympic ice seemed unreal, until Jungwon found out that he would be doing exactly that.

Jungwon wants to feel the exact feeling he felt when he skated on Olympic ice. He wants to feel pride, passion, and joy – not emptiness. Jungwon knew that he was competing with the best of the best, and a medal at the Olympics would be incredible, but Jungwon just wanted to skate. The Olympics seemed to be like a mark for him – he’s made it. He’s skated at the biggest stage for an athlete, and no matter the result, he would be grateful and happy that he was able to compete on Olympic ice.

4 years ago, Jungwon just wanted to skate.

Now, Jungwon wants to leave the ice behind.

You could be even greater. Irene’s words have no impact on Jungwon. He doesn’t think he has any desire to become greater. If anything, Jungwon just wants to learn how to love this sport again – but he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to.

“That’s the problem, Irene. I don’t want to be greater anymore. I’m tired of this. I have no passion in what I do – why would I continue doing something that I don’t love?”

“Jungwon–”

“I don’t think anything can change my mind, Irene. I’m really done,” he sighs. Jungwon gives his coach a small, sad smile. “So… let’s make the next season great, hmm? I’ll go out with a bang.”

Irene gives Jungwon a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Okay.”

“I have music ideas already,” Jungwon says, and Irene nods. “Tell me what you have in mind, and we can go through it with Taemin.”

“I was thinking for the short program, A Walk In The Skies by Joe Hisaishi. From the Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack, and for the free, World Dreams. Also by Joe Hisaishi. A couple fans from a few years back told me that they’d like to see me skate to those songs, so… I’ve decided I will. They gave me a list of other options, but… I like these two the best.”

“Okay. I’ll talk with Taemin about them.” Irene says, and Jungwon notices the look on his coach’s face. He knows that she’s not happy with his decision, because Irene’s never really liked people who give up. Jungwon thinks that to her, his decision seems to be as if he’s saying that he’s giving up.

In one way, he is. But now that Jungwon thinks about it, does he have any other goals in this sport? He’s won Nationals. He’s won Grand Prix Final. He’s won Four Continents. He’s won Worlds. He’s been to the Olympics. The one thing he hasn’t done is win an Olympic medal, and maybe he’ll be able to do it next season. But Jungwon thinks that he’s checked off most of the boxes on his figure skating career goal list, and combined with the fact that he’s simply got no love for the sport left, he thinks hanging up his skates is the best idea.

He gives Irene an apologetic look, even though he feels like he doesn’t really have to apologise for anything. He then makes his way onto the rink, skating a few laps around to warm up.

He skates his program from last season as practice, first jumping a quad salchow that he lands cleanly. The sound of the blades scratching the surface of the ice no longer brings him comfort, but Jungwon continues skating around the rink as he enters into a back counter triple axel, landing it cleanly as well.

Jungwon executes the rest of the elements well, with no falls or underrotations on his jumps. He presses his lips into a thin line when he finishes skating his program, putting his hands on his hips as he sighs.

“That was good.” Irene said. “Gold medal worthy.”

“Thanks.” Jungwon replies. He would usually feel nothing but joy when Irene would compliment his skating like that.

But Jungwon finds that a gold medal is something he does not desire anymore.

TWO. triple double camel spin axel

The off-season is great.

The pressure of competition is gone, and you’re able to rest without intense preparation and training for a couple weeks before you’re back to your usual routine.

You do decide to head to the rink today though, just so you can get in some skating time with your new coach.

Irene Bae was your idol growing up. When you saw her skate at the Olympics from the comfort of your own home at the age of 4, you knew that you wanted to be like her. Graceful and elegant, yet powerful and strong on the ice.

Your parents enrolled you in skating classes at the age of 3, and it was like the ice was practically calling your name. Your first coach, Hyuna, had told your parents that you had talent — and encouraged them to let you continue skating.

And so you did. As the years went by, what your first coach said proved to be true — you did have talent. You won medal after medal, and you were said to be a rising star.

So when the opportunity arose for you to be coached by none other than your idol, you of course had to take it.

When she complimented you on your skating, you nearly screamed. Having the person you’ve admired for your whole life telling you that you were doing great gave you a huge confidence boost — and you’d like to think that her words encouraged you and made you do even better than you usually did during your free skate at Worlds.

Being coached by the Irene Bae seemed surreal. She won one silver, one bronze medal at the Olympics, was a 2 time worlds winner and a six-time national champion. She was even known for being an incredible coach, coaching skaters like Yang Jungwon, and Kim Jiwon — who would now be your training mates.

You feel nothing but excitement when you enter the Taereung International Skating Rink, and you hear the sound of blades across ice that brings a smile to your lips. You see Irene, standing rinkside with her arms crossed, and skating on the rink, is Yang Jungwon.

Yang Jungwon’s made quite a name for himself in the last few years. 6th at the 2022 Olympics, a great finish for someone who was only 18 at the time. He also just won Worlds, and was a five-time national champion.

Yang Jungwon is an incredible skater. His movements on the ice are as fluid and soft as water, but when he jumps, he’s incredibly powerful, like a rocket taking off. You’ve seen many people say that Jungwon’s one of the few ‘complete skaters’ — those who can combine artistry with jumping seem to be extremely rare nowadays.

He’s one of those skaters that can get you mesmerised the second he steps onto the ice, and when he finishes his program, loud applause resounds throughout the arena, with tons of people throwing cat plushies onto the ice.

Jungwon is incredibly talented. Thinking about the fact that you two are going to be training mates brings a smile to your face — all the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon went quite well. You remember his pleasant voice and his kind smile, the one where his eyes crinkle into crescents and could make anyone swoon.

You make your way over to Irene, who turns her head and greets you with a kind smile when she sees you. “(Name)!” she beams, wrapping you in a hug. “Nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Irene!” you say, and she smiles at you. “I’m excited to be working with you.” she tells you, and her words just fill you up with joy.

“Thank you so much,” you beam. “I’m excited to be coached by you.” A smile graces Irene’s lips at your words. “Jungwon’s on the ice right now, with Taemin. He’s just learning the last part of his choreography for his short program for next season.” she tells you, and you nod.

“Jiwon’s gone for lunch break, and Eunchae and Jongseob should be somewhere around here… you can go meet with them and say hi later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Irene!” Taemin, the choreographer, calls out to her. “Jungwon’s got this. He’ll absolutely kill it.”

You notice how Irene and Taemin’s smiles seem wider than Jungwon’s when Taemin says that. The smile plastered on Jungwon’s lips barely reaches his eyes.

“Why don’t you go lace up your skates? You and Jungwon can share the rink.” Irene suggests to you, and you nod. You find a seat, pulling out your skates from your skate bag as you take your regular sports shoes off, slipping into your skating boots. You tie the laces incredibly quickly — after all, you have been doing this for years.

You take off your skate guards, leaving them on the bench as you skate onto the rink, skating laps to warm yourself up as you put your gloves on.

Somewhere along the way, you find yourself accompanied by Jungwon, who catches up to you. “Hey,” he says. “Heard that Irene’s coaching you now.”

“Yeah,” you beam. “We’ll be training mates from now on, huh?” you say, and Jungwon nods. “Saw you practicing your short program for next season… you’ve started quite early. Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon says. “I like to get started earlier, so I’m more familiar with it when it’s time to compete. Do you have any ideas for the music you might skate to?”

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. My friend told me to skate to Bolero, though.” you say, and you see Jungwon grimace at your words. You let out a loud laugh that makes Jungwon chuckle. “Bolero? Really?” he asks.

“Riki knows nothing about figure skating, but I think he goes on Twitter to find what music people hate seeing skaters skate to the most… Bolero is definitely one of them, which is probably why he recommended it to me.” you laugh. “Once he even asked me if I could do a ‘triple double camel spin axel’. Like what in the world is that?”

Your words make Jungwon burst into laughter, and you think it’s one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“A triple double camel spin axel? Your friend might just have invented a new jump.” he quips, and you nod. “Are you ready for the Olympics next year?” he asks you, and you shake your head.

“Who says I’ll make it?”

“Of course you’ll make it. Your skating’s great.” Jungwon says, and you thank him. “You’ll definitely make it. To next year and the one after. You’ll probably make it to the one in 2034 too.”

“Hah, that’s funny. But no, I won’t be making it to the 2030 or the 2034 one. It’s probably nice to think about, though.” Jungwon replies.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why? I mean... maybe 2034 is a bit of a stretch, but surely the 2030 one.”

“I’m retiring after this season.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. Yang Jungwon was going to retire? At the age of 22? Was he joking?

You almost can’t believe it.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like skating anymore.” he hums, and he says it so casually. “It’s more of a chore now, rather than something I love. I guess I fell out of love with the ice.”

You can somewhat understand how he feels. You had burnout too, but you never got to the point where you wanted to quit. You just wanted to take a break, to refresh your mind and to take care of your health and body.

But Jungwon sounds like he’s determined to quit. As if nothing will get him to change his mind.

“What would it take for you to fall back in love with it?” you ask.

Jungwon shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think anything would be able to change my mind at this point. Skating is just so incredibly… draining. I want to enjoy it as much as I used to, but I just don’t think I can continue competing.”

He sounds like he’s truly given up hope on finding love for the sport again, and it makes your heart ache. Yang Jungwon is undoubtedly one of the best figure skaters you’ve ever seen, and to see him possibly end his career because he just simply ran out of love for the sport saddens you.

And for some reason, you want to try and get him to fall back in love with the ice again.

So with a sudden burst of confidence and determination, you decide to ask him: “Are you free any time next week?”

Jungwon looks at you, puzzled. “Yes?”

“I’m going to try and get you to fall back in love with the ice.”

“(Name), I’ve made up my mind—”

“That’s fine. I just want you to enjoy skating again. No competition, just having fun. You know, I was in the audience the day you won the Grand Prix final two years ago. You looked so, so, incredibly happy — I want you to feel the same feeling you felt when you were skating on that ice.”

Jungwon looks at you hesitantly. “You’d do that for me?”

You nod. “We can get to know each other better too. What do you say?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment to think.

“Sure.”

You beam at him. “Cool. I’ll give you my number after practice and we can make arrangements.”

Jungwon nods, and you two end your conversation there, focusing on training instead.

As you land a clean triple salchow-triple toeloop on the ice, you add a new goal to your bucket list.

Get Yang Jungwon to fall in love with figure skating again.

THREE. seal skating aid

You meet up with Jungwon two days later at a public skating rink with a bright smile on your face.

He looks confused when he sees the amount of people who have come to the rink today. “How are we supposed to skate with this many people here?”

You smile, lacing up your skates. “We can still skate. We just can’t jump.”

Jungwon looks hesitantly at you. “But skating laps is boring,” he says. “How am I going to fall back in love with skating like this?”

“Because,” you say. “This was how you first fell in love with it as a kid. You didn’t know how to jump, how to spin, or how to do spirals. Sometimes doing simple things, such as just skating around the rink can be fun. There’s no pressure of needing to execute certain elements properly — look at everyone skating here today. They’re just here to have fun.”

Jungwon looks at the people skating on the rink. There’s a bunch of couples, holding hands as they enjoy their date. There’s also lots of kids taking classes, learning how to balance on their skates just like he did when he was younger. There’s also two or three people who do seem like they’re good skaters, and Jungwon spots one of them doing a Biellmann spin right in the middle of the rink.

And you are right. This was what the first rink Jungwon stepped on looked like. The rink he skated on wasn’t as busy as this, but sure enough, there were couples, kids that were learning to skate, and people like the girl doing the Biellmann spin was what made him think that he wanted to be able to do something like that.

You motion for Jungwon to join you as you step onto the ice, and he does. You two skate around the rink slowly — much slower than Jungwon is used to. He sees a couple of young kids who seemingly recognise you and him, pointing you two out to their friends.

“You’re famous,” he says, chuckling. “You’re more famous, Mr Placed 6th In The Olympics.” you reply, and he shakes his head.

“It’s still 6th. Not a podium finish.” he says, and you sigh. “6th is crazy good for an 18 year old. Plus, you were competing with the greatest of the greats.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” Jungwon muses. “I’ll just do better this year. Might as well go out with a bang, hmm?”

“I guess so.” you say.

Jungwon looks around him, seeing little kids who are seemingly learning how to skate for the first time struggle with their balance. He discreetly motions for them to put their arms out and bend their knees, to which they do. They seem to balance a lot better, and Jungwon gives them a soft smile.

Those kids remind him of himself when he was first learning how to skate. A helmet perched on his head with his knee and elbow guards on, and rental skates that Jungwon would never even dare to wear now. He ran onto the ice, falling over — then getting back up. Falling over, then getting back up.

When it comes to skating, Jungwon now feels like he’s fallen. And he can’t seem to just muster the strength to get himself back up.

Perhaps you will be able to get him to ignite the passion that he had for figure skating once again, but there’s a chance that it won’t happen.

Jungwon realised that it hurts to fall out of love with the very thing you sacrificed your entire life for. His childhood was spent at the rink, doing the one thing he knew best — skating. Now that he realises his passion for the sport has crumbled away, all he can ask himself is: was it worth it?

Jungwon wants to say yes. But he isn't quite sure if he believes that now, considering that the ice no longer feels like home.

“You’re thinking a lot.” you hum, and Jungwon nods. “I was just thinking about… how I started.

You motion for him to go on.

“I used to love skating. I loved it more than anything,” Jungwon says, staring at the ice. He once said that the boots on his feet somehow felt molded to his body, since he wore them so much. But now, these exact boots are uncomfortable — they are suffocating, and Jungwon knows that when he's under the pressure of competition, he’ll want nothing more than to take them off. “But now, I just feel emptiness. And I’m just thinking… what could’ve gone wrong?”

“I don’t think anything went wrong,” you reply. “I think you pushed too hard. Like you said, you devoted your entire life to this sport. Even the brightest of flames burn out. You just have to find the thing that’ll be able to light it back up again.”

“That’s poetic.” Jungwon says. “Being a poet was my backup career option, if this whole… skating on knife boots thing didn’t work out.” you quip, and Jungwon cracks a smile.

“This conversation got deep,” Jungwon says. “Sorry for bringing the mood down. I know we’re here to have fun.” he says, and you shrug. “It’s alright. Maybe letting out your feelings about it will help too,” you say.

“Maybe,” Jungwon says. “But I think I’ve been thinking about them too much lately. I need to try and rid myself of these emotions, because I’ll just end up overthinking and I’ll end up spiralling.”

You nod. “That’s fair.”

You then spot a seal shaped skating aid, and you look at Jungwon with a twinkle in your eye. You skate a little faster to get to it, and you bring it back to where Jungwon’s standing, and you motion for him to sit down.

“What?” Jungwon asks, confused.

“Sit down!” you beam. “I’ll push you around the rink.”

Jungwon reluctantly sits down, burying his face in his hands out of embarrassment. He feels like he’s 4 years old, with his sister pushing him around the rink. But he also remembers how fun it was, the cool air hitting his face as loud music played from the speakers in the rink. Christmas music, Jungwon remembered it being.

“I’m gonna push you now,” you say, and Jungwon nods. You start skating, and you begin to skate faster — your blades scratch across the surface of the ice as a small smile begins to make its way across Jungwon’s lips.

Jungwon never thought skating laps could be so… fun. It’s like he forgot this feeling — skating with no jumps, no spins, no spirals. Just moving forward. It was so simple.

Simple is fun, Jungwon realises.

Simply skating forwards seems more exciting than the intricate movements he has to make. He doesn’t need to worry about possibly falling on a quad, he doesn’t need to worry about underrotating a jump, or getting an edge call — he can just skate.

“Wait,” Jungwon suddenly says, and then you stop.

“Let me push you,” he says, getting up. You nod, plopping yourself down onto the seat as Jungwon grips the handle on the skating aid, which is shaped like a seal’s tail.

Jungwon starts skating, pushing the skating aid forward. He skates around the rink, moving faster with each lap he makes, and you put your hands up as if you’re riding a rollercoaster.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” you ask.

Yes, Jungwon thinks. This is quite fun.

Despite just skating laps in a public skating rink, Jungwon thinks this might be the most fun he’s had on the rink in the last year.

FOUR. one ice show, two realisations

You see Jungwon two days later at the rink.

He waves at you from the ice, taking a sip from his water bottle. His phone pings with a message, and he picks it up to view the text.

His fingers fly over the screen as he types a response while you lace up your skates. “Who’s texting?” you ask, skating onto the rink.

“Oh, just Yuzu.”

“You’re talking about two-time Olympic gold medalist Yuzuru Hanyu?” you ask, and Jungwon nods. “Yeah. We’re friends.” he says, placing his phone back onto the bench.

“What’d he say?” you ask — you don’t mean to be nosy, but Jungwon seems more than comfortable with telling you what the Japanese figure skater had texted him about. “Fantasy on Ice,” Jungwon replies. “The organisers wanted to reach out to me and ask me to join them on the tour, so he probably texted to give me a heads up.”

“You should definitely do it, Jungwon!” you smile, and Jungwon purses his lips. “I don’t know.” he says, and he seems hesitant to accept Yuzuru’s offer.

You cross your arms. “Remember, it’s not a competition. Ice shows are meant to be fun. It doesn’t matter if the performance isn’t perfect — as long as you're having fun, and the audience is having fun, then that’s all that matters.”

“Right.” he gulps. “I just haven’t done an ice show in a while.”

“It’ll be a good experience to have, Jungwon. You can get rid of the pressure to prepare everything for next season and just enjoy skating, and you can go make new friends too.” you say, and Jungwon seems to consider it.

“I only have one gala program prepared.”

“Choreograph a new one.”

“Taemin’s busy.”

“You don’t have to ask Taemin. Choreograph one yourself.” you suggest, and Jungwon furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Jungwon, you’re an artist. You can come up with something.”

“It’ll be bad.”

“Have some confidence in yourself,” you say, patting his shoulder. “You won’t know if you’re good or bad at it until you try, right?”

Jungwon gulps again. “Right.”

“So are you going to take up Hanyu’s offer?”

Jungwon shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Make that maybe a yes,” you say. “Really, skating in an ice show might help you enjoy skating again. Trust me. The crowd hypes you up, the skaters are all supportive, and it’s just a really nice environment to be in.”

Jungwon ponders the idea for a moment. Maybe he should really do this ice show. He hasn’t performed in a non-competition capacity in a while, excluding the galas after competitions. Now that he thinks about it, it seems nice to skate without the pressure of competition.

But the little voice in his head tells him that he absolutely needs to work on his programs next season. He wants to go out with a bang — he can’t do that if he’s underprepared.

Then your voice rings in his head. Fuck it, he hears you say.

A few shows can’t possibly hinder his performance that much. And it’s not like he won’t get any practice time in, and he’s already learnt the choreography for both programs… so it shouldn’t be a problem… right?

Jungwon wants to love skating again.

Maybe an ice show is the second step out of many in his quest to possibly find his love for skating again.

“Okay.” he says, picking up his phone. He moves his thumb over Yuzuru’s contact, typing an ‘I’d be interested’ before sending it without hesitation. You look pleasantly surprised, a smile on your lips as he places down his phone before looking at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, the corner of his lips quirking up into a small grin.

“Nothing,” you say, looking down at your skates. “I’m just happy you’re trying to regain your passion for this sport.”

Jungwon hums. “Yes. I hope I will be able to.”

“I hope you can too.” you say. “This ice show might help you change your mind.”

“I just wanted to ask you — why did you offer to help me try and love the ice again?” he asks, and you purse your lips.

This conversation is not an easy one to have, you think.

“I guess it’s because I’ve been through something similar,” you start. “There’s a whole backstory to this, so I might as well tell you. I was 13 when I started being coached by Seo Minju.”

When you brought up Seo Minju, Jungwon knew that what you were about to say was not going to be pleasant at all. A couple of friends Jungwon had were also coached by Seo Minju, and had ended up getting multiple injuries — and some even had to retire early.

“I trained… way too much, to say the least. More than you do now. I was breaking my body and my mind from the inside out, training even though I was — excuse my language — fucking exhausted. There was a point where in the middle of JGP Courchevel, I felt like I’d black out after I did a triple axel.” you say, and pressing your lips together in a thin line as you relive the memories that you’ve always wanted to forget.

“And I was in so much pain. I don’t know how I still trained with that much pain — I guess it was Seo who tried to make me keep going. Then one day… I just fractured my ankle,” you gulp, as Jungwon looks at you with his eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes seem to be watery.

“The doctors said my career could have ended. That was the most terrifying thing to hear as a 14 year old kid. I had to rest, heal, and I couldn’t be on the ice for months. I swapped coaches, almost immediately after I got the diagnosis. And when I was told that I could go back onto the ice again, I was fucking terrified. I was scared that one wrong move would end my entire career for good.”

You sigh. “It took me months to heal. I still loved the ice — but my fear of it seemed stronger than my love for it. I had to relearn new techniques, get back my triples… that’s why I disappeared for a whole season. And when I managed to become comfortable with the ice again, I kind of just started thinking in a different perspective. I guess I kind of just want you to maybe think of the sport differently than the way you see it now. Because at the end of the day, when we decided to start, it was because we loved it, right?”

Jungwon finds that a tear trickles down his cheek after you finish speaking. “Don’t cry,” you say, a frown on your face. “I’m okay now.”

“I’m so sorry.” he says, and you smile. “It’s okay. I just kind of always have to remember to take more care of this ankle right here,” you say, pointing to your right ankle. “My problem child.” you quip, trying to lighten the mood.

Jungwon’s only gotten to know you better in the past few weeks, but he thinks that you’re the most incredible and most admirable person he’s ever met. And the fact that you would go out of your way to try and help him enjoy skating again — it makes warmth bloom across Jungwon’s chest and fills him with nothing but happiness.

He thinks he’ll be eternally grateful for you.

“Come here,” he says, arms held out to pull you in a hug. You skate closer to him, and he wraps his arms around you, and you do the same, wrapping your arms around him.. Jungwon’s hugs are comforting, and you feel nothing but warmth despite you both standing in the middle of an ice skating rink.

He smells like fresh linen, you realise.

You also realise that you don’t really want to let go.

FIVE. spiralling

You receive a message from the Fantasy On Ice organisers a few days later as well, asking if you’d like to join them on tour.

Of course you say yes.

Jungwon seems more cheerful lately. His mood dampens a little bit when he’s on the ice, but it seems barely noticeable to Jiwon and Jongseob — maybe you're just extra attentive when it comes to him.

Jungwon will admit that he is feeling a little bit better. Skating to a program that he knows he doesn’t have to compete with is freeing, fun even. But the little devil on his shoulder keeps pestering him, telling him that he has to focus on next season’s programs.

Jungwon tells the devil to fuck off.

He heads back to his apartment, the weight on his shoulders slightly less heavy than it was a couple weeks ago. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might get to love skating again.

When he opens the door, he’s surprised by his cousin, Wonyoung, who stands in front of the door with balloons in her hands. “Congrats on your Worlds win!”

She pulls Jungwon in for a hug. “You’re two weeks late, Wonyo.” he jokes, and Wonyoung scoffs. “I texted you, because I was in Paris and I couldn’t come watch you.”

“I know, I know.” Jungwon says, putting his skate bag away before he flops on the couch, Wonyoung sitting next to him. “How’s skating?” she asks.

“Terrible,” Jungwon responds. “Well, not entirely. But 90% terrible.”

Wonyoung looks surprised. “What? You just won a major competition though.”

“Yeah. I guess. But it’s not exactly fun anymore,” Jungwon sighs, and Wonyoung frowns. “I feel way too much pressure to be perfect. Every day of my life, it’s just training, training, training — I feel like I know nothing outside of figure skating.”

Jungwon’s phone rings, and he furrows his eyebrows before pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the caller ID. It’s Jangmi, his older sister.

“Hello?” Jungwon says, putting his sister on speaker mode.

“Why did we have to find out from Irene that you’re retiring?” Jangmi’s tone does not seem happy, and Wonyoung, who’s sitting beside him, seems shocked.

Jungwon sits up properly, frowning at his sister’s words. “Because I didn’t think that it was any of your business at the time, and probably because I would’ve told you when I was ready?” he replies. “Why do you sound so angry?”

“You’re like… 22. You’re way too young to retire.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide, Jangmi.” Jungwon says, sighing.

“Why are you even retiring anyways? It’s not like you’re injured or anything.” she says, and Jungwon frowns. “I just don’t love the sport anymore, Jangmi. I should be able to retire when I want to, and I think that I want to.”

