#Risks em au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

Text

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this.

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining.

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.”

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

751 notes · View notes

meowdei · 8 months ago

Text

disease ridden (not) — ft. ryomen sukuna

yuuji may or may not have gotten his uncle sick with the flu, but you don’t really seem to mind having two sick boys to baby at the same time

before you read: fem reader ; non curse au/modern au ; established relationship ; uncle sukuna and nephew yuuji ; grumpy sick sukuna and sleepy sick baby yuuji <3

notes: read more unckuna and bbyuuji here and here!

Yuuji’s pre school is fighting flu season. Which means that one by one, tiny, sniffly noses are dropped off onto the premises despite parents being properly warned by teachers not to let sick children come to school.

(Parents never listen, anyway—they’re stubborn and difficult sometimes. Not missing a day of school is just far more important than ensuring the health of other’s. Who cares if their kid spreads germs if perfect their attendance is maintained, right?)

It’s not surprising that eventually, Yuuji starts his own round of sniffling (it’s inevitable), but you didn’t expect the same from Sukuna, either.

He’s…not happy to say the least.

“This is why I hate when you let that brat come over so much,” a nasally voice grunts at you, groaning as he tosses and turns in the sheets, trying to get comfortable. “Now he’s out here bringin’ diseases.”

“They’re not diseases,” you say exasperatedly, “it’s just a common flu.”

You like to think that Sukuna is kind of cute when he’s sick. (You don’t tell him that, of course—you enjoy keeping him as less grumpy as possible. It’s good for your mental health.) But he pulls at your heartstrings a bit more when he’s under the weather.

His cheeks are flushed, his nose is red, his hair is messier, he’s a tad bit whiny even if he doesn’t realize it, and his voice is less gruff and deep when he’s all congested.

He’s cute.

You don’t like for your boyfriend to be sick, but if there are a few benefits…well, it’s not like you mind having them for the time being.

“Yeah so a fuckin’ disease,” he snaps, grabbing the pillow from under him and chucking it across the room when he finally loses his temper at not being able to get comfortable. “As if the kid isn’t a disease himself—now he’s spreadin’ ‘em, too.”

You laugh, earning a massive glare from him as he lays propped up on his elbows, grumpier by the second. Finally, having a little mercy, you hold your arms out.

“Come here, you big baby,” you giggle.

“Stay away from me,” he grunts. Still, he doesn’t exactly fight it when your arms wrap around him and bring him to lay against your chest, and if he nuzzles a bit into you, he expects you not to voice it.

You’ve already caused him enough issues, as is.

“You’re extra grumpy when you’re sick,” you murmur, stroking back the messy bed hair as your fingers weave into his locks and scratch away at his scalp. “You’d think being sick would quiet you down for once, but I guess not.”

“I’m not fuckin’ grumpy,” he clicks his teeth, “I’m rightfully pissed because the runt couldn’t keep his boogers to himself. And why am I the one who’s sick and not you, anyway? He’s always attached to your hip.”

“Because I’m nice and karma has a way of biting back assholes,” you giggle, poking the tip of his flushed nose as he huffs. He snaps his jaw at you to pretend to bite at your finger as you squeal.

Finally, as though exhaustion has weathered away at his temper, he collapses against your chest, muttering under his breath about the unfairness of it all as he gets comfortable against you.

It’s infinitely better to lay on your tits than that stupid pillow—and he might have even teased you about it, too, but he doesn’t want to risk being shoved off now that he’s finally situated himself in an actually nice position.

Sick Sukuna is also a much less obnoxious Sukuna. You kind of like it when he mellows out a bit from being so tired.

“Where is the brat anyway?” He raises a brow after a few moments.

“Sleeping in the other room,” you hum, smiling fondly at the thought of Yuuji. Sukuna’s nose wrinkles in irritation. “I put him down for a nap.”

“Good. He better stay there.”

As if right on cue, a tired, sleepy Yuuji shows up at your door, rubbing his eyes as his hoarse little voice mumbles, “uncle Kuna?”