“All because you don’t love the sport? You’re throwing away all those years of your training because you don’t love it anymore? You’re just finding an excuse to quit, Jungwon — and you know our family doesn’t like quitters.”

Jangmi’s words make Jungwon fume. He’s furious, and Wonyoung can tell from the way his expression immediately changes from frustration to one of pure anger.

“You would never understand, Jangmi. I sacrificed my entire childhood for this sport and I wish I fucking knew why I fell out of love with it but I just don’t know why, okay? I wish I could just suddenly start fucking love skating like I did when I was 4, but that’s not possible! I’ve gotten to the point where I simply just cannot continue because I’m not going to spend my days being miserable doing something that I don’t love.” Jungwon’s hands tremble as he holds his phone, tears welling in his eyes and Wonyoung pats his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him — it does not seem to work at all.

“Do your medals and titles really mean nothing to you? Do they not give you motivation to keep going? You’re literally Yang Jungwon, Olympian, 2025 World Champion, and a 5 time national champion!”

“They seem to mean more to you than they do to me.” Jungwon says.

“Jungwon, you can’t give up.”

“But I can.”

“Jungwon—”

“Jangmi, I’m really not in the mood for this right now. Call me when you can accept my decision.” Jungwon says, before hanging up. He sighs, leaning his head back on the headrest of his couch.

He blinks away the tears in his eyes, and he lets out a loud sigh.

“Are you okay?” Wonyoung asks, even if she knows that her cousin is anything but okay.

“I’ll manage.” Jungwon replies, and Wonyoung gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Jungwon gives her a stiff smile.

None of them say a word for a while, sitting in silence until Jungwon suddenly speaks up. “I just don’t know how this happened.”

“What?” Wonyoung asks.

“How I managed to start disliking the one thing I swore I’d love my whole life. I spent my entire life, I sacrificed my entire life just to get here… and now that I am here, I find that I suddenly hate skating. The passion I used to have seems like it just disappeared into thin air.”

“What Jangmi said was wrong.” Wonyoung says. “It’s your career. Do whatever you want.”

“But now that I think about it, do I really want to retire?” Jungwon lets out a sad laugh. “I was telling my friend, (Name), that I wanted to love skating again. Maybe that’s just all I want.”

Jangmi’s phone call somehow really struck a chord within Jungwon. He knew that his sister only cared about his titles — it’s been like that since they were kids. Saying I’m figure skater Yang Jungwon’s sister somehow gave her an automatic “cool” pass. Then it became national champion Yang Jungwon. Then, Olympian Yang Jungwon.

Figure skating is all Jungwon’s ever known. Saying that he wants to retire seems easy enough when he knows he hates what he does. But when his last competition rolls around, Jungwon knows that leaving the ice might be the most difficult thing he’s had to do, ever.

Jungwon might hate the sport he’s sacrificed his life for, but what he hates more is that he allowed himself to start hating it.

SIX. rental skates

After a few weeks of practising your gala performance and a little bit of your programs for next season, you and Jungwon are headed to Japan for Fantasy On Ice.

Jungwon hasn’t exactly been in the best mood lately. You’ve tried to cheer him up, and it works sometimes, but he still looks exhausted and tired of it whenever he steps on the ice.

You hope the ice show will make him feel better. Sometimes performing to an upbeat and supportive crowd can help cheer people up (at least that’s what it’s like for you.)

You’ve given him supportive comments while you’re watching him rehearse his program for the show, and you manage to get him to crack small smiles while he’s skating — you know he’ll have to take this one step at a time.

You two are seated beside each other on the plane, and Jungwon settles into his seat comfortably, headphones propped on his head over a baseball cap.

“Are you feeling okay?” you ask him, and he shrugs. “I haven’t participated in an ice show for a while. I really don’t know what to expect…. so I’m a bit worried.” he replies.

“Don’t worry. Ice shows are meant to just be for fun,” you say. “Skating is something you should enjoy with the audience.”

Your take is interesting. All his life, Jungwon has just been aiming for the medals — he never thought about how he was feeling while he skated. It was as if his mind was blank, only knowing that he had to do this certain element at this certain time.

Because getting medals was what would bring him joy, right?

That was what Jungwon used to think.

“Mhm.” he replies.

He doesn’t know why his sister’s words from weeks ago are still stuck in his mind. He goes quiet, lips downturned into a small frown that you notice.

“How’d you start liking the sport?” you ask Jungwon, noticing his mood to seemingly be less than pleasant. Maybe your question will help him take his mind off whatever’s been bugging him.

“My sister’s birthday party. We all went to the ice rink together. I remember just running onto the ice, and I fell a couple times. There was this one learn to skate class being held during it, and I just saw other kids my age having so much fun. Then, I saw this one girl do a Biellmann, and she did some double jumps too. And I thought — how cool would it be if I could do that?” he says, and he smiles a little when he thinks about those good memories.

“What about you?” he asks, taking a sip from his water bottle as the pilot notifies everyone that they’re about to take off.

“My parents just signed me up for skating lessons. But then I ended up really loving it after my first class.” you reply, and Jungwon nods.

“Now that I think about it, classes were really fun for me when I was a kid.” Jungwon says, and you crack a small smile. “We should do a learn to skate class for jokes,” you say, and Jungwon chuckles. “The coach would definitely ask us what we’re doing there. They’d be so confused.” he replies.

“Let’s wear rental skates.”

“Oh, god no.” Jungwon grimaces at the thought. “I swear the blades at the rink haven’t been sharpened for years.”

“You should try a triple in rental skates,” you joke, and Jungwon makes a face, wincing. “I can already feel the pain from that… I’d most definitely fall and injure myself.”

“No, you’d be good, Mr 2025 World Champion.”

“You try it, Ms 2025 Grand Prix Final winner.”

Jungwon thinks that he feels the most comfortable when he’s around you. It takes him a bit to warm up to people, but you two had formed a close relationship practically the minute you guys became training mates. Talking to you is easy, and fun – he doesn’t think he’s had a good laugh on the rink in years, and Jungwon realises that skating is more fun when you’re around.

Goofing around on the rink, taking practices seriously but also not at the same time is something that seems new to Jungwon, at least in the last few years. So seeing you find joy in practice, which is something he hasn’t been able to do for years, makes him think that maybe he could do that too.

You encourage him, as well, pulling him into your antics that make Jongseob, Jiwon and Eunchae laugh. Slowly but surely, all your training mates seem to realise that Jungwon’s loosening up – he allows himself to have fun on the rink, and he allows himself to take breaks.

During a conversation between Jongseob, Jiwon and Eunchae, Jiwon had mentioned that she thought that Jungwon would probably fall in love with you.

“She seems to make him happy,” was what she said. She’s not wrong, too – everyone’s noticed the way Jungwon seems to seem livelier and happier lately. Jongseob remembers the way Jungwon seemed to be constantly stressed, eyebrows almost always knitted together in worry, and never-ending sighs escaping past his lips.

Jungwon’s love for skating hasn’t fully returned yet, but he thinks that he’s starting to like it a little again. It’s not as draining as it was before, and perhaps it’s because you’ve taught him that above all, skating should be fun. Jungwon allows himself to have fun on the ice for the first time in a couple of years, and when he glides across the ice with not a single ounce of worrying about him needing to prove that he’s the best, all he feels is relief.

And he would be eternally grateful for you. For teaching him how to have fun on the ice again. To let go of all the pressure that’s been on his shoulders for years, and just to enjoy the sport.

Gold medals and countless titles might have brought him fulfilment years ago. But now, he thinks that simply just skating would bring the same amount of fulfilment, if not maybe even more.

SEVEN. side by side (quad toe)

Ice show practices are fun.

Everyone’s got a smile on their faces. The first thing Jungwon notices is how warm and welcoming everyone is. The minute he walks into the rink alongside you, he’s welcomed with a hug from Harua, a figure skater from Japan that he remembers having a few nice conversations with during competitions.

“It’s nice to see you again!” Harua beams. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” Jungwon replies, even though he saw him at Worlds just a few months ago. “I know right?” Harua says. “I’m glad you’re joining us this year, though! I remember the organisers wanted to see if you wanted to join us last year, but Irene told them you were busy.”

Jungwon brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah, I was busy during the off-season last year. Preparing for competitions, you know… I thought I’d have a break from that and just join you guys this year.”

“Mhm,” Harua nods, and he hears his name being called out by someone. “I think I’ve got to run along, but it was nice seeing you! It’ll be lots of fun. Nice seeing you too as well, (Name)! Let’s talk more later.”

Harua runs off, as you give Jungwon an amused smile. “You guys seem close.”

“We’re not super close… we’ve just talked to each other a couple times at competitions. He’s a really nice guy, though.” Jungwon says, taking his skates out of his skate bag. He looks at the rink, and there are a few skaters he recognises just warming up.

“He does seem really nice.” you hum, sitting down next to him as you take your skates out from your bag as well.

“You ready?” he asks, standing up. You quickly finish lacing up your right boot before nodding. “Let’s go,” you say, linking arms with him as you lead him towards the rink.

You do it so casually that Jungwon needs a few seconds to process the action. He doesn’t know why his face starts feeling warm, and he doesn’t want you to let go of his arm.

The funniest thing is, the minute he thinks that, you let go, placing your hands into the pocket of your jacket.

“Hey, let’s do a side by side jump.” you suggest, and Jungwon nods. “Triple?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Nah, let’s do a quad. Quad toe?”

“Sure.” he says, and he starts skating, doing backward crossovers on the ice. “Should I count? How do pairs do this?” you say, as you skate beside him.

“Just count,” he says.

“Okay, one, two, three.”

And you both take off, spinning four revolutions in the air before landing, completely synchronised. You look at Jungwon with a huge smile on your face, giving him a high five. “Nice.” you say.

“That was good.” Jungwon says, patting you on the shoulder. “New pairs team in the making!” you two hear Jongseob joke, and Jungwon lets out a chuckle.

You tell Jungwon that you’re going to practise your gala program for a bit, and he nods as he watches you skate off. You glide gracefully across the ice, Jungwon admiring how beautiful your jumps and spins are.

He doesn’t realise that his expression is one of awe until Harua points it out. “You look very enamoured, Jungwon.” he smirks, and Jungwon immediately snaps out of it.

“Huh… what?” he asks, almost as if he’s in a daze. He blinks a couple times, and Harua only chuckles. “Do you like (Name)?

“Of course I like (Name). She’s my friend.” he says, completely clueless to what Harua’s hinting at. “No, no, I mean like… in a romantic way.”

A romantic way?

It might sound a little crazy, but Jungwon does not think he’s ever had a crush on someone in his 22 years of walking on this planet. Skating was his number one priority — love wasn’t anywhere on his list of priorities. In fact, Jungwon doesn’t even think he’s thought about love at all.

So Jungwon isn’t quite sure how to tell if his feelings for you are romantic or not, because he simply just doesn’t know what having a crush feels like. He knows that you linking arms with him was nice. He knows that he didn’t want you to let go of his arm.

Was that the first sign of a crush?

Jungwon truly didn’t know.

He scratches the nape of his neck awkwardly. “I don't… think so.” he replies, but it comes out sounding more like a question, and Harua only smiles at him, amused.

“Cool. Cool… tell me that next year when you two are dating.” the boy says, and Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “We’re not going to… what?”

“You seem much happier when you’re around her, you know.” Harua says, earnestly. “At Worlds, you didn’t seem very happy. You seemed tense, as if you were always burdened by something.”

“But now, you seem like you’re feeling better. You’re smiling again.” Harua says, and Jungwon takes a few seconds to process his words.

“She… she’s trying to get me to like skating again.” Jungwon says, and Harua lets out a knowing ‘ah’. “I guess I have started liking skating more again… because she’s helped me learn to have fun.”

“That’s good. See, your relationship is like a whole Netflix movie plot.” Harua quips.

“I really don’t see the vision you’re trying to paint in my head, Harua.” Jungwon says, and Harua shrugs. “Just think about your feelings when you’re around her. I guess if you feel like… warm, and happy when she’s around, you like her? Or if you think about her a lot. Or if you want to kiss her, I don’t know. You should Google it. Ask Google how to tell if you like someone, or something. You know it has all the answers.”

Jungwon’s drawn to two parts of what Harua just said. One, the part being that Harua told him to ask Google how to tell if you liked someone, and two, the part where he told Jungwon to think about whether he wanted to kiss you.

Jungwon’s not going to Google to ask for relationship advice.

And Jungwon also doesn’t know if he wants to kiss you or not. He doesn’t even know if he likes you romantically, either. All he knows is that you make him happy. Much happier than he used to be.

But when you skate up to him with a bright smile on your face, Jungwon feels his heart beat faster than it was just a few seconds ago. And he knows it’s not because he’s tired from skating, because after all, he has been standing still while talking to Harua.

Maybe he does like you.

Just a little bit.

EIGHT. let me entertain you

Tonight is the first show of Fantasy on Ice for this year, and you’re bursting with excitement.

You get dressed into the costume for the opening, and you raise an eyebrow when you see the dress. It’s not… terrible, but it’s not something you’d wear at all.

You leave the dressing room, looking into the mirror as you tilt your head. You walk towards the hair and makeup area, where Jungwon’s getting his hair done.

“Do I look okay?”

Jungwon thinks his heart skips a beat.

The costume is... alright, but that’s the case with Fantasy On Ice costumes every year. But, you make it look really, really good. Unconsciously, a smile makes its way to his lips, and you take it as a good sign.

“You look great.” he says, and you smile.

“Thank you, Won!”

You just called him a nickname. His smile seemingly gets wider as you scurry off, being called for your own hair and makeup to be done.

“Do you see what I mean, Jungwon?” Harua says, sitting in the chair beside him. “I really don’t.” Jungwon replies.

“You two are definitely going to fall in love. I’ve got great matchmaking skills.” Harua smirks.

“Who’s falling in love?” Yuzuru asks, overhearing Harua’s words, and Jungwon buries his face in his hands. “Jungwon! And… (Name).” Harua says your voice very quietly, in fear that you might hear him.

“Oh?” Yuzuru says, wiggling his eyebrows. “You guys would be cute together. Did you guys get closer recently?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon nods. “I don’t think I'm… in love though.”

“You’re married to the ice like Yuzu, huh?” Harua quips. “I said I wanted someone who would benefit my skating or be very supportive of it.” Yuzuru replies.

“Elsa.”

“Enough.”

“No, but I just haven’t thought about love, you know?” Jungwon says. “Skating takes up my whole life… I don’t exactly have the time to think about it.”

“Valid.” Yuzuru hums. “But seriously, you two would actually be really cute together. Harua says he hasn’t seen you smile genuinely in years.”

Jungwon thinks Harua might be exaggerating a little. He would smile at Harua (genuine smiles!) after he finished skating. It was just during the skate, during the Kiss and Cry, and during the podium where Jungwon would do the smile that never quite ended up reaching his eyes.

“You’re making me sound emo!”

“You are though?” Harua replies, laughing. “Wait, no… not anymore.” he nods his head in the direction of where you are, and Jungwon rolls his eyes.

“I’m not falling in love.” he says, before getting up from his chair. He hears Harua say Whatever you say! teasingly, and Jungwon just shakes his head as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says, greeting you as the makeup artist swipes a pretty pink colour on your lips. You look up at him, waving (because you can’t exactly smile right now.)

“Hi! You’re lucky you’ve got a puffer jacket on. Man, it’s freezing here.” you say when the makeup artist is done, shivering slightly. For someone who’s on the ice almost all the time, your tolerance to the cold isn’t exactly high — but in your defence, they did have the aircon on in the room.

“You can just take mine,” Jungwon says, unzipping it. He drapes it over your shoulders, and the action suddenly makes your cheeks start feeling hot.

You’ve heard about this feeling before, but you don’t think you’ve ever really experienced it. If those movies and books were right, you think you might just have the tiniest crush on Yang Jungwon.

You think that becoming friends with Jungwon might’ve been one of the best decisions of your life. He’s kind — always caring about you even when he’s feeling down in the dumps. He’s funny too, but he doesn’t seem to show it to anyone other than you. And, he is undeniably one of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen.

Him lending you his jacket just makes your heart flutter.

“Oh, thank you.” you say, and for the first time, you find yourself at a loss for words when you’re talking to Jungwon.

“It’ll keep you warm until before the show starts.” he says, and you nod. “You ready?” you ask, and Jungwon shrugs.

“I don’t know. I’m a bit scared. I hope I do well.”

You take his hand, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “I know you’ll do well. And just remember that this is for fun. It’s not a competition. You’re here to have fun, you’re here to let the audience have fun.”

“Okay.” he says, taking a deep breath. “I’ll make sure to have fun.”

“Loosen up, Wonie.” you beam at him. “The crowd will love you, I’m sure of it.”

You see everyone starting to line up in order of their appearance for the opening, and thankfully, you’re behind Jungwon, so you two can continue your conversation.

“I just wanted to ask.” you start, and Jungwon hums, motioning for you to continue. “Do you think you’re starting to love skating again?”

Jungwon is silent for a moment.

“A little bit. Because now I know that skating is meant to be fun, above all.” he says, and you smile.

“Cool.”

“Thank you.” Jungwon grins at you.

“For what?” you ask.

“For helping me with liking skating again. I really thought I wouldn’t be able to find my love for it again. I guess I just thought that if I trained harder and got better results, I’d be happier with my skates… but I was wrong,” he replies. “I needed to learn how to have fun again. I needed to remember why I started loving the sport in the first place.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Won.”

“No, but I do. I know I wouldn’t have done this ice show if you didn’t convince me to. And from what I can tell and the cheers I can hear, I think it’ll be a lot of fun.” he smiles. “So thank you. For pushing me to loosen up. For pushing me to learn to have fun.”

“You’re welcome, then.” you smile. The organiser tells Jungwon that he’ll be up next. “You’ll kill it out there.” you say.

“So will you.”

Jungwon thinks that deciding to join this ice show might be one of the best decisions he’s made.

NINE. ice days

Jungwon has never felt so happy to perform.

The crowd is loud, lively and cheers him on, applause sounding throughout the arena after he lands a jump. The atmosphere makes Jungwon excited to skate on the next show.

It’s been a while since Jungwon felt excitement towards the ice.

Cheers resound throughout the arena when he finishes his program, and he finds that he doesn’t have to plaster a smile on his face — he already is smiling. A huge, genuine smile.

He doesn’t see you until the group number at the end, and when he spots you, he skates a little faster in order to catch up with you. “Hey, Won! You did great.” you say when you notice him skating beside you on your left.

“Thank you,” he says, a smile on his lips. “You did great too.”

“Was it fun?” you ask, playing with the coloured scarf tied around your neck. You notice that you and Jungwon have the same exact one – they’re both orange and pink (a colour combination that you’re not quite sure you like too much.)

“Yeah. It was really fun.”

“What’d I tell you?” you say, grinning brightly at him. “There are a lot more shows after this, so you’ll get to experience all this over and over again.”

“I’m glad you made me do this,” he says, chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun on the ice in a long, long time.”

“That’s good. Do you think my quest to help you love the ice again is working?” you ask.

“I think it is.”

You take his hand and squeeze it. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Jungwon doesn’t notice the crowd seems to get louder after seeing your action. He thinks that someone must’ve done a cool trick, like Jongseob doing a backflip.

“That’s enough, lovebirds!” Harua says, skating up to you two. “We’re about to leave the rink.”

All the skaters skate to the centre of the rink, and Jungwon does too, with you following him. You all link hands, bowing at the audience before each of you leave the rink, one by one.

As Jungwon’s hand is in yours, you can’t stop thinking about Harua calling you two lovebirds. Obviously, you and Jungwon weren’t together, but now you can’t stop thinking that perhaps there could be a possibility, provided that you managed to figure out all the mixed feelings you had and if he reciprocated.

But strangely, something about Jungwon just makes you feel at home.

There is something so comforting about his presence. You feel at ease with Jungwon — it’s easy to talk to him, it’s easy to crack jokes when he’s around (you realised that you do it more often when he’s around just so you can see him laugh.)

It’s also easy to just sit in silence with Jungwon. Usually you’d feel compelled to fill the awkward silence, but with Jungwon, sometimes words don’t need to be shared. You feel like you’re able to understand him, and he’s able to understand you, despite only growing close during the off-season.

You’d like to think that he’s the closest friend in your circle of skater friends.

When you’re finished getting changed out of the costume and remove your makeup, you try to find Jungwon in the packed room, but to no avail.

“Who are you looking for?” Kaori asks, and you turn around to face her. “Oh! Jungwon.” you say, and Kaori points in the direction she saw him go in. “He’s just over there, with Harua.”

“Thanks!” you say, grinning at Kaori before heading in the direction she pointed at. Sure enough, Jungwon’s sitting there, typing away at his phone.

“Won!” you say, and he looks up, a smile immediately on his lips. “(Name)! I was waiting for you.” he says.

Your heart flutters. Harua smirks whilst trying to stifle a giggle. Jungwon shoots a pointed look at the boy.

“Oh?” you ask. “Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner before heading back to the hotel together.” he says, standing up from his chair.

“Of course!” you reply, nodding. “Cool,” he says, placing his puffer jacket into his bag. “Harua says there’s a good ramen place around here.”

“Yeah. It’s really good. I would go with you guys but then I’d be third-wheeling.” Harua says, still seated in his chair. Your cheeks flush pink at his words, whilst Jungwon furrows his eyebrows. “Why would you be third-wheeling?”

“Oh. Just because,” Harua says, a smirk on his lips. “You guys should run along now. They close pretty soon,” he checks the time on his phone.

“Well! We should hurry then… see you tomorrow, Harua.” you say, and Jungwon waves at the skater. “Bye!”

Have fun on your date, Harua mouths at Jungwon. Jungwon rolls his eyes in response.

“The crowd were cheering really loud for you tonight,” you tell Jungwon. “Oh, really?” he asks — he thought they were just as loud with everybody else.

“There were less people in the audience during the last ice show I did, but yeah. They were really loud — they seemed to really enjoy your performance.”

A small, proud smile makes its way to Jungwon’s lips. “I’m glad they enjoyed it. They seemed to like your performance too. I know I did.”

Goddamn Yang Jungwon. His words were making your heart beat as fast as it was when you were competing on the ice.

Your cheeks feel hot, and you fan your face with your hand to try and stop them from getting warmer. Jungwon seems to notice your actions. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What?”

“The weather.” he says, pulling out his phone. “It’s 32 degrees right now.”

Thank god Jungwon is dense when it comes to any aspect of romance. You understand why though, because when he was younger, he was fully devoted to the ice. You don’t think he even gave any attention to the people who were chasing after him and yearning for his affection — because it was like his heart belonged to the ice.

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” you say. You think you dodged a bullet there. You and Jungwon arrive at the ramen shop soon after, and Harua is right — the food is absolutely delicious.

Speaking of Harua, the ramen reminds you of him mentioning that if he came with you and Jungwon, he’d be third-wheeling.

Somehow you feel… giddy at the thought of that. Not Harua third-wheeling, but the idea of you and Jungwon on a date.

Wait, was this dinner a date?

No. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. Jungwon only sees you as a friend.

But the idea of you two possibly being something more seems to now be engraved in the back of your mind, and while eating ramen in 32 degree weather with Yang Jungwon in the streets of Makuhari, you realise:

You like Jungwon.

TEN. 4Lz (ur, fall)

Jungwon finds that Fantasy on Ice ends faster than he thinks. It was nearly two months of touring — time really does fly when you’re having fun.

He thinks he’s starting to enjoy skating again. He’s found a new appreciation for his craft — and with the knowledge that his skating is able to make so many people happy, he thinks that he should be able to make himself happy with his own skating.

He returns to the Taereung skating rink with a bright smile, and Irene notices the change in his demeanour the second he walks in the door.

“Welcome back, Jungwon.” she says, and Jungwon smiles. “Hi, Irene. Thanks.” he replies, placing his skate bag on the floor before taking his skates out. He takes off his usual training shoes, putting on the skating boots that've been with him every day for the last 3 years.

“How was FAOI?” Irene asks. “Good. It was fun.” Jungwon says, finishing lacing up his skates.

“That’s good. Are you ready to practise for next season properly now?” she asks, and Jungwon nods. “Yeah.” he says, skating onto the rink.

“You remember the choreographies, right?” she asks, and Jungwon nods. He thinks he remembers them, but now that she asks, he’s not too sure if he remembers them completely.

“We’ll do the short program first.” Irene says, pressing play on her phone as the music plays through the speakers.

Jungwon glides on the ice elegantly, his movements as fluid and soft as water. He spins and turns on the ice, doing backward crossovers as he prepares for the first jump — a quad lutz.

He’s usually confident in this jump. He takes off, spinning in the air — but as he’s about to make his landing, he falls. Irene makes a noise just as Jungwon gets up, and he presses his lips together in a thin line. It’s fine. Jungwon thinks.

The next jump is a quad toeloop-triple toeloop combination, and Jungwon thinks he’ll do fine, and he lands the quad well, but he feels the landing on the triple is a little shaky.

Doubt fills his mind. Did he get worse somehow while doing the ice shows? Sure, he didn’t do as many quads when he was in Japan, but he thought he’d be okay. Or maybe he’s just having a bad day. He’s done three jumps. Two of them he wouldn’t consider done well.

Flying camel spin. Jungwon’s spins are always done well, and Irene nods in approval — but every thought in Jungwon’s mind is telling him that he shouldn’t have done that ice show. He slacked off, and now he’s not doing as great as he was before.

Final jump for his short program, a triple axel. He lands it cleanly, but he feels little satisfaction for it. Dread is what Jungwon feels. He shouldn’t have gone. He should’ve listened to the devil on his shoulder telling him to stay — he needs to train. He needs to practise.

Spin combination. Jungwon does them well as usual. Then the step sequence, which as he’s skating, he hears Irene make a small hum in satisfaction. But Jungwon does not feel any satisfaction from his performance at all.

The last element of his program, a sit spin, is completed perfectly.

Jungwon is surprised he remembers the entire choreography when he’s in his finishing pose. He sighs, skating around the rink with a frown on his face.

“You didn’t have enough height on your quad lutz.” Irene says, and Jungwon nods. “I know.”

“Train that for a bit.”

Jungwon listens.

And he falls more than he usually does.

The more he falls, the more his brain tells him that he should have stayed. He notices you entering the rink, and that lifts his mood slightly — but as he attempts another quad lutz, and falls, he’s just completely tired.

He motions to Irene that he’s going to have a break. He leaves the rink, putting his skate guards on as he heads towards an empty bench, burying his face in his hands.

You immediately notice the dejected look on Jungwon’s face, and you hurry over to him to ask him if he’s okay.

“What’s wrong, Won?” you ask, sitting down next to him. “Nothing. I’m frustrated.” he replies with a sigh.

“You can talk to me.”

“I spent too much time having fun. And now I think I forgot the choreo to my free skate, and I can’t land my quad lutz — usually, I’d be way ahead in terms of preparation. And I’m just scared that I won’t do well next season.” he says, his voice shaky, and you frown.

“I’m not blaming you for saying I should’ve gone to the ice shows, by the way. I enjoyed the ice show. But now I feel underprepared.”

“It’s okay. But Jungwon, Grand Prix is like in… September. It’s July.” you say, in an attempt to reassure him.

“I know. I know. I’m just… worried.”

“You have plenty, plenty of time. And hey, maybe it’s just a bad skate day. I get those sometimes.” you say in a soft voice, placing your hand on his shoulder, and Jungwon thinks your words make him feel a little better. “Doing not as well on one day doesn’t mean you’re terrible now, Jungwon. You have lots of time, and you’ll only get better. Don’t stress, okay?”

“Okay.” he says, sighing.

“You’ll do great. I know it.”

Your words are able to comfort him. Jungwon is thankful for that. But he feels this blooming feeling in his chest that he doesn’t really think he’s ever felt before. The words Harua said a month ago pops back into his mind. You two are definitely going to fall in love.

Love may be a bit of a stretch for now. But Jungwon thinks he certainly does like you. He feels warm and happy around you. He thinks about you a lot. And the possibility of being something more than friends has started to linger in the back of his mind.

“Thank you. You will too.” Jungwon says. You give his hand a tight squeeze as encouragement, telling him ‘fighting!’ — which makes him crack a small smile.

Shit, maybe Harua is right. Jungwon thinks. He heads back onto the rink, deciding that he should try the quad lutz again. Maybe it’s just a bad day.

And as he lands one that he thinks is the cleanest one he’s ever done, he decides that perhaps taking Harua’s advice to ask Google how to tell if he likes someone isn’t the worst idea.

ELEVEN. octuple flip

Grand Prix assignments roll out two weeks after you and Jungwon’s return to the Taereung rink.

You’re assigned to Grand Prix de France and NHK Trophy, and Jungwon’s assigned to Skate Canada and like you, the NHK Trophy.

You’re glad you’ll at least be able to see him at a Grand Prix competition. You tell him that when he’s at Skate Canada, you’ll be watching him skate from the comfort of your home. He tells you that he’ll be doing the same when you’re at Grand Prix de France.

You and Jungwon get even closer during training for the Grand Prix competitions. Like you had said, that day when he fell on the quad lutz multiple times was just a bad day. You’ve seen him do both his short program and free program cleanly multiple times now.

Jungwon thinks he must’ve been having fun during training, because Skate Canada rolls around faster than he thinks. But of course with you around at training, it’ll always be fun.

He did not end up asking Google for relationship advice. He instead asked Wonyoung, who had asked him to text her about you and just simply describe you and how you made him feel. He had originally texted ‘nice to me.’, but then Wonyoung told him that he had to elaborate.

Needless to say, after his long paragraph about you that he sent to Wonyoung (she skimmed over it, the first two lines of the text were all she needed to know), she had established that Jungwon liked you.

And with that thought in his mind, Jungwon does realise he has started to act differently around you more recently. He’s more attentive to you, he’s always by your side when you’re around, and he finds himself sometimes wanting to just hold your hand.

As you send him off to the airport, a bright smile on your lips and a cat plushie in your hand that you give to him, a pink blush tints his cheeks, even if he doesn’t know it. And if he did, he’d blame it on how hot the coffee in his hand is.

Unbeknownst to Jungwon, your cheeks are heating up too when you see the look on his face after you give him the stuffed animal.

There’s just something about Jungwon that makes your heart do flips. Triple flips, quadruple flips — even quintuple flips.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest. You think it just did 8 rotations. Not humanly possible.

But, your heart just does an octuple flip.

You text him every day too, when he’s in Canada. He responds almost immediately (if he’s awake, because of the damned time zones), and he sometimes even sends you pictures of himself on the ice too. There’s one where he’s holding up the cat plushie you gave him, a smile on his lips. You find that there are butterflies in your stomach after you see the message.

Time zones are horrible, but you set an alarm so you can remember to open up your laptop and watch him skate.

You send him a goodluck message, that he doesn’t read immediately because he must have his phone in his bag, since he’s about to skate soon.

And when the commentator announces Jungwon’s name, you see him skate out onto the rink. You murmur You got this! but obviously, you know he can’t hear you.

“Now, obviously Yang Jungwon is one of the most anticipated skaters at this Grand Prix competition. He delivered a sublime skate at Worlds last season, securing him the title as world champion.” you hear the commentator say, as Jungwon skates around the rink before getting into his starting position. “Yang Jungwon with the music: A Walk In The Skies.”

The music starts, and Jungwon moves across the ice in a way you’re most familiar with now. You’ve seen him do this program hundreds, maybe thousands of times — but at a competition, Jungwon’s got his A-game on. His movements are delicate, elegant and beautiful.

“First comes the quad lutz.” the commentator says, and you watch your screen intently as Jungwon takes off, spinning four revolutions in the air before landing cleanly. “Yes!” you say, pumping your fist.

“Absolutely stunning.”

You agree with the commentator wholeheartedly.

“The quad toe-triple toe.” Jungwon lands the quad toe the second the commentator says that, and takes off into the triple toe — another clean jump.

You smile. He’s doing great, you think, as he does a flying camel spin. He looks happy as he skates as well. He seems to be enjoying the sport more and more each day.

Jungwon skates his entire program cleanly, with all green boxes on the left hand corner of your screen. His technical score is the highest among all the skaters, and he was the last to skate — you think that he’ll definitely place first in the short program.

“Yang Jungwon at his best, everyone.” the commentator says. “Yang did absolutely wonderful tonight, and I’m sure it will reflect on the scores.”

He bows, a genuine smile on his lips — one that he hasn’t shown in a long time at competitions as the cat plushies fall from the bleachers and onto the ice. He picks up as many as he can before leaving the rink while the flower kids pick up the rest, as the camera pans to him giving Irene a fist bump.

You think he’ll break 100. There’s no way he won’t.

As he sits in the Kiss and Cry nervously waiting for his scores, you sit at home on your couch, just as nervous as he is. The camera faces towards him, and Jungwon smiles at it, holding up one of the cat plushies he had received and mouthing a thank you.

“The scores, please.”

“The short program score for Yang Jungwon of South Korea is 111.45, his season’s best and currently puts him in first place.”

The crowd erupts into cheers, and you push your laptop off your lap and onto the couch, jumping up in excitement.

You watch as Jungwon pumps his fist up into the air before hugging Irene with pure joy on his face.

Jungwon doesn’t think he’s been this happy to place first in a long, long time. He had fun skating today. He also skated well today. And he’s currently in first.

Having fun and winning can coexist. Jungwon finds that out today as he bows once more before leaving the Kiss and Cry.

Jungwon thinks that he’s just a few steps away from loving skating again.

TWELVE. you, me (?) and the ice

Jungwon wins the men’s category of Skate Canada.

You welcome him back to Korea with a huge hug at the airport, slightly startling him but he hugs you back nevertheless. “You did so, so good!” you say, and Jungwon smiles.

“Thank you.” he says. “I haven’t felt this happy to win gold in so long.”

“You know I cried watching your free skate?” you say, and Jungwon looks at you, eyes widened. “Really?” he asks, as you lead him to your car.

“I was really proud. And happy. Because you looked like you liked skating again.” you say. “I did like skating there. I haven’t enjoyed skating competitively for so long… and I feel like I just did better when I enjoyed it.” he hums.

“Jungwon, you broke a world record, and you had fun while doing it.” you say.

“I did.” he replies. “If you had told that to me at the beginning of the year, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

You load his luggage into the trunk of your car, motioning for him to get into the front seat. He does, and when you slide into the driver’s seat, he surprises you with a cute stuffed toy of an adorable polar bear — which are the plushies that your fans throw onto the ice after you skate.

“I saw this in a store window when I was heading back to the hotel, and it reminded me of you,” he says, handing it to you. “It’s so cute, Jungwon! Thank you.” you say, taking the toy in your hands. “Look, I even got it skates.” he says, pointing at the skates attached to the polar bear toy’s feet, making you chuckle.

“That’s so cool.” you say, setting it aside so you can drive. “I’m putting this on my nightstand.”

You do actually want to put it on your nightstand, but you decide to bring it with you to France. You pack it in your backpack the night before you leave. “You’re my good luck charm now,” you tell the stuffed toy.

And this time it’s Jungwon’s turn to send you off.

Like what you did when Jungwon was in Canada, he texts you as much as he can, updating you on the little things that go on at the rink, such as telling you about how Jiwon bought a hot dog, or Jongseob doing backflips on the ice nonstop.

He keeps his promise of watching you skate. He watches your short program on his bed, his dog Maeumi curling up beside him as he watches in anticipation. You skated clean in the short program, and as if Jungwon was actually in the arena right now, he erupts into applause.

“Look, Maeumi. (Name) did well.” he says, showing his dog the screen that showed the rankings. Maeumi only blinks at the screen.

When the time to watch your free skate rolls around, Jungwon drops everything to watch it. He ends his call with Wonyoung, when they’re talking about the family gathering next month that Jungwon doesn’t think that he’ll be able to make it to. “Sorry, Wonyo — something important just came up, I’ll call you back later.” he tells her, ending the call swiftly.

He sees you in the last group of skaters warming up — you’re going to skate last, because you placed first during the short program. He watches as you land a triple loop cleanly, and unconsciously, a smile makes its way to his lips.

He watches the other skaters skate before you, and they all do pretty well. There’s a couple of falls, and Jungwon winces when one of the skaters hits the ice particularly hard.

And when your name is announced, his eyes are immediately drawn to the screen, diverting his attention from Maeumi, who now also seems to be drawn to the laptop.

“Last to skate is (Name), representing South Korea. Now, (Name) had a wonderful season last year — placing 1st at the Grand Prix finals, and 2nd at the World Championships. Placed first in the short program, she’s surely aiming for the top of the podium here today.” the commentator says.

Jungwon chews on the inside of his cheek nervously as your music starts.

Every time you skate, Jungwon is in awe, and today is certainly no exception. You glide on the ice as smoothly as a flowing river, every movement of yours from your arm all the way to your fingertips controlled delicately.

Quad flip, Jungwon thinks at the same time the commentator says that out loud. You land it beautifully, and Jungwon nods his head, murmuring ‘nice’. Maeumi looks at Jungwon’s laptop screen, just as transfixed on your skating as his owner is.

Being able to watch your skating is a gift in itself, Jungwon thinks. Your performances are absolutely mesmerising, and Jungwon knows he wouldn’t be able to look away even if he tried. You are a master at combining technique with artistry – without a doubt, it is clear to everybody that you were born to skate. As you continue with your program, Jungwon’s eyes follow your figure on the screen.

He has watched you do this program a million times. Every single time, he gets chills – every single time, you do it better than the last time. Everything is executed to perfection, and there is one thing Jungwon notices clearly as you skate. It is your passion for it.

You skate as if it'll be your last skate ever. You give your all, expressing every single emotion you feel and sharing it with the audience. You aren’t showing off your skills – you are telling a story. A tale of you and the ice.

You once mentioned to him that you had always wanted to fly. You might not have wings, but you have your skates. Aim higher. Soar higher. Despite how difficult figure skating is, and the injury that almost took you out of the sport — never once, have you thought to quit. Never once have you wanted to give up on your dream, and never once have you ever imagined a world without you skating.

Jungwon wants to skate with as much passion and love as you have for the sport. He has much to learn from you, and it is only when your music stops that he realises that a single tear drops from his eye.

You have single handedly changed Jungwon’s entire perspective of skating. You managed to help him fall back in love with the sport – and he knows he’s not fully there yet, but he’s close to it, and your encouragement played a huge part in it. He knows he would be miserable on the ice if you hadn’t.

And when your scores are announced, with everyone in the arena and everyone watching online hearing how you had broken a new world record, Jungwon jumps up from his bed with joy, a huge grin plastered on his lips.

Nobody deserves that gold medal more than you do.

THIRTEEN. thin ice

With each skate and each reminder that he should use the ice to release all his pressures and burdens, Jungwon enjoys skating more and more now.

Irene notices how Jungwon finds skating more exciting. Being subjected to only frowns and sighs of disappointment only for the past few years, she thinks it’s certainly a nice change – and deep inside, she hopes that Jungwon will change his mind about retirement.

He has been seriously considering it now. With him now being able to enjoy skating competitions, Jungwon finds himself wanting to compete next season, but still, a little part of him still wonders if he should let his first love go.

He thinks he’ll decide after the Olympics (that is if he makes the team, of course.) Jungwon knows he’ll have to put out a really good skate at Nationals in January. Despite that little devil telling him that if he doesn’t train morning, noon and night, he’ll lose, Jungwon decides to ignore it. He finds that he skates better when he’s having fun anyways.

NHK Trophy rolls around soon enough, and it’s both yours and Jungwon’s last Grand Prix assignment before the Final. You two are finally travelling together for the first time since the ice show, and you don’t forget to buy a cat plushie to hand to him after his free skate (you know he has plenty of them, but one more couldn’t hurt.)

Jungwon does the same, buying a polar bear plushie for you that he stuffs into his suitcase.

The competition goes well for both of you, with both of you winning silver medals and gaining a spot in the Grand Prix Final.

You both fall once in the free skate, with the winners of the competition skating cleanly for both programs. The Jungwon a couple months ago would be terribly upset about it – but now, Jungwon is happy about silver. He podiumed whilst skating happily. Something that he didn’t think he’d be able to do again.

When Jungwon hands you the polar bear plushie after your free skate, he doesn’t realise that a camera goes off the second you take hold of it in your hands. And when you hand him the cat plushie after his free skate, another camera goes off as well – you both don’t find out until somehow Dispatch releases an article about it.

First of all, Jungwon wonders why you two are on Dispatch anyways. You two aren’t idols, and you doubt that the public would really care about either of your romantic lives, but Jungwon finds that he is very wrong after reading some of the comments from netizens. Second of all, he wonders why he didn’t notice the camera flash when both incidents happened. Third of all, he examines his face closely – and he thinks that the smile he’s giving you is one of the brightest ones of his that’s been seen on camera.

Harua texts him a ‘invite me to the wedding’ with a link to the article and too many emojis that it gives Jungwon an eyesore. Jungwon replies with a no and a middle finger emoji. Harua knows well enough that you and Jungwon aren’t together.

Yuzuru texts him ‘Are you two finally together? Congratulations!’ with perfect capitalisation and a link to the article. Jungwon replies with another no, but this time with a smiley face instead of the middle finger. Yuzuru texts him a thumbs up. His follow up message reads I’m sure it’ll happen soon though, and Jungwon just sends back a ‘hahahahaha’.

And you’re subjected to merciless teasing from Riki, who spams the article link in your chat. You honestly think it’s much worse than the comments from some of the netizens you read. But honestly, what the netizens say isn't even that bad. Except for the comments from the ones who want Jungwon to be theirs. Those ones you just laugh at, because honestly, they’re quite hilarious. You’ve never read such creative insults directed at you.

But the articles make Jungwon think.

About the possibility of being in a relationship with you. He’s established that he thinks he likes you (or at least his feelings for you do fit what Wonyoung and Google have said about what liking someone is like), but Jungwon has never thought about… dating.

Quite frankly, Jungwon thinks that he’d be scared to tell you about his feelings – because he knows that once you confess, that relationship would be changed forever. You can’t go back to just friends when the other knows that you want to be more than that. And what happens if the relationship doesn’t work out? Do you just act like the whole thing never happened? Or do you just cut the other person off completely?

The latter option is absolutely not possible considering that you and Jungwon are training mates too.

This is complicated. And thinking about it makes Jungwon’s head hurt.

But then he looks at the cat plushie on his bed that you had given to him after he finished skating his free program. The joy that fills his heart is immense, and he can’t stop the lovestruck grin from spreading across his lips.

Is this what the movies and books described as being struck by Cupid’s arrow? Because if so, Jungwon thinks that Cupid shot an arrow straight through his heart, with your name engraved on the tip of it.

Jungwon can’t stop thinking about you. His day is instantly made the second he sees you walk through the doors of the Taereung ice rink, and he looks at you as if you've got the whole universe in your hands. Every single move you make, every single smile you send his way makes that blooming feeling in Jungwon’s chest get warmer, warmer, and warmer.

Jungwon likes you. He thinks he really, really likes you.

And coming to that conclusion doesn’t make him as afraid as he thought he'd be. He’s calm, and he thinks his conclusion just seems right. As if the final piece of the puzzle is put into place, Jungwon’s feelings for you are finally sorted out.

Jungwon doesn’t need Harua, Wonyoung or Google to tell him that he likes you.

He just knows it.

Confessing is a whole other story, but Jungwon thinks that when the right time comes, he’ll do it. He doesn’t know much about love, with his entire life practically being devoted to the ice – but he knows that when it feels right, it must be the right time.

So, Jungwon comes to two conclusions that night.

One: he really likes you, and he doesn’t need anyone else to confirm it for him.

Two: he can’t believe that a Dispatch article made him realise that he really liked you.

FOURTEEN. public skating session

You ask Jungwon if you’d like to skate at another public rink after the Grand Prix Final is over.

He immediately says yes.

He doesn’t take you up on the offer to wear rental skates though, so both of you lace up your skates on the bench, Jungwon putting your bags into a cubbyhole.

“Let’s go, Wonie!” you say, and he finds his heart fluttering at the nickname. He follows you onto the rink like the first time, and you two skate side by side, at a way slower pace than usual to be mindful of the other skaters at the rink.

“How does it feel to be the 2026 Grand Prix Final champion?” you ask him, and he smiles at you. “Hmm. I don’t know,” Jungwon replies. “I should be asking you that.”

You and Jungwon both winning in your respective categories were amazing for the media. Yang Jungwon and (Name), figure skaters rumoured to be dating win Men’s Grand Prix Final and Women’s Grand Prix Final was the headline. But at least Dispatch can add more to their article, and you and Jungwon get to go home with shiny gold medals.

“Feels pretty good. Two years in a row,” you say, and he pats you on the back. “You deserved it,” Jungwon says. “Have I ever told you how in awe I am whenever I watch you skate?”

“Thank you,” you say, chuckling as your cheeks turn hot at the compliment. “Your skating is amazing as well — that step sequence in World Dreams? Gave me actual chills. I saw a tear drop from a woman’s eye when I was seated in the crowd.”

“Really?” Jungwon asks, and you nod. “She was bawling by the end of it, I think.” you say, and Jungwon softly smiles. “I’m glad my skating made her feel something… hopefully all good things though.”

“Most definitely good things. She threw 5 cat plushies onto the ice. I think she’s a hardcore fan.” you reply. “She might’ve dethroned my spot as your number one fan.”

“Hey,” Jungwon says, pouting. “You texted me when I was at Skate Canada saying that you’d always be my number one fan.”

“Yeah, but she was like a diehard fan,” you say. “Don’t worry though, I’ll throw out 15 cat plushies when you skate during Nationals. I’m taking my spot back.”

“I’ll throw out more than 15 polar bear plushies when you skate at Nationals. I’ll throw out 16.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon says, a smile never leaving his lips.

“We can just be each other’s number one fan.” you say, and Jungwon nods. “Deal. So can I get your autograph?” he jokes.

“Sure thing,” you say, playing along. You motion for him to hold his palm out, and you trace your autograph on his hand. “There you go!” you say, tracing a smiley face and a heart as well.

“I’ll treasure this forever,” he quips.

“You better.”

You two fall into a comfortable silence as you both skate laps around the rink, observing the other people there. Like last time, there are couples on dates, there are little kids learning to skate, and there’s people who actually figure skate, doing spins in the centre of the rink.

“Right, I was going to say. You seem way, way more happier on the ice than you were before,” you tell Jungwon, who nods. “Yeah. I think I actually like skating again. I mean… I can’t exactly say love, because you know… sometimes I just revert back to the way I used to think whenever I fail at something.” he replies. “But competitions are a lot more fun. The ice doesn’t drain me of all my energy anymore, and winning medals sort of brings me fulfilment again.”

“That’s amazing, Won.” you say.

Now that you think about it. Jungwon wanted to retire because he didn’t love skating anymore. But now that Jungwon enjoys it again, you’re left wondering if he’ll still continue competitive skating.

It’s as if Jungwon’s able to read your mind. “I’m not sure if I’ll retire or not. On one hand, skating is fun now… and I’d like to continue at least maybe for a little longer, but I’m also wondering if I should just… let go. Explore things outside of skating, even though I know I’ll probably come back to the ice every time.”

You let his words sink in for a moment. “I think… you don’t have to decide your future plans this early. You could decide at the Olympics, after you skate. Or you could even go to Worlds after the Olympics and decide then.”

“Yeah. I could do that.” Jungwon breathes out. “I’m just… indecisive and unsure of everything right now.”

“No, I get it,” you nod. “You have time, Jungwon. Don’t rush things.” you tell him.

Jungwon agrees with you. Thinking about too much and thinking too far ahead were two of the many reasons why he fell out of love with figure skating. Now that he’s slowly started to enjoy it again, he knows he has to rid himself of his bad habits.

“Okay. It’s not like I’m in a hurry to retire. If I was, I would’ve already done it by now.” he says, smiling. “And if I don’t retire this season, I’ll probably just retire in 2030. I can still fulfil my dream of leaving at the biggest stage.”

“I feel like I’d do that as well, if I’m not gonna lie.” you say, and Jungwon tilts his head. “So are we retiring together?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean… if you don’t retire during this Olympics, then probably. But do what feels right, Won. Don’t do it because you feel pressure from others to keep going. If you love the sport, you’ll always find a way back to it, like something like professional skating, or coaching, or doing commentary. If you think it’s time, then it’s time.”

Jungwon can always count on you for giving him great advice.

“You’re right.” he says. “Anyways… enough about that.” he spots a penguin skating aid in the corner, and he skates up to grab a hold of it. He pushes it as he skates, and you can’t help but find the mere action adorable.