“Dear god,” Sukuna groans, making you snort as you gesture Yuuji over, slapping at your boyfriend’s shoulder lightly when he gives you an incredulous look. “You can’t just invite him in here after he got me sick—”

“Come here, Yuuji! Did you nap okay?”

“Uh huh,” the small boy nods, making you smile warmly.

Sukuna doesn’t like it. There’s no way you can properly split your attention between two sick people, and Yuuji is going to have to just accept the Sukuna was here first. Literally. He was here walking this god forsaken planet long before Yuuji was born, and he was here stealing your attention way before Yuuji came around, too.

There’s no compromising on this—you’re Sukuna’s, and Yuuji is going to have to learn that one way or another.

And then, as if testing his uncle’s patience more than he already does, the brat climbs right onto Sukuna and lays over his chest. You watch in amusement as a purely bewildered expression stretches across Sukuna’s face.

“What’s he doing?” He looks up at you incredulously, gesturing at the child curled against his bare chest. You giggle as you roll your eyes.

“He’s cuddling you, of course.”

“What? No. Get him off this instant.”

“I’m not doing that,” you gasp, glaring at a pair of eyes that glare back equally as intensely, “look at him! He’s gone right back to sleep, you can’t disturb him when he’s resting.”

“What about me? I’m resting too,” he hisses. You hum, pulling the covers over the three of you, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as if that’ll calm him. (It does.)

“You’re resting too,” you nod in agreement, wrapping your arms tighter around him as you pull him closer into your chest. One hand finds his hair, curling the strands around your fingers as he groans exasperatedly. “There’s plenty of room for both of you to rest.”

“I hope you get the diseases next time,” he mutters quietly. (He doesn’t mean it—he’d get sick in your place next time too, if he could.) His arm curls around Yuuji to keep him secure, eyes darting to narrow in your direction when you let out a tiny aw. “It’s just so he doesn’t slide off and wake me to get back on. Don’t get over your head.”

“Right,” you snort, “of course.”

“You think I’m lying? Because—”

You cut him off with a small kiss to his lips. Brief and gentle—and yeah, maybe you’ll risk getting sick yourself from that, but you can’t resist. Not when Sukuna looks so soft and sweet with a tiny body curled in his arm.

“You should sleep,” you murmur, stroking through his hair, “you’ll feel better. And then you won’t have diseases.”

“I don’t have fuckin’ diseases!”

Sick sukuna is soooo cute I just know it. Naps on your chest 24/7 and then acts like you dragged him there against his will

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #ryomen sukuna x y/n #euthymiya.writing

1K notes · View notes

burreauxsss · 2 months ago

Text

its over, im sorry series

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

face claim recent: lori harvey

this is in a AU (alternative universe) if you dont like how each character acts please leave.

last updated: 3-30-25

series directory

part 1: its over, im sorry

part 2: shiestys comet

part 3: couldve been her

part 4: replacement

part 5: bless your heart

part 6: stunts

part 7: i miss you, im sorry (this one sucks, read at your own risk!)

part 8: another year older

part 9: like a boy

part 10: let em know

part 11: the star(s) aligning

part 12: go big, or go home

blurbs

thirds time the charm

coming soon

song playlist:

joe burrow x reader x ex!kelce

#joe burrow #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smau #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #✦ its over im sorry au ✦

356 notes · View notes

quarterlifekitty · 5 months ago

Text

Masterlist!

Warning: I dabble in dark content. I reblog/create posts that contain potentially upsetting content such as dub-con, noncon, piss kink, fauxcest, graphic violence, etc. these will be tagged, but peruse at your own risk.