You pull out your phone to record him, and you chuckle as you see him skate faster towards you. “Cute,” you say, and Jungwon’s cheeks flush pink. If you ask, he’ll blame it on the rink being cold.

“You use it,” he says, pushing the skating aid towards you. You gladly take it, grabbing ahold of the handles, pushing it as you skate with Jungwon by your side.

Talking to Jungwon is easy. He tells you about how he stores his medals in ziplock bags when he needs to take them to interviews, to which you propose a better idea: using socks (a trick you learned from none other than Yuzuru Hanyu himself.) He also tells you about his dog, Maeumi, who apparently had watched your Grand Prix de France free skate with him – Jungwon says that Maeumi was absolutely mesmerised by your performance, and it’s interesting how every single thing Jungwon says is able to bring a smile to your face.

You tell him that you’d like to meet Maeumi, and he tells you that you’re welcome over anytime. Your heart flutters at the invitation that you accept warmly. “In fact, you could come over after we leave.”

“Really?” you ask, and Jungwon nods. “It’s not like we’ll be spending more than an hour here anyways. We already spend most of our days at another rink – we’d get way too bored if we spend hours here like everyone else.”

Jungwon is right. After 20 minutes of more skating and just talking to each other about your lives (as if you didn’t learn nearly absolutely everything about him during the off-season), you and Jungwon head over to his apartment, where you meet Maeumi.

And as you play with Maeumi, gushing over how cute he is, you notice the fond smile on Jungwon’s lips as he watches you two from the couch.

You don’t know why, but that look on Jungwon’s face makes you think that perhaps you two could be something more than friends.

FIFTEEN. last nationals skate (?)

Jangmi calls Jungwon the day before the short program for Nationals.

“I’m sorry for getting upset,” she tells him. “It’s your career, not mine.”

Jungwon sighs. “It’s fine. I don’t think I know what I want to do with my career either. Retiring is an option, and competing… also is another option now.”

Jangmi somehow sounds happier at the sound of Jungwon’s words. “That's… good,” she says, trying to not make it obvious that continuing to skate is still an option for Jungwon. “What changed your mind?”

“I started liking it again.” he says, gazing at the sheet of ice in the Uijeongbu ice rink. The ice finally feels like home again, and instead of bringing him dread, Jungwon feels at ease at the rink now. The pressure is no longer something that drags him under – it is now something he uses to allow himself to skate better.

Now when he skates, he feels his passion for it again. “Even the brightest of flames burn out,” you had said. His flame dimmed, nearly being put out entirely – but he’s more than happy to have been able to ignite it again.

And as his music starts playing for the short program, Jungwon realises something as he glides across the ice elegantly.

If he retires, this will be his last ever Nationals.

This crowd, this rink, this atmosphere – it’ll be the last time he ever gets to experience this. He stays completely focused on his program, but this thought lingers at the back of his mind when he lands the quad lutz.

The audience cheers, and Jungwon’s eyes catch sight of the banners that fans have made for him in the crowd, with encouraging words that bring a smile to Jungwon’s face.

When he finishes his short program, Jungwon pumps his fist into the air, more than satisfied with his performance. He skates around the rink as the audience throws stuffed animals onto the ice, picking some up as he thanks the crowd.

He bows before leaving the rink, Irene pulling him into a hug after he puts his skate guards on. “You did amazing.” she says, and Jungwon smiles. “Thank you,” he replies, as he makes his way to the Kiss and Cry.

As he waits patiently for his scores, he can’t stop thinking about how if he does decide to retire at the end of this season, that was his last ever short program at Nationals. He didn’t think this far ahead when he told Irene that he wanted to hang up his skates at the beginning of the off season, and now that he realises that he may be nearing the end of his career, Jungwon suddenly starts feeling a wave of sadness.

He was nothing but sure about his decision when he told Irene that he’d be retiring. But now, sitting in the Kiss and Cry at quite possibly one of his last competitions ever, Jungwon thinks he might just want to hold on for a little longer.

“The scores, please.” the announcer says, ending Jungwon’s train of thought.

“The short program score for Yang Jungwon is 112.36, which currently puts him in first place.”

The crowd erupts into cheers at his score, and Jungwon smiles in satisfaction while Irene claps. “Good job,” she tells him, and Jungwon thanks her. He stands up, bowing once again before leaving the Kiss and Cry, and everything just slowly starts sinking in.

If this was his last short program ever at Nationals, at least he did well.

But Jungwon doesn’t want this to be his last ever Nationals. The feeling of wanting nothing more than to just leave the ice has completely disappeared in a matter of months, and Jungwon now just wants to stay.

Maybe it isn’t time to hang up his skates.

After finding his passion for skating again, Jungwon just wants to feel the thrill of competition. He dreaded competitions months ago, but now his feelings towards the ice have completely changed. Winning medals can finally bring him satisfaction again – he’s being acknowledged for being good at something that he loves.

He can now look at the cameras while standing atop that podium with a genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t feel like he’s a robot anymore, with every move he makes when he skates programmed into his brain – he feels like he’s a writer, or a poet, telling his story on the ice.

He changes out of his costume, putting on a hoodie and some sweatpants before leaving the locker room. He checks the time, realising that there’s only an hour until the women’s free skate – he promised you that he’d be in the crowd.

With 16 polar bear stuffed animals that he currently does not have.

He rushes to the nearest toy shop, asking the staff if they have polar bear plushies still in stock, and luckily, they do. The shop assistant helping him looks slightly concerned when he asks for 16, but still brings them all out in a basket. “Is this for (Name)?” she asks, and Jungwon furrows his eyebrows, confused as to how she would know that.

“Yeah… how’d you know?”

“Bunch of people came in asking for polar bear stuffed toys to throw onto the ice for her.” she says, scanning all the polar bears. “Oh. That’s nice of them.” Jungwon replies.

“You bought the most.” the shop assistant says, putting all of them into a large shopping bag for Jungwon, noticing how he only has a backpack that most certainly won’t fit 16 polar bear toys.

“Oh, cool.” he says, swiping his card on the reader. The transaction goes through, and the shop assistant smiles at him before handing him his receipt. “Good luck to both you and (Name) on your free skates,” she tells him, and Jungwon thanks her before leaving the store.

He makes it back to the Uijeongbu ice rink just in time, with Jongseob saving him a seat. “That’s a shit ton of polar bears you’ve got there,” Jongseob says, holding a plushie of Artemis from the Sailor Moon series to throw on the ice after Jiwon skates.

“Yeah.” Jungwon replies, putting the shopping bag onto the ground.

“You’re a dedicated boyf– fan!”

“Enough.”

There’s five groups of skaters, and you’re the last to skate. Jungwon cheers for each and every skater, but his cheers will definitely be the loudest for you. Jongseob yells as his life depends on it when Jiwon skates onto the ice.

Soon enough, it’s your turn to skate. You look at the crowd, spotting Jungwon and Jongseob sitting together and you flash Jungwon a smile, whilst a shit-eating grin spreads across Jongseob’s lips. “Good luck,” he mouths to you, and you nod as a way of saying thank you.

Your program goes well, for the most part – aside from falling on a quad toe loop and stepping out on a triple lutz. Jungwon knows that you’ve done enough to secure a podium spot – and a spot on the Olympic team, and it seems as if you know that too, tears streaming down your face the minute you finish your program.

You’re going to the Olympics. You’ve finally achieved your lifelong dream.

Cheers and applause resound throughout the rink, with tons of polar bear stuffed toys being thrown out onto the ice by fans, and Jungwon is one of them. You see him throw out polar bear after polar bear from the shopping bag he’s holding, and a sweet smile spreads across Jungwon’s lips as he sees your surprised face.

“16?” you mouth at him, and Jungwon nods. You can’t help but clap your hands over your mouth to hide your laughter, and as the announcer calls your name again, you skate into the middle of the rink, bowing once again before leaving.

Eventually, it is you, Jiwon and another skater named Kim Chaeyeon who get named to the Olympic team.

Like how Jungwon bought 16 plushies for you during your free skate, you buy 17. It’s a funny coincidence how you both end up going to the same toy shop, and the shop assistant gives you a smile when you enter. “Could I get… 17 cat plushies?”

“This is for Yang Jungwon, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“He said the same thing when he came in yesterday to get 16 polar bear plushies for you,” she says, taking the toys and putting them into a basket. You have a nice conversation with her before you leave the shop with a large bag holding exactly 17 cat plushies.

You notice multiple things when you’re in the audience. Jiwon has a stuffed animal of a tiger in her lap that she throws out onto the ice when Jongseob skates. She also gives you a look as if to tell you not to tease her about it. You also see tons of people holding cat plushies, ready to throw onto the ice after Jungwon skates, and you’re one of those people too.

You also notice the passion Jungwon now has for skating. He commands the ice, moving fluidly across the rink – Jungwon is a phenomenal skater. Goosebumps rise up on your skin, and you don’t think any other skater has been able to convey emotions to the audience this effectively.

Like you, Jungwon qualifies for a spot on the Olympic team.

He gazes at you as you throw cat plushies onto the ice, and a fond smile spreads across his lips. “17?” he mouths at you, and you nod.

Jungwon wonders if your heart’s beating as fast as his.

Little does he know, it is.

SIXTEEN. born to skate

Just being able to go to the Olympics is truly sensational.

You weren’t even able to fully process it until you saw a staff member walk up to you and hand you your Olympic security pass. Your name’s on it, along with the 2026 Milano Cortina logo on the right – and under your name, it says athlete.

You can’t believe a security pass might actually make you burst into tears.

Jungwon hangs his security pass over his neck, and then turns to look at you. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod. “Yeah,” you reply. “It’s just kind of crazy. I’m going to compete at the Olympics – Wonie, oh my god. I’m an Olympian.”

“You are,” he says. He takes your hand, locking his fingers with yours and gives your hand a tight squeeze. The mere action makes your face feel hot, your heart beating in your chest incredibly fast. “You’ll do great, don’t worry.”

“You will too,” you say, beaming at him. You don’t want him to let go of your hand. Jungwon doesn’t want to let go either.

He only let go when Jongseob and Jiwon were walking towards you two.

That aside, time seems to go by faster for some reason. You arrived in Italy 2 days before the men’s short program event, and today’s already the day. Jungwon changes into his costume, and zips on the South Korea team jacket before he leaves the changing room.

“You ready?” you ask him.

“Yeah. I'm a little nervous, but it’ll go away when I start skating.” he replies, and you smile. “You’ve got this, Won.” you say, pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Before he starts skating, Jungwon looks into the crowd to spot where you’re seated. You give him a thumbs up, and he smiles softly before getting into his starting position.

Jungwon has missed the Olympic ice.

In the crowd, you notice how Jungwon’s skating even better than he did at Nationals. He skates with pure emotion – as if this skate could very well be his last.

Then the realisation hits you like a truck.

If Jungwon did decide to retire, sticking with his original plans – this would be his last competitive short program, ever. And now every move he makes on the ice seems to have a whole new meaning for you.

He skates like he’s got everything on the line. Time and time again, Jungwon tells the audience that he was born to skate – but this performance proves it. Every jump, every spin, every transition, every choreo sequence and every step sequence is executed to absolute perfection.

Yang Jungwon is a master of his craft. Nobody can doubt that.

Nobody will doubt that after this performance.

Jungwon has sacrificed hours, days, months and years to produce a performance like this. He has never felt such fulfilment, such satisfaction after skating – the only word he can use to describe how he feels after his skate is that he is proud.

He is proud that he was able to put out a performance like that. He is proud that he’ll be recognised for an impeccable short program. But most importantly, he is proud that he delivered a program of such quality whilst enjoying every moment he had on that Olympic ice.

And when the scores are announced, saying that he is currently in first, Jungwon doesn’t think he’s ever felt happier. Irene hugs him tightly, and Jungwon’s practically shaking in disbelief.

Nobody beats his short program score for the night. Jungwon knows the medal is just within his reach.

Feeling victory finally feels good, and Jungwon hasn’t even won yet.

When you rush up to him immediately after he exits his changing room, you wrap him in a huge hug, and at first, he’s startled by your action. But he immediately hugs you back, his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink that he knows he’ll get teased about if Harua sees it.

“Won, that was incredible!” you could gush over his performance for hours and hours on end. “You were absolutely mesmerising. The image you were painting inside my head – all of our heads! It was so vivid. I felt like I could feel what you felt as you were skating. Everyone was blown away. You’re absolutely sensational.”

Jungwon thinks of you in an incredibly high regard. So hearing these words from you makes his eyes well up slightly with tears, and you immediately notice.

“Don’t cry!” you say, wrapping him in another hug. “I just needed you to know how incredible you are.”

Jungwon needs you to know how incredible you are as well.

He feels nothing but warmth as he’s in your embrace, and truly, perhaps this is what Jungwon thinks he might call love. Because you care for him in a way that nobody else has. You didn’t know him well at the time, but still offered to try and get him to enjoy skating again. You push him to be a better skater, and a better person – and Jungwon didn’t think he knew what love was.

But now he thinks he does.

Quite simply, love is you.

And he cares for you more than he cares about anyone else, even if he thinks that he is terrible at showing it. He isn’t the best when it comes to love, or relationships – but he’s learning. He’s learning all because of you.

In less than one year, you have changed Jungwon’s life entirely.

You’ve taught him how to have fun skating again. You’ve taught him to allow himself to loosen up, and not let pressure define him. You’ve also taught him what it’s like to be loved. And how to love.

Jungwon doesn’t know if this is a stretch, but he feels like you might’ve quite literally saved him. Jungwon is forever grateful for the fact that you walked into his life the moment he needed someone like you.

And Jungwon is more than sure that he indeed does love you.

Jungwon feels relief when he finally admits it to himself. Perhaps it’s because deep down, he knew that he loved you all this time – he just didn’t exactly confront himself about his feelings.

With you by his side, Jungwon feels like an Olympic gold medalist already.

SEVENTEEN. olympic ice

The free skate rolls around faster than Jungwon thought.

But he thinks that he’s prepared. He’ll give it his all tonight. He doesn’t even think about the upcoming decision he has to make about his career – he personally believes that the idea that he could possibly win Olympic gold feels a little more important than that.

He knows you’re in the crowd, watching him. It gives him an extra boost of confidence. Jungwon doesn’t realise this until now, but he seems to skate better when you’re in the audience. Perhaps you’re his lucky charm.

He’s last to skate, being first in the short program. Jungwon’s fully focused during the couple minutes of warm up, jumping a triple axel that he manages to land well, and a quad toe that he finds is a little shaky on the landing, but he’ll try and land it cleanly in the actual program.

Over the speaker, it’s announced that the warmup time is over. Jungwon and some of the other skaters leave the ice, and the first person skating in the group starts his program.

Whilst the other skater performs, Jungwon runs through his entire program in his head. He can’t let the pressure get to him – he knows he’ll do worse. He reminds himself to have fun. He’ll be skating on Olympic ice for possibly the last time ever, so he knows that he’ll have to make this count.

Your words ring in his head as he waits for the skaters before him to finish performing their programs. Skating is something that is meant to be enjoyed with the audience.

Jungwon decides that he will enjoy every minute and every second of it.

Irene gives him a thumbs up before he skates out to the centre of the rink. “You’ve got this, Jungwon. Stay focused, stay calm.” she tells him, and Jungwon nods.

“You go kill it out there.” she says, smiling at him.

Jungwon skates off, and Irene just has the proudest look on her face. She knows that this could very well be the last competitive skate of Jungwon’s life. No matter the result, she would be proud – Yang Jungwon has accomplished so much in his career at the age of 22.

“Last to skate: Yang Jungwon, of South Korea!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, Jungwon raising his arms above his head. He lets them fall back down by his sides, doing a couple twizzles around the rink before skating into the centre.

He gets into his starting position, and the music starts.

He’s done this program tons and tons of times before. He knows exactly what to do at the exact second, twirling across the ice gracefully. First, is the quad lutz.

You hold your breath in anticipation as he sets up the jump, taking off – and he lands it.

With one jump, Jungwon makes the crowd go absolutely crazy. Their shouts die down soon after, allowing Jungwon to listen to the music so he knows when and what he needs to do next.

He successfully lands more jumps, including a quad salchow-quad toe loop combo that he’s able to land flawlessly. Everything is going well, Jungwon thinks.

As he skates beautiful transitions on the ice, you catch his eye. You’re gazing right at him with the softest look on your face, and Jungwon thinks his heart might melt. You nod at him, as a way to tell him that he’s doing great.

Jungwon doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know how, but in the middle of his Olympic free skate, he feels more compelled to confess his feelings for you than ever.

He knows that he just has to tell you.

When he realised he liked you, he decided that he had to wait for the right time to confess. He didn’t exactly know when the right time would be, or if he would ever even find the right time. He also certainly didn’t expect it to be right in the middle of his free skate.

But everything is crystal clear. Jungwon knows it’s the right time, and he can’t exactly shout out that he loves you when he’s currently preparing to jump a triple axel, but he knows the second he’s able to, he will.

It’s as if time slows, and you’re the only one in the audience. Jungwon only sees you. You two are just in your little bubble – just you, him, and the ice.

Jungwon skates with so much power, and so much emotion, trying to express every word he wants to say to you, but with his skating. The crowd’s cheers get louder every time Jungwon lands a jump, and it only gives Jungwon motivation to keep getting better and better.

Olympic gold is so close. If he just reached up and grabbed it, the shining gold plaque would be right in his hands – and Jungwon knows that he cannot let that slip away between his fingers. His whole life has led up to this moment. Falling in love with the ice, then finding that he had let himself hate it, and then trying to ignite that love and passion he had for skating once more. All of this, allowed for him to skate the cleanest program he’s ever skated at the world’s biggest stage for figure skating.

The music ends, and the crowd erupts with cheers. Jungwon stands there, shocked and still in his ending position. He feels like he can’t move.

He can’t believe it.

Did he just win Olympic gold?

Countless cat plushies fall onto the ice around him as Jungwon just bursts into tears. Irene’s crying as well, tears of joy streaming down on her face as she claps. Jungwon tries to spot you in the crowd, and when he does, he sees you jumping up and down excitedly with Jiwon, and you just look so incredibly happy for him.

After the toughest years of his career, fighting to try and keep going in a sport he loved no longer, Jungwon is finally able to love figure skating again, and he might have just won Olympic gold in the process.

He’s still in shock when he leaves the rink, and Irene pulls him into the tightest hug she’s ever given him, as Jungwon cries into her shoulder. “You did it.” she says.

“I did it.” he says – he can’t even believe the words he just said. He heads to the Kiss and Cry with Irene, pulling out tissues from his tissue box nonstop to wipe his tears away.

Jungwon waits in the Kiss and Cry for his scores – he knows that he’s won. He just needs the scores to confirm it.

And sure enough, mere minutes later, Yang Jungwon is announced as the 2026 men’s Olympic figure skating champion.

Jungwon can’t stop crying. Tears just keep falling down his cheeks as he bows to everyone. He can’t even use the word joy to describe what he’s feeling. He never thought he could feel this happy after winning a competition.

If you told Jungwon months ago that he’d be crying tears of joy after winning a competition, he most certainly wouldn’t have believed you.

The venue ceremony is soon. So soon to the point where Jungwon isn’t even able to come up to you and tell you how he feels. He’ll do it as soon as the ceremony is over.

As Jungwon steps onto the highest block on the podium, he’s still in disbelief. It isn’t until the medal actually gets hung around his neck, and he touches the shiny golden plaque. He’s not just Olympian Yang Jungwon. He’s not just 2025 World champion Yang Jungwon. He’s not just 6 time National champion Yang Jungwon.

Now, he’s also Olympic champion Yang Jungwon.

Falling back in love with skating was hard. Sometimes he felt like simply just giving up was the easier option – but now with the Olympic gold medal right in his hands, Jungwon knows that pushing through it was the right thing to do. He’s never been more sure of that.

Jungwon has also never been more sure about the fact that he loves you, and he desperately needs to tell you. As soon as the venue ceremony is over, Jungwon rushes out of the rink, quickly changing from his skates to his regular training shoes – he doesn’t even bother to change out of his free skate costume.

He finds you standing outside of his changing room, and before you can say anything, he wraps you in the tightest hug ever. He holds you like you’re oxygen, and he’s struggling to breathe.

When he pulls away from the hug, with the gold medal dangling around his neck, he grasps ahold of your hands. “Jungwon, you did it.” you say, tears welling in your eyes.

“I have to tell you something.” he murmurs. He opens the door of his changing room, pulling you in with him as he shuts the door. “What is it?” you ask.

“I love you.”

Your eyes widen.

“I have never, ever known what it’s like to love someone. Even figuring out that I liked you was so hard – because I knew that I felt differently when I was around you, but I couldn’t exactly pinpoint it on what it was. Then, I was told I had a crush on you. I liked you. And that seemed right. Liking you seemed right.” he says, as you let his words sink in. “I was going to wait until I found the right time to tell you that I liked you. But two days ago, I realised that my feelings towards you seem to be more than like. Love. Yes. I love you.” he says, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Saying it sounds right. Saying it now feels right. And I don’t know if you would feel the same way – but I just saw you in the crowd as I was skating today, and I just knew I had to tell you.”

Jungwon can’t exactly read your reaction until you pull him into a hug.

“I love you too.” you say.

Jungwon feels like he’s on top of the world. Four simple words managed to make him even happier than he already was after winning the Olympics – he feels like his heart is about to burst at the seams, and he can’t hide the bright grin on his lips.

“That’s… that’s nice. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same,” Jungwon confesses, and you frown, cupping his cheeks as you wipe his tears away with the pad of your thumb. “Why wouldn’t I feel the same way, Jungwon?”

“I don’t know.”

You smile softly at him. “I realised that I liked you after we went to the ramen shop that Harua had suggested to us.”

“You realised earlier than me, then.” Jungwon chuckles.

“I guess so.”

Jungwon can’t believe he only just realised the close proximity between your faces. Your gaze travels to his lips, before you look back up at his eyes. “Can I kiss you?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Jungwon whispers back.

You lean in, connecting your lips with his, and warmth just blooms across Jungwon’s chest, his cheeks, and all the way to the tip of his ears. He can taste the mint flavoured lip balm that he always sees you put on, and it’s only when you pull away that Jungwon realises that it was his first kiss.

You smile at him brightly, and Jungwon mirrors the expression on your face. It’s hard not to smile when he sees you – you just make him so incredibly happy. Jungwon knows that you make him happier than any Olympic gold ever would.

The sweet moment is cut short when Jungwon’s whisked away to the press conference, and you tell him that you’ll be seated in the crowd to watch. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek before running off, his cheeks tinted bright red as you chuckle at his reaction.

��How do you feel after a wildly successful season like this, Jungwon?” a reporter asks, and Jungwon thinks about what is the best way to answer his question.

“This was… a tough season for me mentally.” he says into the microphone. “In all honesty, I fell out of love with figure skating quite some time ago. Going into this season, I was certain that I was going to retire after the Olympics.”

Every single person in the room looks at him with wide eyes.

“But, during the off season, I was lucky enough to meet someone who helped me start enjoying it again.” he says, looking directly at you. “They taught me that above all, I should be enjoying myself while I skate, instead of focusing on the pressures to win and do well.”

“I don’t think I expected to do as well as I did all season,” Jungwon says earnestly. “But I realised that the more I enjoyed skating, the better I did. I think coming into the Olympics, I just tried to focus on having fun and showing the audience my best. Because of this, I think that’s why I was able to do well.”

“So will this be your last competition?”

Jungwon presses his lips together in a thin line, as if he’s still unsure about what decision he’s going to make. But when he locks eyes with you, it’s like everything clicks into place. He knows what he wants. He wants to skate.

“It’s not my last competition,” he says. “I’m going to keep competing. At least for a little while longer. I realised that I can’t exactly let go of the ice this soon when I’ve just started loving it again.”

As he says that into the microphone, Jungwon knows that it’s the right call. There’s a proud smile on your lips, and Jungwon returns the gesture.

The ice finally feels like home once more. But, Jungwon also realises that home is also wherever you are.

#enhypenwriters #kflixnet #enhypennetwork #k-labels #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen scenarios #enhypen au #enhypen x reader #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #jungwon fluff #jungwon angst #jungwon scenarios #jungwon au #jungwon x reader #⛸️ kiss and cry!

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sanjoongie · 3 years ago

Text

Bestie

ღPairing: Yunho x Reader (f)

ღGenre: non-idol au, Yunho and reader are besties

ღWarnings: male dom/female reader sub, choking, spitting, clit rubbing, pantie gag, rough angry unsafe sex, male orgasm, female orgasm, dirty talk, degradation kink, spanking, male receiving oral, cum swallowing

ღWord count: 3,575

ღRated: 18+, smut, angst if you squint

ღSummery: Yunho is tired of being your best friend and is looking for something more. Luckily, he's got something you want too

ღDedicated to my sunshine @mejuii because without her I would not be writing this {Sorry Yunho, my bestie, she made me do it} Happy Birthday Yunho~

Today was Yunho’s birthday and you were especially excited to be celebrating it with your best friend. Yunho, being the nice guy and social butterfly that he was, usually needed to rent out an air bnb to house all the partygoers when he threw his birthday parties. So, you as the loyal hoe you were, went out to get Yunho’s cake, the one he forgot to order for his own damn self. You had just pushed the large sheet cake on top of the marble countertop, after fighting with the backdoor on this particularly stormy day.

Yunho bursts through the doorway separating the posh kitchen from the large entry way. “Hey Bestie, how’s the birthday go……...ing?” Your mouth drops a bit and you almost forget to finish your question as Yunho walks into the room.

Normally, your bff was sporting casual gear and fluffy hair, but today was a completely different story. He was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, with his hair pushed back just so. That alone would have been enough to mess with you. But it was the angry look on his face that shook you to your core. You and Yunho had been friends for a long time and had never fought, not to that extent. By the look on Yunho’s face, he was about to make the thunderclouds envious of his fury.

Yunho is curt with you and every bit accusatory. “Where have you been? And could you please call me by my name today? It is my birthday after all.”

Your eyes widen and you're starting to feel a bit hurt. Where was all this reserved rage coming from and why was it being directed to you? So, you go on the defensive. “Where have I been? Oh, I don’t know, maybe picking up the world’s biggest cake so that you can faceplant into it later when you’re beyond drunk and enjoying the attention. And I always call you Bestie, what’s up your arse today, geez.”

Yunho took all of two strides with his long legs to plant himself directly in front of you. The anger was practically vibrating through every fiber of his being. And it was still directed towards you. “I am sick and tired of you putting me in that damn box. Today I have decided to give myself a birthday gift.” His eyes softened for a millisecond. That was all the warning you got before he bent down and kissed you.

His lips touch yours and you freeze. You were expecting soft and shy, because Yunho at his core is a soft, shy guy. But instead what you got from him was a ravenous hunger for your lips and a hand gripping the back of your neck.

You push him away with all your might, which is nothing compared to the tall, broad-shouldered boy who was kissing you, but you did it nonetheless. Now, the best friend that you knew and loved would have totally pulled away, laughing and telling you that it had just been a dare from San. But this Yunho, whoever he was, was not laughing. In fact, Yunho gently bit down on your lip and pulled it a bit before letting go. His eyes focused on you, dark and secretive, unlike anything you had ever experienced.

“What the hell was that, Yunho?” You yell, pushing at his chest even more.

“That was the past ten years of built up frustration,” Yunho sighs heavily but doesn’t budge.

You did not like the sound of that. “Well great, is that what you do to Wooyoung when he pisses you off too?”

Yunho runs a hand through his hair. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

"What is there to get?" You demand angrily.

Yunho speaks in a low tone as he slowly backs you into the cupboards. "I don't want to kiss Wooyoung, I want to kiss you. I want every single one of my friends to stop mocking me because you literally act like my girlfriend and yet you don't even see me as a man. Must I always be the puppy to you? Can't I be angry instead of always cheering you up? What if I want to be pissed and drunk? Can't I, just on my birthday? Then I can go back to being your golden bestie."

Except, even though everything Yunho had just said was about him saying fuck you to you, his hands had found their way along your collarbones. His palms were flush against your chest, the fingers splayed out and curling, looking to move up to your neck. And you couldn't move a damn muscle.

"Or," Yunho locks eyes with you and you have never dropped your gaze so quickly in your entire life. There was something about being able to see into his eyes that physically hurt. "You could let me show you what I've been wanting to do since high school when you said Mingi was such a sloppy eater."

It took you a moment for you to realize that Yunho was referring to the time you had complained about Mingi eating you out and not being able to find your clit. He had been like a dog munching down at his bowl. It had been an interesting first sexual encounter. You hadn't actually intended to tell Yunho about it, you didn’t exactly feel right talking to a male about about how his best friend ate you out. BUT you had been drunk one night, and loud, and Yunho had clearly overheard you complaining to your female best friend. That was embarrassing.

“You heard that? Oh god, forget you heard that. Better yet, let’s just put this all behind us, and celebrate your birthday. I promise I’ll call you Yunho all night, just like the birthday boy requested.” You smile but it was strained because Yunho still hadn't backed the fuck off yet.

Yunho’s fingers move up, loosely fitting around your neck, and he uses his thumbs to lift your head up so that you look at him. “If you’re taking requests, I have something else in mind.”

Your eyes settle on his right ear instead, to stay away from his eyes. “What are you doing?” You can’t help but whisper.

“Please, just look into my eyes.”

“Don’t do this, Yunho,” You beg.

“If I don’t do this right now, I’ll never do it, and I think I’m going to regret it,” Yunho admits.

You hear the tiny bit of loss in his voice and you can’t help but glance upwards to meet his eyes. Yunho has a small, sad smile on his face and it makes you frown immediately. As his best friend, you want to do whatever it takes to remove that look off of his face. He doesn’t deserve to be so sad on his birthday.

That was your first mistake.

Yunho’s tongue curls around his upper teeth, a slight smirk pulling the corners of his lips upwards. "You do wanna hear what I have in mind, don't you?" Fear must have shown in your eyes because Yunho’s smirk became a full fledged one. "I wanna hold you in place with my hands around your neck as I fuck you against these cupboards. I want you to scream my name so loud, that Seonghwa runs in here worried and catches us in the act. I want you to succumb to my every desire."

You gulp and you wince how it echoes throughout the kitchen like a mating call. Your whole body is tingling with excitement. You can't help what comes out of your mouth next. "You're willing to be rough with me?"

Yunho raises an eyebrow in question, "What, like you've asked before?"

You nod eagerly, "Everyone keeps saying they'll hurt me more than I think I want."

Yunho’s fingers tighten ever so slightly along your neck, and you gasp, as if you're ready to hold in your breath. Yunho appears amused at this. "You really just want someone to own you, don't you?"

"I--" You don't really know how to own up to that. "I want someone to take me."

"We need a safe word," Yunho says in a raspy voice, getting turned on with each sentence you say.

"You need a safe word," You quietly correct him.

"Me? Are you saying you're willing to go harder than I can?"

Your eyes are back to the floor now. This was a bit much for you. "Just pick something!" You whine.

"Hmmm," Yunho tips your head to the side and kisses the place just below your jaw but above his fingers. "What should my safe word be?" His tongue comes out between the kisses, sneaky little thing it is. Then he starts to suck harshly where he's kissed and you groan. "How about cake?"

"Fine fine, just, quickly before someone looks for us!"

You don't see it but Yunho’s eyes flash with anger. He doesn't like this attitude now. "I've changed my mind."

"What?" If you wanna be honest, you're having a bit of a hard time focusing with his hands around your neck.

"Open your mouth," Yunho demands. You open your mouth, obediently sticking your tongue out. "I'm going to spit in your whore mouth and then you're going to swallow it like the dutiful little brat you are. Then you will be mine until the sun rises. And I do not want to hear any form of the word no. Do you understand?"

You nod and Yunho spits onto your tongue. You swallow it exactly how he instructs and you keep your eyes lowered. "Yes. What now, Sir…?"

Yunho turns your body around so that your back is flush with his chest. You watch as his hands hover over and follow the plunge of your neckline. He doesn't touch you as he moves along the planes of your stomach and you hold your breath.

Yunho’s voice is gravelly as he says into your ear, "Hongjoong couldn't shut up one night about how fucking tight you were during that week we all went to Cabo. And not that I like to brag but you're going to need all the help you can get with me so…" Yunho puts both of his hands on top of your thighs, fingers languidly moving to pull your dress up. Your thighs are slowly revealed, followed by your crotch which happened to be covered in cotton pink underwear. "Cute," Yunho laughs into your ear and you wince. You had not planned on anyone seeing you without your dress on tonight.

"Yunho," You huff, head turned so you could tuck your chin into your shoulder.

"What?" God, you could hear the smirk in his voice, "Getting impatient for my fingers?" You purse your lips because you can't say no but you're too proud to say yes.

Oh, but Yunho doesn't like your lack of response. So he gets a big handful of your underwear, and with a resounding ripping noise, yanked them clean from your body.

"What the hell?!" You yell.

"Open your mouth, pretty baby," Yunho coos and you do what you're told even though your inner thighs and ass cheeks are stinging from Yunho literally ripping your underwear from your body. Yunho shoves your underwear into your mouth. "You're going to need this."

Yunho sucks on his index and middle finger before he mercilessly rubs your clit, those beautiful fingers of his making a maddening circle that make you push your pelvis forward. "Weren't you just telling me to stop? You sure you wanna come on my fingers now?"

You whine and breath deeply through your nose. Yunho was teasing you and it was driving you wild. "Patience isn't your strong suit, isn't it?"

You roll your hips, whimpering for more. Yunho obliges you, rubbing harder. But he needs a better angle so he lifts one of your legs up. With your clit more fully exposed, Yunho was able to coat one single index finger in your juices and then swipe back and forth along that swollen clit of yours. The direct contact would have made you hiss if you didn't have underwear in your mouth. With the speed and pressure, Yunho abuses your pussy so that you can enjoy that fine line of pleasure and pain. He almost stops when you stop whimpering but when your spine goes ramrod straight, Yunho knows he's done the right thing by you.

Your climax rips through your body, radiating from your lower half and lapping at your fingertips. You're still whining as you come down from your high. In between your legs you are an absolute mess. You are swollen, sensitive beyond measure and still tensing from the pleasure.

"That's it, pretty baby. Look how well you came on my fingers. I bet your pussy is just clenching, thinking about my cock inside of you."

You gulp at Yunho’s dirty talk. It's like he knew exactly what you liked to hear. You whine for him to remove the underwear and he agrees. If he was just about to split you apart, he definitely wants to hear you singing his name.

"...how?" You really, really try not to be as fucked out as you are right now but Yunho really edged you in the best way. How was he going to fuck you because you weren't sure you were going to be making any coherent thoughts anytime soon.

"I can make it easy for you, how about that?" Yunho pushes his fingers into your mouth and you clean them like it was natural.

You nod eagerly and that, coupled with his fingers in your mouth, and your eyes looking at him, is enough to make Yunho groan. "I can't wait any longer."

Yunho places his hands around your waist and lifts you onto the counter top, not that far from the cake you had slid on top. Your upper half is squished against the marble and your lower half is hanging off. With zero underwear and a very wet pussy, Yunho has no trouble stretching you to the max. But boy, did you feel fucking full. No, full implied you could take more, but you were pretty sure from Yunho’s first shallow thrusts, that he had more to push into you.

You try to wiggle your hips to get that extra more but Yunho presses firmly on your lower back. "Not yet," he says and he sounds a little strained.

"Please!" You begin the begging. "I want more. Fuck me so hard I have finger bruises on my hips where you held me. Fuck me so fast that I'm gasping for air between chanting your name. Fuck me with a fistful of hair pulling back. Please, Yunho, please."

Your last mistake was this monologue. Yunho can't hold back anymore, not with those mental pictures. Normally, he's terrified of hurting any girl with his thrusts. He's heard complaints about being too big, it's true, I promise. And with you, he probably would have held back, if not for that one look of yours that begged to be hurt but terrified of how it would be coming from him. Yunho had one chance to show you that he could be everything you wanted.

Yunho fucks you, rocking into you from behind and it's like the best thing since sliced bread. The way he's hitting you within, that gasp you do because it feels so good, you don't know if you have the breath to keep going. It's a bad angle for him to hit your g spot, but hitting your uterus walls was a whole other pleasure.

All you can do is keen at how good it all feels. You're not even thinking about how anyone could walk in and know exactly what's happening. You're not thinking about Yeosang holding this over your head for the next foreseeable five years or more. The only thing you're thinking about is getting that orgasm you're chasing.

"Mmmm Yunho, it feels so good, please don't stop, I'm so close."

Not that Yunho didn't want you whining and begging under him, but his brains kicked in at that moment. What if…

Yunho, with a lot of perseverance, pulled himself out of you. You're a scrambled ball of want right now so you cannot do anything but wait and see what the birthday boy wants.

You feel his fingers admire your ass and then a resounding smack fills the kitchen. You can only feel the slight pain but Yunho didn't realize how much he'd enjoy seeing his hand print on your ass. "Off the counter," he commands abruptly.

You wiggle but whose got energy after this up and down roller-coaster which is sex with dominating Yunho? So the tall boy helps you slide down. That makes you moan as your ass slides down the roughness of his pants. You can only manage to bend your legs under you as you sit on the floor. It's a long way to look up to Yunho, your dress spread over your legs, making you look innocent for a moment.

Yunho cups the side of your head tenderly. Before he had the daydreams of making you scream his name, his heartstrings had tugged when you had hugged him for the first time. Yunho was head over heels in love with you but the lust would have to do, for now.

"What I wouldn't give to just rub one out and bukake you right now," Yunho says in a rough and low voice.

You giggle softly, "You watch way too much Hentai, you weeb."

His hand moves to your chin, pulling your lower lip down with his thumb, "Open up," he demands.

You pout. Now you know you aren't getting your second orgasm. "Really?!"

Yunho is at the height of his glory. His proud face looks down at you, dark eyes commanding and tempting. You genuinely want this man to ruin you, time and time again. "Really," he replies firmly.

You open and Yunho slides his cock between your lips. You hollow out your cheeks immediately, bobbing along his length experimentally. If you thought he was big inside of you, he seemed even bigger in your mouth. If Yunho got out of control… You grin, internally at least. He didn't know what he was about to get.

The moan that comes from Yunho is almost worthy of recording for some personal time. Partly it's the blow job, but the other part is the visual. You're on your knees for him, looking up at him as his dick disappears in your mouth; he has to dig half-moons into his palms so he doesn't come right then and there.

But you don't let it stay cute for long. Eventually Yunho loses his control. His eyes are tightly shut and his thrusting is out of control. He is hitting the back of your throat and then he is moving far down enough to make you choke. You have to time your breathing with his thrusts, and even with that knowledge, you still choke.

"Oh fuck, you're gonna swallow right?" Yunho opens his eyes to see if you nod or shake your head and he stops abruptly. Yes, he wants to see you debauched and crumbling for him, but it's the tears at the corner of your eyes that gets him. Next, he quietly murmurs, "Cake."

You let Yunho leave your mouth with a resounding pop. You smile happily. "Told you so."

Yunho still narrows his eyes at you, making you even more smug. "Who said I was done?"

You roll your eyes, "Fine, I'll finish it."

You grab two fistfuls of his trousers, and force him down your throat. You deep throat Yunho until he is a whimpering mess. He holds onto your shoulders for dear life as he spills his seed down your throat. You swallow and swallow for ages before Yunho pulls out due to sensitivity. You wipe the corners of your mouth in satisfaction. "Now how is that for a birthday gift?"

Yunho is a bit starstruck right now. He was the one with the fucked out expression but he smiles tiredly. "Better than my daydreams."

You stand up and pat his head, "That's nice, Bestie."

That earns you a second slap on the other ass cheek. Matching big ass hand prints on each cheek was kind of a gift too, right?

"Yunho!" You cry out in indignation.

"Why are you teasing her, didn't she just buy your forgetful ass a whole cake?" Hongjoong announces his entrance into the kitchen.

You quickly shove some cake into your mouth, terrified you'll blurt out what had just happened out of sheer panic and your tendency to always utter the truth. Yunho grabs your hand as you go to take a second helping, putting those fingers in his mouth and swirling his tongue around them for the frosting.

"Really you two? Eating the cake before we even blow out the candles?" Hongjoong rolls his eyes dramatically before leaving the kitchen, not noting the sexual tension in the room at all.

"You're an asshole, Jung Yunho," You mutter under your breath, snatching back your hand.

Yunho picks up some icing with his index finger and swipes it playfully on your nose. "And you wouldn't have it any other way."

There was no fucking way Yunho wasn't going to ask for a part two…you were his until sunrise after all.

#ksmutclub #kvanity #ateez smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez scenarios #jeong yunho scenarios #ღatz #why am i such a nice guy #writing stuff for my besties about my besties #nice guys really never win lmao #topaz's work

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healinghyunjin · 3 years ago

Text

Moonlight

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader (fem)

Genre: smut, romance, fluff, crack(?); historical!AU, arranged marriage!AU, 18+ (this continues where my last fic, Moonrise, leaves off, so this is almost PWP lol - be warned!!)

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, switch dynamics

Author’s Note: As soon as Play With Fire dropped, I knew I had to finish out that cliffhanger from Moonrise. This is very rushed by my standards, so please excuse any egregious errors or mistakes. My writing here is very much based off the energy/vibes I’ve been running off from the cover, so if Hyunjin’s character here is a little OOC from how he was depicted in Moonrise - please forgive me [there’s also a detail I couldn’t leave out of this from the video lol, idk if that makes this crack]!! This is thirsty and smutty as HELL - so have your holy water ready (and if this is not your thing, please just keep scrolling!).

Taglist: @the7thcrow @ohmysparkle @dreamofamor @tenclouds @honeydewhyunjinnie

And finally: Just to repeat what others have said: if you enjoy reading fics on this site, please reblog them and interact with the writers! Yes, a lot of us try to be “writing for ourselves,” but plotting, outlining, and writing longer, more detailed fics can take days, weeks, and even months’ worth of effort. Even quick messages or asks can really make our day and give us the motivation to keep writing. So please - reblog, engage, and slide into our DMs!!

While you could *maybe* read this standalone for just the smut, I would suggest that you read Moonrise first (linked here!) for more context, characterization and plot (along with the first part of the smut scene lol)!!

You felt fire blazing through your veins as you gazed down at your husband – your lover – laying beneath you, head lolled back against the pillows as you trailed your fingers down his throat.

You’d just managed to get the laces of Hyunjin’s doublet undone, hands trembling from urgency, from the need to see, to touch, to feel. Now, having hastily disposed of it, you were left with your husband clad simply in a thin, white shirt, tantalizing flashes of skin peeking through with every rise and fall of his chest.

You’d thought that there was no greater pleasure than laying under Hyunjin, trembling in his arms and submitting to him as he lovingly, passionately wrecked you. Now that he had let you take the reins however, wanting you to feel more comfortable with his body – you found that the thought of dictating, directing his pleasure; the thought of having the freedom to do whatever you wanted to him…it did things to your insides.

You’d never thought that unselfishly giving someone pleasure could give you the same high that receiving pleasure yourself could – and you wanted more.

Crawling back over him, you straddled his hips and laid yourself, still naked, on top of his chest, hissing as your sensitized nipples caught against the fabric of his shirt.

Tugging at the neckline of his shirt – and ripping off a few buttons in the process – you exposed more and more of his skin to the hazy moonlight. Hyunjin looked like an angel, dragged out of heaven by your own hands – his plump lips swollen from your kisses, his hair a wild mess from your fingers, his clothing torn from his body by your lecherous hands.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Hyunjin squeezed out, clearly affected by your advances – and the slow, seemingly careless motion of your hips rubbing down on his. Still, you clucked your tongue in disapproval – he’d had managed to render you speechless earlier, but you clearly hadn’t done as good of a job – yet.

“Not as much as you’ll be in a few minutes.” With that, you dived into his neck, clumsily but fervently worshipping the dips of his collarbones, the smooth column of his throat – nipping and biting at the supple flesh – marking him just as he’d done to you earlier.

Underneath you, Hyunjin was losing his mind. The feeling of your lips sucking on his, your hips rolling against his, your body on top of his – everything felt so new, so wanton. It felt strange for him to give up control – to just lay there and be pleasured like this. Here, in your arms, he didn’t have to be a king anymore, he didn’t have to be Hwang Hyunjin anymore – he was just a man, passionately being loved on by his woman.

He couldn’t get enough. And he just hoped, prayed that he wouldn’t explode in his pants before you even got there.

“Ugh, this needs to come off.” Detaching yourself from his throat, you sat up on him, furiously undoing the remaining buttons holding his shirt closed. In the process, you inadvertently ground your core into his dick, almost your full body weight driving the motion.

Hyunjin choked, hips bucking up involuntarily.

You bit your lip, trying to hide your satisfaction at that delicious ridge once again digging into where you wanted it the most. But, as you felt your husband’s hands trying to sneak up onto your waist, attempting to grind you down onto him again, you lightly slapped his hands away, playfully frowning down at him.

You called the shots here – and you couldn’t have him distracting you if you were going to get this shirt unbuttoned any time soon.

“Love, you’re so mean. I wasn’t this mean to you,” Hyunjin pouted, his expression contrasting hilariously with just how lewd, how fucked out the rest of his body looked. “I took such good care of you, and this is what I get in re-”

His whining cut off sharply as he realized that you’d finally gotten his shirt fully unbuttoned – and your eyes were fixed on his stomach, your lips curling up in a slow, wicked smile.

As you’d predicted from the feeling of his body pressed up against yours, Hyunjin had a beautiful set of abs: well-defined, tight and toned – so gorgeous that you wanted to outline them with your tongue, pay court to them with your lips.

But – there, right in the middle, twinkling prettily in the moonlight, was a dainty little piece of jewelry, one that you’d never expected your husband of all people to have.

“Hyunjin,” you gushed, a smug, shit-eating grin plastered across your face. “What is this?”

He blushed – violently. You watched, fascinated, as a warm flush suffused his skin, painting his ears, his cheeks, his chest a pretty, vibrant shade of red.

“It-it was just a bet! Jisung dared me to get it a little while ago, and I didn’t want to chicken out…”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the piercing. It was the first time you’d ever seen anything like it on a man, but it just fit Hyunjin – your elegant, beautiful husband – so well.

It looked so breathtakingly, so devastatingly sexy on him that you just had to do something about it.

You tapped his thighs, and Hyunjin obediently parted his legs for you, eagerly anticipating what you would be doing next. As you prowled down between his thighs, you kneeled, bending so that you had easy access to his lower stomach – and his crotch.

“Does it hurt at all? Like is it sore or anything?”

“No, I don’t think s-oh!” Hyunjin broke off in a loud gasp when your tongue immediately made contact with the taut skin of his belly button, softly licking a wet stripe around the cold piece of metal.

“Tell me if anything I do hurts or bothers it, okay?” Hyunjin quickly nodded before he was forced to fling an arm across his face, moaning as you went to town on him.

You had to work the skin of his stomach a little hard to get the beautiful purple bruises you wanted, but it didn’t seem like Hyunjin minded very much at all. To the contrary, his moans only started getting more and more breathy, more high-pitched as you worked your magic, painting the hollows of his abs with marks of your love.

Once you were satisfied with your artwork, you turned again to that tempting, tantalizing little piercing. You looked up to meet Hyunjin’s gaze, watch his half-lidded, tortured eyes as you softly flicked at the metal bar with your tongue before gently suckling the metal beads at either end.

“How does that feel?” You asked, smirking as you saw Hyunjin panting above you; while you waited for him to catch his breath, you gently massaged the jewelry with your fingertips, feeling his muscles tense and relax under your touch.

“Really, really good – really fucking good,” he moaned out, still on edge from the sensation of your hands on his stomach; so close – but so far – from where he needed them the most.

“But…”

“But what, love?” You asked, teasingly emphasizing the pet name he always used for you. “Is there something you want from me, hmm?”

You smirked to yourself, knowing exactly what Hyunjin needed from you.

Languidly, lazily, you danced your fingers in patterns around his belly button, swooping lower and lower with each pass. The closer you got to Hyunjin’s waistband, the heavier his breathing got.

You fingered the edge of his pants, eyes drawn to the sizable tent struggling against the tight leather. Your curiosity – and desire to keep tormenting Hyunjin – overcame your shyness, so you deliberately traced your fingers over the fabric, moving downwards until your palm rested firmly against his bulge.

It felt…intriguing, a seemingly odd combination of softness and hardness, clearly straining to escape its increasingly tight confines. Biting your lip in curiosity, in desire, you gave it a singular, inquisitive squeeze.