Limit list (non exhaustive list of weird things I will/will not write about)

Call Of Duty

character tags:

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Johhny "Soap" Mactavish

John Price

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

König

Nikolai

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Johhny "Soap" Mactavish Masterlist

John Price Masterlist

König

Hunstman!König Part 2 Being his healslut Midsommar Warrior and Goddess part 1 | part 2 Pyrenees and Sheep Part 2 Centaurs Kortac Sniper Letterboxd Happy Ending Clingy Again

Silkmoth!Reader

sleepy what happens when his leave is over laying eggs silkmoth threesome stretching Original expansion

Nikolai

Late Bloomer Lunar New Year School Uniforms

Multiple Characters/Misc:

Haunting Ground!AU Scary GF Anal Manicure Massages smoking weed silkmoth threesome Nik and Price sharing a wife Praise kink CBF!Soap Scent Kink Getting a Dog Second Baby Pickup Lines Conidtioning (Graves) Baby trapping them Stealthing Baby Trapping Part 2 Sneezing Insomniac Heartbroken Hookup just the tip Slasher overwatch Video Girl!AU

Selectively Mute: Ghoap x Reader

Simon getting her notes tattooed They leave notes for each other Dealing with Simon's trauma Ghoap eats you out How Simon Met her Soap joins in (official) Why Soap and Simon weren't already together When Simon gets injured on an op When you start opening up to Soap Simon fingering you in front of Soap The original post Soap hearing you moan for the first time Overstim Modes

Mermaid AU: Ghoap x Reader

When Soap discovers you How do mermaids fuck? When you return to the sea Soap's POV The original post

Weaknesses Series

Baby Photos Period Stuff Lactation Massages Birthday Present Complexes Dress up stop everything treat em mean Original

CamGirl!AU

Bidding war tips original post

Resident Evil

Luis Serra

Failed bioweapon

#writing #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #könig #johnny mactavish #john price x reader #john price #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #könig x reader

644 notes · View notes

hwaslayer · 3 days ago

Text

wildfire (cs) | eighteen. (final)

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.7k

—chapter content/warnings: very light cussing, mature language, first bit is a dream oc had in the morning, the lovebirds are overseas celebrating a lot of VERY important things, yes he does!! just yes 🤭😗, a pretty intimate & sweet shower together but nothing too crazy, lots of kisses and sweet moments per usual!!

—a/n: and.. that's a wrap, loves! i figured i'd end this on a sweet, cute note just cause it made more sense to me. thank you so, so much for your love on this series. it was a fun & wild ride, & i'll truly miss 'em! gonna take a little breather, but once i'm able to catch my breath, i'll be back with more hwa, joong, and yuyu content. maybe some drabbles for our wildfire lovebirds if life lets me. lol stay tuned 💕

—THIS MORNING'S DREAM

The redwoods.

You find yourself staring out into the redwoods. In a room. No one but yourself in the quiet space.

You don't exactly know where you're at, the place doesn't seem entirely familiar; but, everything about it is beautiful. There's beautiful, tall trees ahead, some bent in a peculiar form, but they do well for the setting. Beyond it is an amazing view of the lush, green hills and a small town below. The sun isn't shining bright, and there are some clouds lingering— but the weather feels perfect. It's not too cold, not too hot. There are a million bright string lights hanging above, along with white drapes. There are all sorts and sizes of candles lining the rows of chairs, split in the middle with plants and baby pink, white, cream colored rose petals colorfully painting the aisle. The chairs are a dark wood, with white backs and cushions.

"Are you ready, pretty girl?" You're pulled out of your thoughts when your mom shuts the door behind her and comes close. She's wearing the most elegant one shoulder dress that falls to her feet, hair pulled back in a tight, low bun. She's got gold jewelry on her hands, wrist. Her nails a beautiful french-tip, red lipstick painting her lips. Makeup natural. All to match her white dress.

"Yeah, I think so." You respond softly, hands smoothing out the material beneath you. It's a lace corset top that falls off your shoulders and into long-sleeves. The bottom of your dress is a silk, milky white. The dress hugs your form perfectly. Curves and all. Makeup also beautifully done, yet natural.

Just enough.

"You look so, so beautiful, hunbun. Just so gorgeous, I can't believe today is the day already." Your mom covers her mouth with her hand, looking up to prevent the tears from flowing. "God, my makeup." You laugh.

"Stop, you're gonna make me cry." You also look up and fan at your face, doing a good job of holding it in. Keeping it together. "Okay, let's go before this gets too much for the both of us." She laughs and you link arms together, walking out of the room after she gives you a quick cheek-to-cheek kiss. She walks you towards the main doors before giving the coordinator at the door a curt nod. She does one last look over, smoothing down your dress before the doors fly open and the entire group is looking at you.

Waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

Because at the end, San is waiting there.

With your bridesmaids, his groomsmen.

As you and your mom slowly walk down the aisle and make eye contact with the crowd around you, San begins to cry, his cheeks a rosy tint. He has to look down and try to gather himself, but he can't. He simply can't.

You are literally his dream girl, and you're walking down the aisle to marry him.

"I love you." Your mom quickly whispers as she presses her cheek to yours again before handing you off to San, also giving him a cheek kiss.

"Baby." San whispers as he grabs your hand, his eyes still teary, but full of so much love, adoration and happiness.

"Hi." You giggle, no longer being able to hold back the tears you've been trying to hold onto.

"You're so beautiful. I love you." He mouths out just as the presider begins.

—END OF DREAM

"Ready, baby?" You snap out of your thoughts, realizing you were just about to dab on more lip gloss and put on some earrings before you got sidetracked and started to revisit your dream from this morning. San stands there, tying his tie while eyeing you up and down. "Good lord. That dress looks so good on you." His eyes trail down the simple, but elegant and beautiful long, black dress.

"Sannie." You laugh, finally gliding the wand over your lips before pressing them together and spreading it evenly. "Promise I'm ready now."

"We have a few minutes to spare." San shuts the bathroom door behind him, sporting a smart ass smirk.

"Weren't you just asking me if I was ready? Besides, we don't actually have a few minutes to spare—" San whines.

"Don't be like that."

"Choi San." You giggle when San rests his hands on your hips, pressing light kisses against your jaw and neck. "Stop it, we should go get your mom. She's probably wondering where we're at."

"No, she's not—" At this point, San's phone vibrates, signaling a text from his mom. "Yes, she is." He retracts and sighs, making you laugh.

"Let's go." You tap his chest, gently kissing him on the lips before wiping off the sparkly lipgloss that's lightly coating the surface of his pink, plump lips.

"By the way, what were you thinking about in there?"

"How'd you know?"

"I don't think it takes you that long to put on lip gloss." You laugh.

"I had a dream."

"Yeah? Wanna tell me about it?" You think for a second, shaking your head.

"Later." He nods. San throws on his blazer before slipping his hand into yours. Heading out of your hotel suite, you and San walk down the hall to meet his mom in a separate room that was booked by the foundation's hosts.

Today, San would be receiving another big award in Paris, probably one of the biggest in recent times— one that was enough for hosts to cover the business class flights for the three of you, and the suites for you, San and his mom. Ground transportation covered. Meals.

Everything you could think of to make this time special for all of you, but especially San.

The award ceremony would be held in about two hours in the Grand Ballroom downstairs, with San having to take photos and do a press interview beforehand. You couldn't be any more proud, and there are no words to capture how you feel about all of San's many achievements and milestones within the year and a half.

You squeeze his hand as he knocks on his mom's room door, greeting her with a big smile when she swings the door open and reveals her beautiful black, rhinestone dress. She has a shawl over her shoulders, hair combed neatly and left down. Clutch bag in hand.

"My San." She says, cupping his cheek and pressing a small kiss to the surface before moving past him to greet you. "Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful." She pulls you in for a hug and a kiss to the cheek as well.

"So do you, mom." You respond, squeezing her hand.

"We've got a big night in front of us." She smirks at San before leading the way to the elevators around the corner.

"Yup." San pops the 'p' at the end, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Nervous?" You squeeze his bicep and he shakes his head.

"No." He jokes and gives you a look before sighing and admitting defeat. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

"You'll do amazing, hun. You've gone through your speech a few times already, just let it flow naturally, okay?" His mom chimes in and reassures him. "It'll all go smoothly."

"Thank you, mom."

"Love you, my boy. Very proud of you."

"Love you, too." He gives her a toothless smile before looking down at you and pressing his lips to your forehead. "Really appreciate you guys being here with me."