Hyunjin let out his most plaintive moan yet at the added, tortuous pressure, desperate for some relief from the tension. “Please, love, just please…”

“Please what, Hyunjin? You need to tell me what I should do for you, angel.”

You knew you were playing with fire, that you were pushing Hyunjin’s limits with all of your mocking and teasing. But seeing him squirming under you, so obedient, so desperate for your touch – you were willing to get burned for it.

“T-take off my pants,” he groaned out. “Please.”

“There we go,” you smirked, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the skin right above the fabric before bringing your fingers to his pants, swiftly untying the laces and working them and his stockings down his slender hips and legs.

You softly gasped as his length popped free, slapping against his stomach and making Hyunjin hiss in relief. While you had nothing to really compare it to, only two words came to mind for some reason: large, much larger than the fingers he’d fucked you with before – and pretty, just like literally everything else about him. You gently ran your thumb over the weeping, red tip, making Hyunjin moan from sensitivity as you collected the clear fluid on your fingertip.

Hyunjin’s eyes watched you darkly as you brought your finger to your mouth, darting your tongue out to seductively lap the droplets up. You shivered under the intensity of his gaze, a niggling sense at the back of your mind that you were operating on borrowed time. Yes, your husband had seemed more than content to let you have your way with him, giving into all of your teasing and little cruelties with soft, plaintive moans – until now. You had a foreboding feeling that you were steadily approaching the edge, the point after which your world would be flipped again, and your husband would get payback for every groan, every whine you’d wrung out of him – and more.

You tentatively lowered your head once again to Hyunjin’s length, your confidence much lower than before. You were in completely uncharted waters here, so you weren’t sure of what you should do next, how you could best please him.

“If you want, you could spit on it, angel, and then use your hand to work it up and down.” You jerked your head up to see Hyunjin staring down at you, propped against the pillows with a carefully neutral expression on his face.

You realized that, having picked up on your uncertainty, he was giving you the power to decide how your dynamic should evolve from here – whether you would continue to be in charge, dictating his pleasure – or whether he could slowly start taking back over again.

It was such a thoughtful, such a Hyunjin thing for him to do that your heart couldn’t help but melt.

You lunged up into his arms, Hyunjin huffing as he caught you against his chest, a searching but warm look in his eyes. Running your hands up the side of his face, you brought him down for a sweet, tender kiss – no nipping, no biting, just a slow tasting and enjoying of one another. When the two of you finally broke apart, Hyunjin pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, waiting for you to show him how you wanted to go from here.

You didn’t even have to hesitate.

Keeping your eyes locked with his, you wrapped your hand around his wrist, bringing his large, warm palm to the softness of your stomach. From there, you guided his hand to drag up your body bit by bit, passing over your ribcage, through the valley between your breasts, and over your chest, until it arrived at your neck. There, you leaned your head back, allowing him to fully wrap his hand around your throat, the gentle pressure drawing a moan out of your lips.

When you looked back up at him, Hyunjin’s eyes were dark, a small smirk starting to pull at his lips. He deliberately dragged his thumb across the soft skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, before pulling away from you, leaning back serenely against the pillows.

“I think I asked you to do something for me, sweetheart?”

And he was back.

Judging from the volume of Hyunjin’s moans, from the way his thighs clenched and seized under your hands – you were doing a pretty good job for your first time pleasuring a man.

Hyunjin had quickly taught you what he liked: wet, sloppy kisses to the head; long, languid licks up and down the underside, fast bobs up and down with your mouth while thoroughly tonguing his shaft. Now, he had his fingers tangled up in your hair, working your mouth over his length with firm, but gentle strokes.

“You’re doing so well for me, love,” he moaned out, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around his cock driving him to distraction.

“Do you like me using you like this, just for my pleasure?” Looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, you nodded as best as you could, mouth still stuffed full with his cock.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but groan at the sight of you, enthralled by just how fucked out you looked – your wide, teary eyes; drool slowly dripping from the side of your mouth.

“Well, we’re going to have to stop now, angel, unless we want to bring the night to an end too early,” he laughed, gently easing your head off his dick. Once free, you couldn’t help but cough; while your mouth missed the weight of his length, your jaw was sore from hanging open for so long.

Hyunjin’s thumbs came up to your face, softly rubbing your cheeks and jaw to try and ease the strain. He watched you closely with tender eyes.

“Do you need a second, angel?”

You vehemently shook your head. “No!” Hyunjin watched you, amused, as you crawled back up to his side, placing your hand on his chest. “I want more.”

“You want more?” Hyunjin eyed you, a devilish glint in his eyes, as he leaned closer.

“You know, you really were so mean to me earlier, love,” his gaze bore into you as he ever so slowly, tauntingly traced his fingertips up your arm, leaving goosebumps trailing in the wake of his touch.

“And I deserve some retribution, don’t you think?” His fingers had now made it up to your shoulders, heat pooling between your thighs at his words, at the hypnotic feeling of his hand dragging across your chest, straying teasingly close to where you wanted his touch – but leaving you hanging.

You nodded mutely, the sarcastic fire from before gone as you willingly, needily submitted to him, letting him lay you down against the sheets. You couldn’t care less about being in charge – you just craved, ached for the pleasure you knew he could bring you.

But, as Hyunjin prowled over you – his lean, lithe body reminding you of a panther, slyly stalking its prey – you knew you were in for a rough night.

Keeping his body propped up on his hands, depriving you of the gratification of feeling him against you, he leaned his head down to yours, tonguing at the shell of your ear. Smiling at the sound of your whimpers, he softly, sensually whispered to you.

“Well – don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he caught your lips up in a searing, fiery kiss as he pressed his weight down onto you, your two bodies finally entangled in blissful skin-to-skin contact. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let everything slip away that wasn’t him: the heat of his skin against yours, the feeling of his supple flesh, his lean muscle under your hands – the delicious slide of his hard cock, trying to nestle itself into your slickening folds. He had you trapped in a sea of sensation, and he wasn’t going to let you escape any time soon.

“Look at me, angel.” Your eyes flickered open at the sound of his breathy voice, only to be greeted with a sight straight from heaven – or hell – itself.

Hyunjin – his thick hair, mussed and even more wild after your exertions; lips, bruised and plumped up; his eyes, black with lust and hunger.

“Watch me take you apart, love – keep your eyes on me.” And watch you did – you took in the sinfully gorgeous image of his delicate, pianist’s hands torturing your breasts, squeezing them until the flesh overflowed between his fingers. You watched his fingertips, teasingly dancing over the tender bruises he’d painted your chest with, making you whimper at the added pressure. You watched him lower his mouth to your poor, chafed-up nipple, the wet heat of his tongue alternately soothing the pain and riling you up even more. And you watched his eyes, such dark promise, such tempting sin swirling in his gaze that you wondered whether you’d make it through the night in one piece.

“How are you so pretty, my queen?” You shivered as Hyunjin started trailing one of his hands downwards, the cool metal of his bracelets dragging against your skin, making a delicious contrast with the heat of his wet kisses. Instead of heading between your legs however, you were surprised to feel his hand traveling to your side, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his lips.

What was he doing? You had no idea what your husband was planning as he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your hand, the action sending familiar tingles through you.

“I want to try something with you, my love. Do you trust me?” Almost before the words were even completely out of Hyunjin’s mouth, you nodded firmly, bringing a warm smile to his lips.

“I’m glad, angel. Now, what I want to do is…” he squeezed your hand tightly in his as he shifted, his toned thighs flexing powerfully as he moved to kneel between your legs.

He reached up to hold your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes directly on his. “I want you to touch yourself for me, love. I want you to feel how tight your pretty little pussy is, how wet and ready it is for me.” He leaned up to press a sweet kiss to your lips, staying close so he could read your expression.

“Is that something you’d want to do?”

“Y-yeah, I want to.” You’d do anything he asked of you. You’d do anything to put that dimpled smile onto his face, to make his beautiful brown eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Good. But before we do that…”

Hyunjin gently folded down your three shorter fingers, leaving just your index and middle fingers standing. Then, he slowly, deliberately brought your fingers to his lips, letting your fingerpads just barely graze their plush surface - before taking them into his mouth.

You would never have thought that such a simple act could be so erotic, but here you were: moaning, heart pounding, slick pooling between your thighs as Hyunjin suckled your fingers, licking and slicking them up with his hot, wet tongue.

Letting your fingers go with a wet smack, Hyunjin guided your hand down to your soaking pussy.

“Now, push them in for me, angel – yes, just like that…” Your pussy, aching for any kind of relief, ate up your fingers with barely any resistance.

Shoving his shoulders back down between your thighs, Hyunjin spread your legs wide open, greedily eyeing your tight hole as you pumped your fingers in and out, steadily fucking it open for him.

You couldn’t help but let your other hand trail down to your core as well, drawn like a magnet to your neglected, throbbing clit. It felt strangely intense, uniquely vulnerable, to be playing with yourself like this, under his watchful eye – at his command. It definitely felt good, and the heat of his gaze on you, following your every movement, only added to the pleasure.

But – you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering, thinking back to earlier – just how good it felt when it was him doing these things to you. His fingers. His tongue.

Hyunjin watched, smiling to himself, as you steadily worked your hand and rubbed increasingly frantic circles into your clit, but all to no avail – you just couldn’t recreate his magic.

You paused at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, addressing you with just a hint of smugness.

“It isn’t enough for you, is it?” You shook your head no, slightly disappointed that you weren’t able to pleasure yourself like he wanted you to. You made to pull your fingers out of yourself, but Hyunjin stopped you with a firm hand on your wrist.

Ghosting his other hand down over your thighs, he slowly gathered up the slick dripping out of you, using it to thoroughly lube up his own fingers. As you realized what he wanted to do, you couldn’t help but moan, heat rising in you at the thought of feeling that full.

“I’m going to go very slowly, okay sweetheart? If it hurts, I’ll stop right away.”

You mewled as you felt his fingers ever-so-carefully, gently push into your pussy. Your walls, still relaxed from your orgasm before, gave easily to the intrusion, letting his fingers slide in right beside yours.

You bit your lip, your free hand digging into Hyunjin’s shoulder as you felt, for the first time, what it was like to be so stretched out, so open.

You realized, with a pleasurable clench, that his dick would stretch you out even more.

Now, it was Hyunjin’s turn to moan, cock twitching as he felt your walls clamp down on his fingers.

“F-fuck, sweetheart – your pussy likes being filled up, doesn’t it?” He pumped his fingers, once, twice, before pulling out, bringing them to his mouth to clean up.

“Mmmh – still tastes delicious too.” He licked them clean, looking like Eros incarnate, before placing his hands by your head, caging you in underneath him.

“You sure you still want my cock, angel?” He covered your body with his once again, pressing sweet, tender kisses all over your face as you cradled his hips between your legs. “You can still say no; I’d die a happy man even if I just spent the rest of the night with my face between your thighs.”

You giggled – and creamed, just a little, at the thought of him doing exactly that, all night long. Some day.

“Hyunjin,” you savored the feeling of his name – the name of your lover – on your lips. “I really, really want you.”

A blindingly bright smile on his face, Hyunjin swooped down to catch your lips in a thorough, toe-tingling kiss before parting your legs further, opening you up for him. Propping himself on one hand above you, he quickly jerked himself to full hardness, teasing your entrance with wide swipes of his broad, soft head.

“Hyun-jiin,” you whimpered, approaching your limit. “Please, don’t tease me,” you whined, increasingly desperate for him to take care of you, to fill you up.

“Yes, my lady.” And with one last kiss to your palm, one last squeeze of your hip, he slowly pushed himself into you, groans falling from both your lips as each inch after delicious inch sank into your needy, leaking pussy.

He’d prepared you so thoroughly, pleasured you so meticulously that the stretch, deep as it was, felt nothing but divine. Your eyes rolled back into your head, a broken moan spilling from your lips as he seated himself fully in your cunt.

You heard Hyunjin curse under his breath as he felt your tight, slick walls enveloping him, the desire to thrust and pound and fuck making him almost tremble with the strain of holding himself back.

“Let m-me know when I can move, love.” And he just held himself there, panting, as he waited for your approval.

“Please, Hyunjin – move.”

“But…” you trailed off.

Your husband was an angel – a considerate, loving angel. You appreciated him thoughtfully checking in with you like this – you genuinely did.

At the same time though…you wanted your hypersexual, aggressive, teasing Hyunjin back for a bit. And you knew what to do to bring him out.

With the lightest, most delicate of touches, you ran your fingertips up the taut, defined muscles of his lower abs to his belly button, stopping to play with that damned piercing. Mustering up your most coy expression, you looked at him through your eyelashes, softly biting your lower lip.

“I thought you were supposed to be punishing me…my lord.”

You watched as Hyunjin closed his eyes for a second, clearly trying to get a grip on himself. “Angel…I was going to go easy on you…be sweet to my little virgin for her first time.” His hands fisted in the bedsheets, twisting them up into his grip.

“But – but I should have known…that you just want to be fucked.” He punctuated the last word with a brutal thrust, one that made you almost scream in pleasure – and immediately crave more.

“Do it then – fuck me.”

And with that, you broke the very last string of Hyunjin’s tenuous self-control.

With a growl, he pinned your hips down with one hand, slowly pulling almost all the way out of you – only to ram back in, making you gasp in surprise – and toe-curling pleasure.

His pace was dizzying: fast, hard bounces – so hard that you were sure your poor pussy would be bruised from the force of his thrusts – punctuated by periods of slow, deep rolls, the deliberate drag of his cock against your tight walls driving you absolutely crazy. His toned, muscular hips rocked into you, pubic bone brushing up against your swollen clit with every delicious crash of his hips into yours.

As your moans continued to crescendo, hands desperately grasping at his shoulders for some stability, some level of purchase, you felt his hand leave your hip, fingers moving to tap at your cheek. You opened your eyes to find Hyunjin gazing down at you with a cat-like, almost unhinged smirk on his face, still steadily rutting into you at the same, punishing pace.

“Oh no, my sweet, sweet angel – is this too much for you, hmm?” Hyunjin mockingly cooed at you, wrapping his hand around your chin and squeezing your cheeks, making you look up into his face.

“N-no,” you forced out – and you were being honest. It felt so good – too good – but you were going to spontaneously combust if he stopped.

“Really?” He raised a curious eyebrow, a dangerous smile settling onto his face as he pulled out of you, leaving you whimpering at the emptiness. “Well – we’ll just have to fix that then, won’t we?”

In sudden, aggressive movements, he yanked your hips into his and grabbed your right leg, hoisting it onto his shoulder. Leaning down on top of you, and pushing your knee almost to your shoulder, he spread you wide open for him, placed your fingers back onto your clit – and immediately speared you back onto his cock.

Hyunjin knew he wasn’t going to last for much longer – it had been way too long for him, and you felt way too good around him. But he was determined to take you down with him – by any means necessary.

So, he proceeded to pound you into the mattress, balls slapping into your pussy with every thrust. You could hear the bed creaking wildly under you as Hyunjin rammed into you, driving you both towards your peaks at a breakneck pace. You rubbed at your clit furiously, so lost in sensation that you couldn’t process conscious thought anymore – couldn’t process anything other than him.

“I-I’m getting c-close, Hyunjin – s-so close,” you wailed, feeling that familiar, welcome cord knotting itself up in your belly. “Then let go,” he squeezed out, maintaining that same, punishing pace to get you to release. “Come all over me, angel – let me feel you milk my cock.”

The cord snapped – and you came violently, so hard that you almost jerked out of Hyunjin’s arms. Your thigh muscles, your hip muscles were all pulsing, contracting and releasing with such intensity that your body was shaking, your mind lost to the pleasure.

Hyunjin had slowed down as you hit your peak, letting you ride out your high, just watching in awe as you trembled and gasped prettily under him.

Even after you’d finally fallen still, your body feeling like jelly, still twitching here and there from sensitivity – your pussy was still spasming, convulsing around him – and Hyunjin couldn’t take it any longer.

Muttering soft, heartfelt apologies to you, he roughly splayed your legs out for him again, and started slamming into you once again. “Just a little longer, angel, just a little bit.”

Of course, you didn’t mind at all. It was now your turn to stare at him, admire his beauty as he single-mindedly, lustfully chased his high: his pink tongue, darting out to lick at his lips; his thick neck, on prominent display as he threw his head back in pleasure – you didn’t think any other man could look as sensual, as exquisite as your Hyunjin.

When the fluid motion of his hips started to stutter, you knew he was close; to help him along, you used your remaining energy to clench down around his cock.

Hyunjin gasped. You felt his length go rigid inside you, drawing a tired moan from your lips, before he exploded with one final thrust, spurts of thick, white cum filling you up, splashing against your walls. You whimpered at the sensation, overwhelmed – you hadn’t anticipated just how warm his cum would feel, the added heat feeling delicious inside your sore, battered pussy.

Hyunjin collapsed onto you, his arms too tired to hold up his weight any longer. You pulled him into your chest, letting him nuzzle into your breasts as he caught his breath. His cock was still buried inside of you, slowly softening as he relaxed – you found that you liked the warm, full pressure.

“Ugh,” Hyunjin tore himself away from your chest with difficulty, rubbing his face as he sat up. “I made you so messy, angel – let me clean you up, it must be uncomfortable.”

You were going to disagree, telling him that you felt perfectly fine, but your words turned into a whine, both of you wincing in sensitivity as Hyunjin pulled out of you. Hyunjin’s eyes widened as his cum started dripping out of you as a result, running down all over your folds.

“Mine,” he muttered possessively. “All mine,” he looked up at you, the heat in his gaze almost tempting you to push him down all over again – almost. Instead, you let Hyunjin drag himself out of bed, getting a pleasant eyeful of his pert, shapely ass as he wet a washcloth to clean you up with.

“Like what you see?” Hyunjin grinned down at you, leaning over you to gently wipe you clean.

“Very, very much,” you smiled back, running your fingers through his hair as you watched him take care of you so lovingly.

Once he was done, you yanked him back down next to you, curling into him and his warmth like you’d never let go again.

“Was that good for you, love?” Hyunjin asked quietly, head buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry if I was too rough or intense or –”

“Hyunjin.” You put a warning hand on his back, stopping him from going on. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin, his arms pulling you in even tighter. The two of you lay there quietly for a moment, just enjoying each other’s warmth.

“In that case then…” Hyunjin lifted his head, gazing straight at you with a teasing glint in his eyes, running his fingers up and down the soft skin of your waist.

“Round 2?”

Your mouth dropped open, and Hyunjin immediately cracked up at the look on your face. As his face scrunched up in laughter, you smacked his shoulder, pushing him away in mock outrage.

“Not unless you want me to pass out on you, Hyunjin!”

“But what if I do?” You hated yourself for the shiver that passed through you, at the flicker of heat in your veins. You were going to hold him to that – one day. But for now, you were going to sleep. So, you rolled onto your other side, turning away from your tease of a husband with a dramatic huff.

But, of course, he wasn’t just going to leave you like that. You smiled to yourself as you felt toned arms wrap around you, pulling you back into Hyunjin’s warmth. “I’m sorry, love,” he giggled into your ear, pressing placating kisses to your neck and shoulder. “I’m just messing with you. I know you’re probably tired and sore…and anyways,” he ducked his head into your neck again, piping up with a small, shy voice.

“Right now, I think I’d rather learn what it feels like to have you fall asleep in my arms, if that’s okay.”

And that was perfectly, perfectly fine with you.

For a short while, at least.

In reality, Round 2 ended up being your fault. Hyunjin had wanted to stay cuddled as the two of you slept, you the little spoon to his big spoon. But, when you woke up in the middle of the night to the pleasurable feeling of his length half-hard against your ass, you couldn’t help but grind back on to him, waking him up with your moans as his cock brushed through your folds.

He ended up just taking you in that position, propping your leg up on his arm as he fucked you from behind, growling into your ear about how desperate and naughty you were for him. He filled you up, yet again, and this time, the two of you just fell asleep connected like that, too tired to clean up or do anything else.

The third “round” though – if you could even call it that – was all Hyunjin; you woke up in the dim light of early morning, already dripping, to find your husband laying between your legs and unwilling to move until you’d released onto his mouth – twice.

There probably could have been a fourth round too, in all honesty. But, when you both woke up for the final time, bright morning light streaming into your chambers, you found that you were content just holding each other, exchanging soft, heartfelt kisses and staring into each other’s eyes.

After all, this was your first morning together – just the first of many, many more to come.

You and Hyunjin both limped into breakfast the next morning with bloodshot eyes and matching scarves tied closely around your necks. You did your best to mask your wince as you sat down, sore and tender beyond belief from your husband’s incredibly thorough attentions, but you weren’t entirely sure if you succeeded.

Minho looked like he didn’t know whether he should throttle you or Hyunjin first.

Chan, despite all his snark and bluster beforehand, couldn’t look either of you in the face. Ironically, he somehow had been forced into taking guard himself outside your chambers last night – and he’d heard enough to keep his ears flaming bright red around the two of you – permanently.

And the rest of the boys just seemed fit to burst.

Jisung kicked it off, opening his round eyes wide in a display of fake innocence. “Oh no, did you not sleep well, Your Majesties? They do say parts of the castle are haunted you know…with all of this weird moaning and things going bump in the night.” Felix, leaning against the wall at your side, couldn’t hold back a snicker; a dark, ominous glare from Hyunjin, however, quickly shut him up.

“That’s ridiculous, Han – you know the castle isn’t haunted.” You gave Seungmin one of your most charming smiles, thinking that maybe he was on your side this time – but you should have known better.

“I’m just worried about your health, Your Highness. I mean – scarves? In this weather? The only way that makes sense is if you’re both getting sick – and in that case, you should probably be back in bed.”

This time, it was Jeongin who cracked up, trying to hide his smirk behind a serving tray. Hyunjin glared at him too, but it didn’t faze Jeongin at all. You were honestly impressed.

Either way, your husband had clearly had enough.

“Shut up, right now, or I’ll throw each and every one of you in the stocks for a week…yes, even you, Minho, I don’t care if it starts a war.” Hyunjin’s ever expressive face was positively seething with annoyance – if glares could kill, all of you would have been incinerated.

You, however, just found it all funny at this point. While you tried to be serious, maintaining an appropriately stern expression at Hyunjin’s side, you couldn’t help but let a small giggle escape. Hyunjin’s eyes snapped to you, face contorted into his best “you too?” expression; but, at the happiness on your face, he couldn’t hold back a grin either. Looking on, the boys decided to pipe down, secretly pleased to see the two of you so happy together.

As Seungmin roped Hyunjin into a discussion about new letters and updates, you turned to your brother, who was sitting on your other side, and softly slid your hand over his.

“Minho…do you have to go so soon?” You’d been startled when Hyunjin told you, on your way to breakfast, that Minho was planning to leave almost immediately afterwards.

“Yeah, I really should.” Minho looked at you, a wistful smile on his face. “As much as I want to stay with you and Hyunjin for a while, I know I shouldn’t antagonize them too much.” You knew he was right – still, it really, really hurt to think about him going.

The two of you sat quietly for a second, hands clasped together tightly.

“But honestly, I’m not worried.” Minho paused, a small, soft smile on his face as he looked between you and Hyunjin.

“I think you’re in good hands here.”

A matching smile crept onto your face as well as you turned to contemplate your husband. While Hyunjin was still engrossed in his conversation, he still somehow managed to pick up on your thoughtful glance. Covertly, under the table, he slid his hand into your lap, holding your free hand and rubbing his thumb over your palm: a quiet acknowledgement of you, and a small modicum of comfort before he could see to you fully.

Yes, you smiled to yourself, squeezing Hyunjin’s hand tightly in your own. You were in really good hands.

#skz fic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fic #hyunjin smut #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz hyunjin

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chateautae · 4 years ago

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maybe i do | kth. II

➵ summary : maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳ part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre : arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 10k

➵ warnings : none really, swearing, mainly fluffy and funny interactions, some angst! :o

➵ a/n: and i’m back with chapter two! i really wanted to say thank you for the love and support i received on the first part of maybe i do, it was astounding!! i’m so grateful so many people loved the story and asked to be tagged (all at the bottom <3), it made me feel so motivated to write. if you would also like to be tagged please message me. your feedback is always appreciated!

chapter two : “on my pillow, can’t get me tired”

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Taehyung didn’t remember sleeping anywhere near you last night.

He remembered that even though you willingly agreed to share the same bed, he still opted for caution and slept with the most space between you two as possible.

Though when his eyes fluttered open the next morning, eyeballs burning from the light that bled into the suite, the first thing he realized was that he was not on his side of the bed from last night.

No, he had somehow gravitated towards the center, and as if almost on cue, your slight movement and the sound of your breathing alerted him of your nearby presence.

Peering down at you, Taehyung caught sight of your sleepy head turned towards him and lying on his arm, his other thrown over your torso with you unsuspectingly nuzzled into his side.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open, acknowledging he had succumbed to his habit of hugging something to sleep during the course of the night and he internally panicked. He began retracting his arms slowly, just about drawing himself from you until alarms rang in his head at the sight of you stirring in your sleep.

Taehyung took the golden opportunity to sit up in a flash, having to physically shake his head to rid the image of your tranquil, sleeping face from his brain, crushing the thought that it was kind of cute.

He found himself chanting the same denial from last night, he couldn’t be thinking of such complicated things concerning you when he knew the second he’d step foot inside his home, there’d be a mountain of paperwork ready for him; even more on his work desk.

He had to be thinking about his job, not you.

Even if Taehyung was married now, it wouldn’t lessen the amount of work that plagued his life nor make it any less demanding. If anything, his life would be harder now considering the fact that he had another priority to add to his list, another aspect of his life he had to split his attention between.

He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, just found himself needing to work harder than he already was.

Taehyung sighed heavily at the thought and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He took a moment to look back at you, thinking if he observed you a second time he’d be able to piece together how the hell you two ended up in that position, that close.

By evidence of the forgotten blanket half-thrown off you, he could see you were the tossing-and-turning type, maybe the only explanation for your proximity considering he was the same.

He also noticed you slept all curled up, like you were cold and the only warmth you knew was snuggling yourself.

Cute.

There it was again, cute.

Why does that word even exist?

Taehyung discarded the notion altogether and stood to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles. He made for the bathroom eagerly to begin his day, though not without fixing at least some of the blanket back onto you.

“You don’t have a driver?”

“Not for everywhere I go. I have two hands, I can drive myself.” Taehyung made it a statement to jazz hands at you, showcasing the perfectly capable limbs he was gifted with.

“That’s.. nice, actually. I always see asshole CEO’s getting other people to drive them around.” You relayed as you trailed behind Taehyung, letting him lead you towards the front of the hotel where dozens of expensive cars lined the curb side.

You had no clue which luxury vehicle belonged to Taehyung because quite frankly, he could probably afford every car your eyes caught sight of. It wasn’t until he approached a certain one and retrieved his keys from the valet that your jaw completely dropped, floored.

“This is your car?” You gawked, the sleek design, crispness of its shape and nearly sparkling gloss completely sweeping you off your feet.

“Yeah, think someone like me can’t get a car like this?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself.

“It’s just-wow. Mercedes CLS?” You inquired without really looking at him, inspecting the car instead as you admired its every curve. Safe to say, you were beyond in love with it. Even if you were always more of a minimalist and preferred the average product, there was just something gorgeous about luxury cars that appealed to you.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Taehyung looked at you impressed, momentarily reminded of just how different you were compared to any other woman he’s chanced upon.

How many of them knew car models?

Taehyung was intrigued by the fact before speaking with one of the hotel workers, confirming if they had loaded his car with both your luggage and some wedding sentiments your parents insisted you keep.

Once receiving affirmation Taehyung made towards your side of the car and pulled the door open. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he gestured for you to hop in, drawing you out of your stupor. You thanked him warmly before sliding into your seat.

He let you scramble in comfortably before shutting the door and walking to his side, positioning himself in and clicking on his seatbelt. He watched as your expression lit up once occupying the car, face beaming with excitement as you touched and drank in at the high-end features the vehicle had to offer. Taehyung found himself smiling before he licked his lips and straightened his face, igniting the engine and beginning the smooth drive.

It was easy to settle the debate on where you both would be living. Taehyung was an enormously rich CEO who lived in an expensive, massive home while you lived in a measly apartment. You knew it was useless to live separately, even more useless to have him live with you. And so you agreed without protest to pack your things and relocate, begin your move into the house you’d share with him for a lifetime.

The car ride remained quite silent, you mindlessly bopping your head to whatever mainstream song played on the radio, while Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel or his lap.

You found your eyes wandering to his slender fingers wrapped around the wheel every so often, sometimes venturing to the other one he placed against his thigh. You began reprimanding yourself once you realized with all the staring, observing and ogling, you most certainly had a thing for his hands already.

Fuck.

They were just so big, bigger than what you’ve seen of the average man and it didn’t help that they looked crafted to perfection.

There was just something about the veins that decorated them, his palm large in size as his fingers seemed deft turning and working the steering wheel. His little accessories like a ring or two, bracelets and his watch did absolutely nothing to deter your interest either.

It only increased once you realized he looked good driving, really good. You knew men had this common attractiveness to them when they drove, watching them all focused and effortlessly working the car somehow sexy; but watching Taehyung drive was another experience entirely.

He looked insanely hot, and you felt like throwing yourself out your window for even thinking such a thing. It was another case of you ogling him without realizing until his deep voice suddenly fished you out of your thoughts, questioning. “Did you like the wedding?”

“Huh?”

“The wedding, did you like it?” Taehyung repeated, glancing at you.

“Does it really matter if I did?” You asked, this one phrase seeming to perfectly sum up the misfortune of your life, provoking an ironic laugh even.

“I think it does. A bride should always enjoy her wedding.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You deadpanned, your expression turning frustrated having to remember that one of, if not the most special night of your life had just been robbed of you, thrown to the wolves while you were only left to accept the sad fact.

“C’mon, you didn’t enjoy a single thing?” Taehyung didn’t mean to flash back to the kiss you two shared, though found himself doing exactly so.

You didn’t enjoy that? he questioned in his head.

“Not really, I just imagined having more choice in the wedding.” You answered honestly, trying not to sulk so much. “It’s not you, I just... thought I’d be able to decide things at my own wedding. I’m grateful your parents did so much, but I didn’t really get to choose anything.” You grew more solemn as your gaze fixated on nothing, watching the world pass you by through the car window.

“My favourite flowers weren’t even there.” You said only despondently to yourself, shoulders drooping, though Taehyung didn’t miss it.

“You don’t like roses?”

Your eyes flashed towards him with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he heard your comment. You straightened up before shrugging back a response. “I like peonies.”

Taehyung looked at your side profile as you turned away, finding the conversation turning more sorrowful than he liked. He allowed some silence to linger as you leaned your chin against your palm, boringly watching the bustling streets.

He decided to change the subject.

“So you don’t think I’m an asshole, huh?”

“What?”

“You said you always see ‘asshole CEO’s’ getting people to drive them around. But I don’t, so I’m not an asshole to you?” Taehyung halved his attention between you and the road, glancing in your direction with one hand working the steering wheel.

You thought the question over, “No, you’re not an asshole.” You said simply, distracted by the thoughts that previously occupied your mind.

“I see.” Taehyung pursed his lips. Another beat of silence passed through the downcast air before Taehyung perked up again.

“Is it just the driving? Or do you have other criteria?” Taehyung asked inquisitively, leaning back into his seat as he observed you.

You could detect from the corner of your eyes the way his stance drew attention to his legs, thighs broad as he sat. “I guess there is.”

“Like what?”

You didn’t really know why Taehyung was so curious. You thought it was common knowledge what the stereotypical asshole CEO was like; they were nearly all jerks with horrible one-percenter mentalities and treated people like gravel.

You scoffed a bit. “They’re usually so full of themselves. They act like they own the place all the time, which makes sense at their own companies but not everywhere else. It’s like the position gets to their heads. Even the way they talk is condescending, belittling, or straight up rude to anyone not on their level. It wouldn’t kill to be nice.” You revealed almost too eagerly, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung as you viewed the traffic on the road ahead, remembering he was a CEO himself.

Long story short, you’ve had your fair share of experiences meeting them as you grew up during the beginnings of your father’s company. They were quick to skew your opinion ever since you watched the way they treated your father all due to having a start-up, for simply being small in name or reputation. They acted like he was less than, some even daring to behave as though his company would simply never make it.

It always boiled your blood, left an extremely distasteful image of CEOs and the business world in your head.

And you were certain it all sucked after that.

“Understandable.” Taehyung nodded agreeably. “But you think I don’t fit any of that?” He rested a hand against his thigh, sitting laxed as he spread his legs apart further. This time it was definitely hard to miss the way they appeared, all laid out and long as your eyes drank him in, following up his thighs all the way to his-

“You don’t. I thought maybe since you’re super successful you’d be full of yourself. But you’re not, really.” You snapped yourself out of whatever the hell you were doing, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ah, seems like a stepping stone.”

“Stepping stone? Towards what?”

“Towards you not hating me.” His voice came out with a more solemn timbre than you expected, his jaw tightening for a mere second.

Taehyung only thought such a thing because even if he decided you didn’t harbour negative feelings towards him, there was no way of him determining whether that was true or not without your real input.

“I don’t hate you, Taehyung. I don’t.. think I can.” You claimed with poignancy, his statement causing you to reflect on your own feelings about him.

You don’t hate Taehyung, you couldn’t because he did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. He was dragged in just like you were. You only despised the unfairness of the arrangement, not him.

There wasn’t much to hate about him.

“So you’re saying you like me then, aren’t you?” Taehyung suddenly teased light-heartedly, all smug as his amused eyes flickered to you.

“Shut up, I never said that.” You turned away, scandalized by his remark.

“I’m kidding. But, why do you think you can’t hate me? I pretty much.. ruined your life.” Taehyung internally felt his chest tighten at the words, remembering the exact thoughts from where he stood no less than 24 hours ago, seconds from lawfully marrying you.

“And I didn’t ruin yours?” This time you turned your gaze towards Taehyung, meaningfully. Your eyes instinctively communicated your emotions as they locked with his for a moment, Taehyung all attentive.

“I took away from you just as much you took away from me. We both ruined each other’s lives, there’s no use in blaming each other. That’s why I can’t hate you.” You finalized, crossing your arms and opting to watch the passing buildings through your window again.

Taehyung absorbed your sudden confession with reason, realizing that in a sense, you two were partners in this unfortunate case. Even if your matrimony constituted a forced partnership neither of you liked, there seemed to be a natural comradery in having to deal with the aftermath of that forced partnership.

Trying to accept it.

“I don’t think I can hate you, either.” Taehyung admitted, ending the more miserable part of the conversation as you fell silent. You thought he was done until he decided to bother you again.

“I think you’re still saying you like me, though.”

You turned to him half-appalled before pointing towards the road, eyes narrowed. “Just drive us home, will you?”

Taehyung laughed at the moment and pressed down on the accelerator, internally grinning at the fact you never said no to his statement.

“This is your house?” You found yourself gawking again at something that belonged to Taehyung, stepping inside a luxury home you’ve only ever dreamed of living in. Sure, you lived with your parents until you were 18, though your father was still starting out with his company for most of those years, not exactly owning anything too luxurious until after you permanently moved out.

So as you stood trying to prop your heels off yourself, your jaw dropped at the sheer elegance and high-status look to the interior of Taehyung’s home. You had already done enough gawking at the exterior, but being inside and processing the fact that you were now to inhabit this home for the rest of your life sent another wave of shock.

You immediately observed Taehyung was the type who decorated his home with only the finest, his taste easily identifiable. Aesthetic, lavish, charming. He seemed like a man of utter simplicity though his home said otherwise, showcasing an artistic, exquisite feel you never really expected from him.

“When will you stop saying that?” He titled his head and smiled through a laugh, removing his shoes and slipping into his indoor slippers.

“Right, sorry.” You were still struggling for normalcy, somehow forgetting almost every hour Taehyung’s wealth and only registering it once you saw something that indicated it.

Taehyung sauntered inside and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of his abode. He enjoyed nothing more than being home, in the comfort of his own space. Especially for someone who worked so busily, he found pleasure in doing the bare minimum at home. Relishing in the feeling right now, he pressed his lips together in a smile before glancing back at your struggling figure, catching sight of your size.

His eyebrows shot up to the sky. “Woah, you’re short.”

“Huh?”

“I think I’ve only ever seen you in heels.” Taehyung informed. “Now that you’re not wearing them you’re a lot shorter than I thought. You’re tiny.” He pointed out as he eyed you from head to toe, processing the amount of height you lost simply from removing your shoes.

“I mean, that’s kind of what heels do, you know, they add height.” You deadpanned, stating the obvious for him.

“Sorry, it’s just..” Kind of cute, he thought, though fought for another response. “I could probably throw you.”

Nice save.

“Excuse me? It’s not my fault you’re so tall.” You scowled at him. “Besides, you’re all height and no muscle, you probably can’t even carry me.”

“Wanna see me try?” Taehyung was already coming towards you with his arms held out and you sputtered immediately, “No, no, no.” you held your hands up defensively. “Let’s just start the house tour, yeah?” you offered a smile for compromise.

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes coyly and turned on his heel, signaling you to follow him.

What you realized strolling through the home as Taehyung discussed its details was that it emphatically represented him like an open book. Even if Taehyung was predominantly unreadable and seemed to always hide a mystery behind his eyes, you could see nearly all of him reflected in his home.

You often found valuable trinkets or sentiments scattered around the house. It seemed like he cherished a lot of things in his life, namely memories or people. It would also be hard to miss the exquisite selection of paintings and embellishments he draped the walls with, all harbouring their own charm and adding to the overall artistic feel of his home.

There were famous works consisting of Vincent Van Gogh all the way to local Korean artists you’ve never heard of, though admired their work.

It seemed as though he selected the paintings himself.

Another large aspect you couldn’t miss were the many photos he kept, calling to question whether they were of his own work.

“Did you take these?” You approached a shelf in one of his grand hallways on the second floor, hand brushing the wooden frame of a captured photo; six men including Taehyung himself posing comfortably, like they were extremely close, backdrop reflecting what seemed to be a trip.

“I took all of them.” He stated casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he eyed the shelf along with you.

“All?”

He simply nodded and didn’t elaborate further as he watched you admire the photos, yourself impressed by his adeptness for photography.

“You’re really good.” You complimented absentmindedly, enjoying the other photos of not only people but scenery, empty streets, candid shots from what looked to be his own little adventures.

“Thanks.” Was all Taehyung could manage, trying to mask the sheer gratitude he felt hearing the first ever person to admire his work; something that wasn’t related to being a CEO or a businessman.

He also felt slightly embarrassed you’d seen a small part of him he usually hid.

Taehyung continued walking down the hallway until he reached the end, revealing what you could tell was the largest room in the house. You were thrown off by just how unnecessarily large it was. It seriously reminded you of an extravagant hotel suite, more like the grandest one among them.

“This is our room.” Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards its interior.

“Our?”

Taehyung nodded “I should’ve told you earlier but I wanted us to sleep in the same room. If we slept apart our marriage wouldn’t look convincing to my two housekeepers. I trust them but I don’t want any information about us getting out to the public, not over my dead body.” Taehyung stated in earnest as he relayed the information, wandering further into the room.

“You really care that much about publicity?” you genuinely questioned.

Taehyung scoffed. “Not me, I couldn’t care less about what people think.” He denied instantly, almost laughably. “It’s my father. He hates bad press, especially concerning our family or the company.”

“I thought bad press is still press, so it’s good.” You suggested as you followed him further into the room, admiring that though large, his room held a sense of comfort to it. Quite frankly, all of his home felt rather welcoming and cozy, surprising of a CEO who ran such a monstrously successful company.

“My father doesn’t think so. Kim Enterprises has always been generational, each of our CEO positions strictly kept within the family. Our name is our brand and pride, it alone accounts for at least half of our success. We’re extremely well-known for our high status, it’s just plain fact in the upper social circles of Korea. We can’t afford to taint our name with petty things like bad press or corruption, our reputation is too valuable.” Taehyung stated this all nonchalantly as he adjusted his suit jacket in his mirror, like it was something he’s grown accustomed to and has known all his life.

You found your opinion impeding his words.

“So you can never just, escape this life? As long as you’re a Kim you’re bound to this company?” You found the concept wildly restrictive, clearly shackling down any person that would run the business and you felt a disagreeing shiver shoot through your spine.

“Of course, why would you want anything else?” Taehyung tiled his head to the side, eyeing you in genuine questioning and your entire being was trying to bite back the desire to correct him, tell him there’s so much more to life than just some company your family owns. Though you opted for changing the subject instead, unwilling to step on his toes and dictate his life when you knew next to nothing about it.

It wasn’t your place.

“Woah, you have a balcony?!” You exclaimed with a simper, eyes flickering towards the curtains that revealed two ajar French doors leading to an open space.

You made towards it excitedly and stopped just in the middle of the platform, enjoying the breeze of the fresh air.

“It’s my favourite part of the house.” You didn’t even realize Taehyung followed you until his towering figure stood directly behind you, feeling his proximity permeate through your body.

You swallowed.

“Why don’t you look at the view?” Taehyung cocked his head towards the railing of the balcony, though you didn’t move a step.

You weren’t about to tell Taehyung you’re terribly afraid of heights.

“I-I can see from here. Wow, looks beautiful.” You perked up superficially, trying to throw him off and changing the subject again. “By the way, what’s our closet situation gonna look like?”

“Ah, let me show you.” Taehyung strided back into the room towards the sliding double doors you spotted earlier. He almost theatrically glided both dark wooden panels open and your jaw dropped for the 47th time today.

You were welcomed by a ridiculously large walk-in closet, enough to be renovated into its own bedroom. You simply couldn’t normalize its size, especially after registering every suit, tie, watch or accessory Taehyung stored in the gracious space.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money lied in here.

“Oh my God.” Was all you could manage, meandering in sparingly as you viewed each and every expensive piece he owned in the room, no doubt of the highest quality designers, finest of men’s fashion.

“You don’t have to worry about unpacking and moving in here, the housekeepers will do that for you.” Taehyung watched as you looked upon in awe, finding the way your eyes sparkled with emotion very similar to that of Bambi’s.

“How will I fit-”

“I specifically made space for you, there’s enough.” Taehyung stated, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’d resolved a while ago he really would try to take this marriage seriously, victoriously achieve the work-life balance his father kept preaching.

He saw giving up his closet space as the first step.

It was indeed so because Taehyung thoroughly enjoyed fashion. He genuinely adored every suit, accessory and outfit in his collection, though if he wanted to reach this new goal of balance, successfully add you to his list of priorities, then he had to be willing to cut down.

Even if that meant reallocating a third of his exorbitant wardrobe just for you, he’d try not to mind.

“Are you sure? I could just use another room’s-”

“I want to.” Taehyung finalized as his eyes turned unreadable from across the room, locking his gaze with yours and you were only left to look back impressed, his generosity unforeseen.

“Thank you.” You voiced a little weak, still shy by the suffocating nature of his stare.

“Don’t mention it.” He offered plainly, propping himself off the wall. He looked off to the side eyeing the empty pockets of space he left for you, until your voice called out to him.

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?” He snapped his vision back to you.

You wanted to ask him something, more so a favour and you were unsure how to word the request. “Um.. I didn’t want to ask so openly, but..” You found yourself beating around the bush, timid of what his response would be.

“Go on.”

“Um, so it seemed like there were a lot of empty rooms in this house, and I was just wondering if I could maybe.. transform one of them into an art studio for myself?” You winced at your own request.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I had one at my old place and it really grew on me. I would get most of my work done in that room and gained a lot of inspiration from it. I have a lot of art supplies and designed often in that studio, so I need a home for all my supplies and it would suck getting rid of it all. I’m sorry it means I would have to steal one of your rooms in the house, if you don’t want me to then-”

Taehyung couldn’t help but break out into a small grin as he watched you ramble on, shyly fidget with your fingers, so apprehensive of asking him for something and it reminded him why he was so eager to provide you with anything you wanted.

You spent too long trying to do everything on your own, achieve everything on your own, relying solely on yourself. Taehyung could see this all as plain as day, quite enjoying of how he’s never really met someone like you, and wanted you to know you didn’t always have to be so independent.

Especially with him.

“Y/N.” He called out to you with the same honey-coloured tone from last night, stopping you. Your eyes flickered to his, awaiting his next sentence and Taehyung already found himself having a thing for your doe-eyes.

Fuck.

“Of course you can have a room. You can have anything in this house. It’s yours.” Taehyung stated with a degree of assurance, his eyes locking with yours in earnest.

You both shared a look as your lips curved into a gracious smile, biting your lip to contain it. His stare wasn’t so much intimidating as it was merely.. calm. Gazing at you for the sole purpose of gazing, and you found some heat rushing to your face under his scrutiny.

Taehyung seemed to realize he was staring and immediately cleared his throat, turning a little nervous as he began another conversation. “So um, I’m sorry to say this,” he began with unease, almost apprehensive and you didn’t know what he was so sorry about. “But I have work today.”

You blinked. “What?”

Taehyung internally winced at your reaction, hands finding his pockets. “I took some time off for the wedding, so now I have twice the amount of work left behind. I need to complete it.” He informed straightforwardly.

“Our wedding was just yesterday, though, aren’t you tired?” You were only taken aback because you were slightly concerned for his wellbeing, wasn’t he tired from yesterday? You recalled him knocking out almost immediately upon hitting the pillow of your hotel bed last night, snoozing away.

“Maybe, but I can’t afford to rest. I’ll only have more to complete if I do, so I won’t be spending anymore time with you today.” Taehyung relayed the information, readying himself for the even greater disappointing news he’d be passing on.

“Actually, we won’t be able to go on our honeymoon, either.” Taehyung thought it was best to slip in all the bad news, growing more and more unrelaxed as he was unsure of how you’d react.

Though what you said next had him nearly floored.

“Honeymoon? Taehyung, that’s the least of my concerns, you should at least rest a day before getting back to work. That’s not really healthy.” You chastised him as lightly as possible, still afraid to be stepping on his toes when you didn’t know his life.

Taehyung was certain you’d hate having been stripped of a beautiful vacation where you could’ve relaxed in the sun and tropics of Cancun. Your father had mentioned to him you’ve always longed to visit the breath-taking city in Mexico, its clear waters and tropical air as a means to truly get away from your stifling life.

So when he found you disregarding the trip altogether and instead focusing on him, more precisely his health, he was left damn well speechless.

There you were again paying attention to the littlest things about him he didn’t care much for; he still had that bandage you offered him a month ago tucked into one of his pockets, not wanting to use the adhesive just yet.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry we can’t go on the vacation because of me, it would’ve been nice, you know?” Taehyung apologized, feeling genuinely guilty for having ruined the honeymoon. Even if you two weren’t going to travel as some lovey-dovey couple, you both simply could’ve enjoyed the time off.

“It’s okay, just, at least work from home today. Heading to the office would be too much.” You suggested for the sake of the fatigue you could discern on him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be home for the next few days since everyone thinks we’ll be on our honeymoon.”

“Oh. That’s.. good.” You nodded faintly, half at the idea you two were even faking your honeymoon and half at the blasphemous energy he had to work after yesterday.

The sleep from last night was nearly not enough to recharge from the antics of the wedding, having drained your batteries for the next few days. You were certain his were drained too; he was half the damn couple.

“I should get going. I’ll send Mrs. Choi and Seo up with your things. They’re probably finished with lunch too, you should eat.” Taehyung advised as he stepped out of the walk-in closet, running a hand through his gorgeous hair and you couldn’t help but ogle at the sexy way his strands fell back on him.

“Okay.” You voiced as you followed him out, watching him near the room’s door and just about to vacate the premise before you spoke up. “Taehyung.”

He stopped in his tracks, peering back at you. “Yes?”

“You should eat something, too.”

Taehyung half-smiled at you with a nod “Sure”, before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone.

And you couldn’t help but kind of like the way he smiles.

It was well into the evening now, bordering dinner time as you helped the last of your clothes into Taehyung’s closet, refusing to let the older housekeepers do all the work by themselves considering it was your own luggage.

You also tried to occupy Taehyung’s room as scarcely as you could with your belongings, feeling odd about suddenly moving in with all your might and changing things around. It just didn’t feel appropriate, like you were invading his space and so you opted for scattering only your necessary items.

“That should be the last of it, Mrs. Choi.” You retrieved your last piece of clothing from the rather soft-spoken housekeeper, tucking the blazer away among the rest. You were satisfied to see not only your wardrobe neatly organized now, but fit just about right with Taehyung’s things.

He was right about space, there was enough.

“Mrs. Kim, please rest. You didn't have to move a muscle at all for us.” Mrs. Choi remarked, genuinely concerned for you.

“Yes, please, Mrs. Kim. We can finish up with the little things. I’ve just finished preparing dinner downstairs, you should eat.” Mrs. Seo chimed in as she entered the walk-in closet, gesturing towards the door.

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Mrs. Kim, you’re very kind for offering your help, we’re very grateful you’ve done so. Though we are Mr. Kim’s housekeepers, we are meant to care for his home and his lovely wife. You need not worry about helping us.” Mrs. Choi stated with an earnest tone, speaking respectfully as she addressed you.

You were going to protest again before you considered her words, registering that if you indeed helped them, it would technically negate the entire purpose of their work.

You bit back your reply as a result, crafting a new one.

“I see, I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo, Mrs. Choi. I’m just.. very used to doing things on my own,” you looked towards the ground. “I apologize.” You almost dipped for a bow until Mrs. Choi rapidly cautioned you, scrambling towards your figure.

“Oh dear, Mrs. Kim! You do not need to bow to us, you’re Mr. Kim’s wife, you are the one who is bowed to.”

“Yes, you do not need to apologize either, we appreciate your help, it was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Seo added with a warm smile, bowing to you instead. “Please go for dinner downstairs, I’ve also informed Mr. Kim for dinner, though I’m unsure if he has made his way down yet.” She added on, urging you towards the room's exit and you recognized it was probably better to listen to her.

Even if all this high-class, status stuff had yet to sink in or make sense to you after being away for so long, you understood there was an eventual tolerance you had to build for it. Just as Mrs. Choi said, you’re Kim Taehyung’s wife now, and that came with a hell lot of status you hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet.

You could already tell it was going to be a pain in the ass.

“I suppose I should. I’ll get going, then.” You smiled graciously at both women, appreciative of their kindness and began vacating the closet. You just about pulled the room door open before Mrs. Seo suddenly came to you.

“Oh! Mrs. Kim,” she halted you. “I was informed by Mr. Kim to provide this to you. He would have done so himself though he’s quite busy at the moment.” Mrs. Seo extended her hand and presented a pristine looking card, black and incredibly sleek in design. Your eyebrows furrowed until you noticed the telltale symbols, almost ominously minimal branding indicating a rare card only those with some of the highest networths in Korea could own.

Your eyes widened in horror.

The Black Card.

“P-pardon?” You needed her to reiterate, there was no way Kim Taehyung was giving you a black card, the same card that was limitless on credit and only exclusively owned by the affluent one-percenters of society.

“He’s informed me this belongs to you now, and that you’re to keep it in your possession.” Mrs. Seo elaborated, smiling through the mental whiplash you were currently experiencing.

“Belongs to.. me? This is mine?” You were still having trouble processing, why would Taehyung be gifting you this? Who’s account was it even attached to? Was it yours and he’s decided to graciously pay all the expensive fees, or worse, was it joined with his own account?

Don’t tell me it’s joined with his account.

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. It’s yours.” Mrs. Seo held it out more outwardly, nudging it in your direction.

Your mouth fell agape for another second before you mentally collected yourself, quickly grabbing the card and thanking her as you made your exit, marching through the house for Taehyung’s unbelievable ass.

Taehyung could not be providing you with this card. It was irrational, simply had to have been a decision he made with at least two bottles of soju in him, right? You didn’t care what his reasoning would be, you were denying and returning this. There was no way in hell you’d accept this card, especially if he linked his own personal account to it.

You tried loosely recalling where Taehyung mentioned his study, logically assuming he was working there. You inspected majority of the second floor, working your way through the halls until you finally caught sight of the familiar wooden doors with glass panels, slightly ajar, light bleeding through.

You made for the room quickly and stormed in without a care, attempting to steady your breathing from all the rushing around. You caught Taehyung completely off guard, having shredded his suit jacket to instead sport the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, adorning black-rimmed, designer glasses.

He looked 100x hotter than he should’ve.

Taehyung suddenly propped up from the leaned-back position he’d assumed on his chair, expression caught by surprise. “Y/N?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

You held up the card and addressed him immediately. “Taehyung, what’s this? Why are you giving this to me?” You huffed, looking at him incredulously.

“The card? For you to use..?” Taehyung responded cooperatively, confused as to why you seemed so frazzled.

“But why, Taehyung? This is a black card, the annual fees on this are insane and I can’t pay-”

“You’re not paying for them, I am.” Taehyung cut in, shutting the binder he was holding and placing it on his desk.

“What? No, no way. If it’s my account then I should be the one-”

“It’s not your account, either, it’s mine.” Taehyung brought his elbows to his desk, hands clasped together in front of his lips. It was now he gave you that same intimidating stare he did back when you first met him, calculative and devoid of expression.

It seemed he did this when he got serious.

“Your account? But-Taehyung, this is your money, I can’t just have it. Please, take this back.” You stepped towards his desk to return the card eagerly, but Taehyung’s firm tone stopped you.

“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you to keep.” His words held this underlying sense of authority, scratch that, dominance when he spoke seriously, resolute. You could instantly tell he possessed a natural sense of alpha male characteristics, enough that even though he wasn’t being harsh or looming, his words and the tone he coated them with held more power than you could manifest.

You almost cowered, but remained adamant on returning the card. It was worse with the card attached to his account, you couldn’t just keep Taehyung’s money like it was your own, it simply wasn’t. Your money sat ordinarily in a separate account on a separate card, which you were happy enough to use. You weren’t going to mooch off of him, it went against every principle that made up your very being.

“This is your money, Taehyung. I have no right to use it.”

“You’re my wife. You have every right in the world to use it.” Taehyung countered with no emotion, or at least any you could discern, uncertain what was running through his mind with only his eyes as a guide towards the answer.

And you knew his eyes didn’t tell.

“Taehyung, this doesn’t feel right to me. This isn’t my money and I can’t use it.” You emphasized more strongly, drawing closer to his desk though halting your actions once he spoke again.

“My money is your money, you can always use it.” You knew he was relaxed, appearing practically unbothered as he leaned onto his desk and eyed you. Though with the intense look in his eyes, his aura screaming for anyone within the vicinity to submit to him, he could easily seem frustrated with the situation, namely you.

And it made you want to crawl into a hole.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve already intruded your home, taken your closet, your room and even an extra one just for myself. I will not take your money either. Please, take this back.” You held out the card more prominently, desperate to have him understand you.

Taehyung wasn’t necessarily frustrated by you, no, he was slightly pissed you kept referring to everything as just his and not yours, that he was the only one considering you two as a married couple now while you still viewed each other separately.

Did you not see him as your husband yet?

He also disliked the fact that you seemed scared of him, or unable to trust him like last night. He could see you fighting back the urge to cower away, genuinely upsetting him you still held a degree of fear and unsureness in your eyes.

Why are you so afraid of me?

“Y/N, everything isn’t just mine anymore, it’s yours, too. We’re a married couple, husband and wife. What’s mine is yours.” Taehyung tried to reason, loosening himself up more to seem less intimidating, more approachable.

“But money, Taehyung-it’s different. I didn’t even want to take my own father’s money, there’s no way I’ll take yours, please.” Pleading leaked into your tone as you lips started doing that thing where they just about pout, emphasizing their plushiness and Taehyung couldn’t help but notice it again.

He started growing frustrated as he removed his glasses, placing them on his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed like he was digesting the situation, searching for the best approach.

“Y/N, look. I know the kind of situation you had with your father, but I’m not him. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Choi and Seo addressed you as?”

You thought it over, unknowing of where he was taking this. “They.. called me Mrs. Kim.”

“Exactly. Even my last name is yours, everything I have is yours. I’m your husband, I’m always going to provide you with things from now on. That card is just one of many.” Taehyung offered his best explanation, making sure his tone wasn’t as serious to sidetrack any fear you still had.

“I understand. But this is a black card, Taehyung, and it’s your hard-earned money, not mine. It feels wrong even just having it.” You couldn’t fight your inner turmoil, you genuinely believed this to be wrong. After spending almost a decade trying to work for yourself, pay for yourself, seldom seeking the help of another, this just left a disagreeing feeling to churn in your stomach.

Taehyung sighed heavily before pushing his chair back, rising from his seat. He made his way over to you where you grew unintentionally defensive, retracting from him slightly as he neared you. He noticed it and pursed his lips, reaching out for your upper arms and taking them warmly, tenderly, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he spoke to you.

“Y/N, do you remember what I said before I kissed you yesterday?”

Your eyes widened having been reminded of the intimate moment, nodding at him innocently. Taehyung witnessed you trying to avoid eye contact and found himself softening.

“I didn’t say that without reason. I meant it when I said I would take care of you. Your father is a different story, if you don’t want to use his money, I respect that. But I’m your husband, and I want to be a good one. I want to give you things.. do things for you simply because I want to.” Taehyung reasoned, gripping you lightly. “I want you to use my money, you’re allowed to use it.” He tried voicing with sincerity, earnestly, hoping he could change your mind.

He saw you still hesitating to accept the offer, however, deciding on a compromise.

“Look, you don’t have to use it all the time. You can still use your own card, but you can use mine here and there. Seriously, Y/N, using it won’t even make a dent on me. I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, use it at your discretion.” Taehyung could practically see your gears shifting, searching for your eyes as he wished you’d understand him.

He saw this as a second step towards work-life balance, only feeling the responsibility and genuine desire to be the good husband in spite of the unfortunate nature of your marriage. He didn’t want any doubt concerning his ability to be a good husband, either.

After all, when Taehyung did something, he always did the best he possibly could.

“Okay, I guess you’re right. But I do have my own money, and I’ll be using that 100x more often than yours.” You relaxed and oddly let him hold you, looking down at the black card that rested in your hand and clutching it to your palm.

Taehyung realized he was still holding you and let go, retiring to fluff his hair instead. You caught a glimpse of his bicep underneath his rolled up sleeve as he did so, and you truly hated you chose a time like this to find him stunningly attractive.

“You should come downstairs, Mrs. Seo prepared dinner.” You ignored your thoughts.

“You go first, I’ll be down in a second.”

You nodded agreeably and turned away, leaving his study. You took a second look at the card in your hand, then glanced around the house as you strolled through it, trying to embed what Taehyung said into the crevices of your resistant thinking.

Everything I have is yours, you reiterated, registering that Taehyung had in fact grown accustomed to the idea of you two as a couple already. He’s accepted it, embraced it, even enforced it now with his earlier declarations and this black card. You automatically felt behind, like you were the tortoise in the race and needed to pick up your pace.

If Taehyung had already come to terms with your marriage, it was only a matter of time before you did as well. Marriage is a two-way street, and if you wanted to make this easier on both yourself and Taehyung, you would compromise with him, accept the true sense of partnership that entailed your status as husband and wife.

Thus was the exact mantra that played in your head as you fiddled with the card, remembering the way his big hands held you.

Warm.

It was night.

You could say it was like any other ordinary night, though that would be a gargantuan lie.

This night was the first time Taehyung and yourself were going to sleep in the same bed.

In your own home.

The hotel suite left you both with your own space and privacy since it was a random, public room with no personality or attachment to it whatsoever, making it easier and comfortable to sleep with him.

So when you emerged from your walk-in closet in a thin camisole, loose pajama shorts and without a bra, you were cursing yourself. God damn you for needing to sleep in minimal clothing for comfort. You’d slept in a loose t-shirt and bottoms at the suite last night since it was a public room, and long story short, it left you tossing and turning more than you liked.

You had no clue prior to arriving here that you’d be sharing a room with Taehyung. You’d expected to sleep in a different one, in the privacy of your own room where you could prance around as you wished and as a result packed your usual sleepwear.

But now that you were left having to slumber with Taehyung, clothes on the more revealing side, there was no turning back.

And what there was truly no turning back from, was when you opened the closet door and your eyes landed on Taehyung’s shirtless, wet self drying his hair after a shower.

You immediately malfunctioned.

Your eyes fell to his bare back, ruffling his wet hair as his plaid pajama pants hung loosely at his hips. You immediately exclaimed and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to shut yourself up.

You did not expect at all for Taehyung to have such honey-coloured skin. It was like it naturally glowed, a healthy tone that made him appear all the more delectable. It certainly didn’t help that his shoulders were broader than you first observed, sincerely an other-worldly experience when he wasn’t wearing clothes.

You also got an all-access view of his trap muscles, adding to the width of his shoulders overall and when Taehyung turned around to the sound of the closet door opening, gaze locking with yours, you could confirm his neck, chest and collarbones were indeed crafted to perfection.

Taehyung’s eyes widened momentarily drinking you in, not expecting your light sleepwear when just last night he witnessed you in a full pajama set. Not to mention, and he hated that he could tell, but you weren't wearing a bra.

And the camisole did nothing to hide that.

Taehyung straightened himself up realizing you two were practically gawking at each other, resting the towel around his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s what you sleep in?”

“That’s what you sleep in?” You retorted, arms over your chest.

“Guys usually sleep shirtless, this is normal.” Taehyung gestured towards his own body and you had half a mind to floor yourself. It’s like Taehyung knew but also didn’t know he was hot, knew the effect he had on people though never grew cocky or proud enough to purposefully parade it around.

And it frustrated you even more; he was fairly humble about being a sexy Greek God.

“Girls sleep like this too, this is normal.” You copied him, looking off to the side.

“I was kidding, I only sleep shirtless sometimes. Just get in bed.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he gestured towards the sheets, returning to his palace of a bathroom to toss his towel in the hamper and pull a t-shirt over his head.

You wanted to move, feet just about ready to carry you but you never abandoned your spot. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line contemplating that sharing a bed with Taehyung, in clothes like this and in such proximity, all held a degree of intimacy you didn’t know you two shared yet.

It’s only been a day.

So when Taehyung returned to your unmoving figure, arms holding your chest and avoiding eye contact with him, he was quick to get the message.

“Um.. if you really don’t want to sleep here, I can give you another room.” Taehyung offered, figuring himself this may be too soon.

“No, it’s okay, that’d be kind of a hassle.” You waved him off. “Besides, your bed looks comfy.”

You were honestly trying to live up to your acceptance that Taehyung was the man you’d spend your life with now, so you’d better start getting use to him. You’d sleep next to him for numerous nights, spend endless days together and share a multitude of things; this would simply just be a first of many first times.

So you paddled over to the bed and removed the covers to snuggle yourself in, the bed’s coolness sending a shiver through you before you hugged the blanket to yourself. Taehyung stood with a smile before crawling in himself, adjusting the covers to his liking.

He felt at peace in a matter of seconds, the feeling of his own bed lulling him into a state of slumber already. He reached his arm out to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the room pitch dark and only his digital clock and balcony as a light source.

You began to cower a bit in the darkness, thankful for the sheer curtains that allowed the moonlight to spill into the room.

You felt another shiver run through your body when you shifted, realizing you were cold even under the sheets. You tried warming up on your own by shimmying the blanket around more comfortably, but it didn't do much.

You were left lying on the bed trying to think warm thoughts, unintentionally breathing in the constant scent of Taehyung from his bed; his cologne, his aftershave, his body wash all filling your nostrils.

It was intoxicating, absolutely distracting and sleep began to slip your mind. It didn’t help that you were still cold too, moving around and turning onto your side where you now faced Taehyung.

He seemed to have already dozed off, face tranquil as he slept soundlessly on his back. You couldn't help but admire his side-profile, the sparse moonlight illuminating his features. It was hard to not stretch your hand out and nearly run a touch along his cheek, like he was a rare work of art that naturally called for admiration.

You realized turning towards him that he radiated a wave of warmth from his body, remembering boys were pretty much furnaces while girls usually froze.

How wonderful it is to be a woman.

You desired some of that heat and shuffled just a little closer to Taehyung, nearing the center of the bed. You discerned he was indeed warm and maneuvered slightly closer, just about stopping at the center of the bed. You fought back the urge to shimmy any closer, leaving a mindful gap between you two.

You were seconds from catching a peace of mind until Taehyung unexpectedly spoke in the silence of the night, startling you.

“You can come closer, I don’t bite.” The smirk in his voice was obvious, making you scrunch your nose and snap back at him.

“Shut up, I’m not getting closer to you.”

“You should, I’m really warm, and I can tell you’re cold.” There he was again teasing, his tone coy as he kept his eyes shut, unbothered.

“Over my dead body.” You mocked him from earlier, turning away from him abruptly and pulling the covers over your head.

Coffee was probably your favourite thing life had to offer. One of the couple things you’d fight someone over; coffee and your independence, if you wanted to be specific.

So it made you genuinely happy Taehyung had such a wide selection of coffee to choose from, ranging from all kinds of beans to instant coffee, cappuccinos, lattes, mochas, you name it. It took no time for you to craft a cup to your liking, shuffle into a seat on the island and begin picking at the breakfast the housekeepers had whipped up earlier this morning.

You’d woken up early today keeping in mind the day you had planned. You decided this to be another move-in day as part of your studio setup project you’ve entertained for the last week. The granted time off due to your odd honeymoon farce with Taehyung proved to actually come in handy, thankfully.

It had been another peaceful morning for you, having woken up with sunlight gracing the walls, certain you could hear birds chirping as if you were in a Disney film and little mice would come out to start sewing the gown you’d wear as a princess.

It had been a peaceful morning indeed, but when you stretched out to loosen your stiff muscles, the chaos that met you was anything but peaceful. Even if it’s occurred at least 5 times now, you kept forgetting that you shared a bed with someone else now, and that said someone had somehow always founds a way to gravitate towards you during the night, even daringly cast an arm over you sometimes.

It left you in a state of panic registering that Taehyung’s, dare you say warm and cozy body would be just behind you, his chest mere centimeters from your back. You would stay still for some time, calculating the optimal way to remove yourself from his hold until he eventually stirred enough to loosen his grip, darting right out of bed.

Other times, he’d wake earlier than you and you wondered what would cross his mind once he registered your oddly proximal bodies.

Did it ever bother him?

Nonetheless, it brought a mischievous smile to your face thinking about the fact that Taehyung had such a perfectly human habit like cuddling. He was always so serious, so put together and a near machine at everything he did, seeming as though he wouldn’t give anything romantic the time of day.

But it was hard to forget the fluffy feeling that blossomed in your chest when you would sense his proximity, maybe inviting a liking to it. You had always slept alone, only yourself and the darkness to keep you company in your lonely bed, in your lonely home.

So sleeping next to someone, namely Kim Taehyung left an impression on you you couldn’t quite shake. It was difficult to erase the image of his calm, sleeping face after the handful of times witnessing it. Long eyelashes delicately pressed to the skin under his eyes, lips plush as he seemed to naturally pout in his sleep. The sunlight only accentuated his honey-coloured skin, adding a glow to his features that made him appear prettier than he already was.

It was nice to think you’d wake up to that every morning.

You found your mind still playing around with the idea until you snapped yourself out of it, questioning why the hell you always ventured off whenever you thought about him.

Weird.

You were scolding yourself until your eyes caught Taehyung strolling into the kitchen with his phone in is hand. He’d foregone a jacket today, black shirt sleeves folded to mid-forearm paired with black slacks.

You were normal until you almost spat your coffee seeing he wasn’t wearing a tie but instead had the first few buttons of his shirt open, revealing a generous view of his neck and the beginnings of his chest.

Fucking hell.

You were staring stupidly until Taehyung peeked up at you, smiling “Morning.”

“M-morning.” you stuttered.

He seemed unsuspecting as he returned his attention to his phone, proceeding to the kitchen counter and retrieving a cup to fix himself a drink. He appeared to be reading something conscientiously on his device, never taking his eyes off and you quickly became bored, ready to use the weapon you’d acquired.

“So.. you’re a cuddler, huh?”

Taehyung nearly dropped his cup.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re a cuddler when you sleep. Cute.” You rested your chin in your palm, playful smile on your face.

“I think you’re mistaken, I am not a cuddler. And I’m not cute.” Taehyung denied as he only focused on the cup, his back to you. You then watched him reach for his selection of tea and purposefully evade the coffee, your eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Wait, you’re a cuddler and you drink tea instead of coffee? Very cute.” You pulled on his leg, chuckling as you brought your mug to your lips

This was going to be fun.

“Shut up, I don’t like the taste and tea is healthier.” Taehyung practically sneered back, harshly ripping the packet of his tea bag.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re a cuddler.” You sipped on your coffee, unbothered as you swung your legs back and fourth.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you like it.”

You nearly spat your drink.

“What?”

“I remember a certain someone that shuffles closer to me for warmth, no?” Taehyung snapped back as he returned to his phone and popped his tea into the microwave, his shoulders high to the sky. You could imagine his smug face proud of his remark while searching for your own, realizing that Taehyung was damn good at arguing and you’d really have to upgrade your comeback game to counter him.

He was unfortunately your match.

“Even if I were one, which I’m not, It’s not like I’m committing a crime.” Taehyung suddenly finalized with a snippy tone, and you realized you may have hurt his ego.

Men.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” You commented under your breath and looked away, popping a raspberry into your mouth.

Taehyung bit back a smirk as he retrieved his cup of tea, taking a sip as he returned to his phone and took a seat across from you. He began compiling his plate of breakfast as he worked his device, typing away with one hand as if he was drafting the Magna Carta.

You became bored again.

“Why do you have so much coffee if you don’t like it?” You genuinely felt like inquiring, if he didn’t like the taste why would he have so much?

“For my housekeepers, they drink it.” He took a sip of his tea, all attention on his phone.

You nodded understandingly. “Why do you have two housekeepers, by the way? Isn’t one enough?”

“So they can keep each other company.” He answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone as he bit a piece of his toast. You really hated that he wasn’t actively interacting with you because it only left room to stare at him, and that was never any good.

He looked illegally attractive with the unbuttoned part of his shirt, your mind profusely bugging out over the exposed bit of his chest. You were reminded of the full view from last night, and began pondering how long you’d survive having to see that for the rest of your life.

“O-oh, that’s nice.” You stuttered back a reply, squashing your previous thought.

You were actually quite impressed by the kindness Taehyung showed behind that decision, noticing he had these small moments where he was caring, considerate, all hidden behind his unreadable face and seriousness when it came to business.

It was quite interesting.

You were mindlessly eating until Taehyung spoke up, eyes flickering towards you. “What are you going to do today?”

You swallowed your fruit. “I was planning on moving more stuff in again, start finishing my studio setup. Thank you again for the room, by the way.” You expressed your gratitude once more, forking some eggs into your mouth.

“Don’t mention it.”

“What are you doing today?” you echoed his question, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m working again. If you need anything I’ll be in my study.” Taehyung sent you a half-smile before snatching up his plate, bringing his phone to his ear as he stepped out of the kitchen.

You sighed heavily only being left to think about your day, which would be majorly spent unpacking and arranging things. You had a plethora of art supplies, design tools and canvases to set up in your studio, leaving you constantly thinking of how to even begin.

It would be a mission alone to sort through everything you had left, knowing you didn’t exactly label out of sheer laziness and would have to individually unbox and organize everything .

It was this exact task that took up most of your day, time having slipped by in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t easy when you had to be rummaging through your belongings and situating them where you thought appropriate, also trying to envision a new look for your studio.

You hadn’t realized 3 hours had passed until the ring of the front doorbell caused you to check your phone, curious as to who would be visiting your home in the middle of the day. You assumed it be one of the housekeepers and abandoned your work, cascading down the staircase and striding towards the grand entrance.

You drew towards the monitor Taehyung had showed you just yesterday, explaining it to be your home security system. Taehyung detailed it had a camera for your front porch that detected movement and the doorbell alike, so you peered at the monitor to see the stranger outside your home.

Your eyebrows furrowed registering a woman, her back turned towards the door as she fidgeted nervously with her purse in her hand.

Sheer curiosity took you over and you paddled towards the door, unlocking it. You wore a smile on your face as you swung the door open, though it was immediately wiped off taking in the last person on earth you ever wanted to see.

“Mother?”

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tags : @thedarkwinterrose @ayujaded @couldbeyourlast @ladyarmanto @anpanman-sonyeondan @apollukee @blueevelvt @taesluttt @scalubera @laurynne5 @dreamsindreamss @thequeen-kat @awsome-small-k @wrecklesssly @kweenhu @jalexad @staerify @bangforever @dyriddle @aianloveseven @waves-and-woods @hoefortaeshands @veronawrites @nightapple4jk @wataemelonz @aomi-nabi

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

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a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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