"Course, love." You answer just as you step out of the elevator. The group walks next into the room adjacent to the Grand Ballroom, where San would be taking photos and doing his press interview. He's immediately greeted by members of the hosting foundation, San introducing you and his mother right away. They quickly touch him up with very light stage makeup before taking him to the backdrop area. He takes a few shots on his own with the award before the foundation leadership team surrounds him in the next few photos. They call for you to step in, then his mom, followed by the three of you all together. When it's time for San to do his press interview with the group, you and his mom sit off to the side— listening intently. He talks about his childhood, still recognizing and praising his dad for being his role model throughout his life despite him not physically being here to support his own son.

It's a shame San's dad chose not to come.

You know San would've really appreciated it, but he knows he can't get his hopes up with him. Ever. He is the way that he is, and there's no changing that.

And even with bright eyes and a big smile, San continues to talk about him and how it shaped his career, his perspective on things. You can tell it hurts him, and you can tell it hurts his mom, too. But, he carries on with the same grace that he always has, laughing and continuing to lift spirits of everyone in the room even though it's killing him inside to know he can't have his father close like he wants to. You slide your hand into San's mom's hand when you find her tearing up, rubbing her knuckles as a way to soothe her. She smiles and quickly rests her head on your shoulder before patting her eyes dry. San talks about his mom and how important his relationship with her is, how she's always been there to support him since day one— pushing him to be his very best and to never quit when times got rough. He highlights the importance of his mother's love, stating that the grace and patience he's learned over the years has been because of her.

Then, he talks about you.

His eyes find yours before he chuckles a bit, his cheeks turning red again at the interviewer asking him to dive a little deeper into the relationship he has with you and how it has support him.

"I—I honestly don't know where to start. Y/N has been a driving force for me. I can't even tell you how selfless she is, and how she always supports me throughout everything. All my good and bad days, she remains unchanging. She loves me for who I am, and she always reminds me that if there's a will, there's a way." He looks at you again before smiling at the interviewer.

"You're blushing." The interviewer teases, making everyone giggle and laugh, even his mom next to you. You know everyone is aware of the bit of your history, being his student at one point. But no one really bats an eye anymore after time has passed and the distance has only made you and San stronger in your areas, fields. Sure, there's still a few that raise a brow and tease at it. A very small number that physically look at you two in disgust or think it's still some power play or imbalance at hand; but, to each their own. Because if time hadn't passed and showed you exactly who San was and what you meant in this relationship, then maybe. Maybe you would still would've been scared, iffy, about the whole thing even being at different campuses under different niches.

But, San hadn't changed, and so hasn't his love.

There was no reason to place any doubt on him, on this.

On yourself.

You've just learned to shut out the noise— the extra noise that felt like they had reasons to be in your business, to tell you how to act, move.

You just didn't have the time or energy anymore. You were focused on what really mattered:

Your mom, your friends, your work, San.

"It sounds really cliché, but she completes me. She really is my person and a blessing. Everything I do, I do with my parents and Y/N in mind because I want to make them proud and I want them to know that I am trying to do some good in this world. I'm thinking about them and everyone, and I'm thinking about how this could affect things in the future. I am trying to do some good and I want to take care of people. Just like I want to take care of my parents, of Y/N. I hope they know that. I hope they know I'm trying to do what I can to improve science and research." You nod in agreement, somehow a way to show San that yes, you all know. You are aware of how hardworking he is and how he continues to be, despite all the trials and tribulations he has already encountered.

Suddenly, you remember your dream.

The dream had been in the back of your head for awhile, but you figured you should wait until the right time to bring it up to San. You know he wouldn't mind, and he'd love to hear all about it. You just didn't wanna take away from tonight, especially with it being an important night for him.

But, he's all you can think of.

Him, at the end of that aisle.

A dream.

That, maybe one day, can come to fruition.

The rest of the interview goes smoothly, the entire photo and interview segment wrapping up within an hour and a half or so. The three of you gather outside of the Grand Ballroom to mingle with other highly known professors, Nobel laureates and big figures within the foundation and the neuroscience/bioengineering world. San keeps you close, while his mother talks to a few people on her own— mutually knowing each other due to her husband. A few people actually acknowledge you for the work you're doing in Professor Qi's lab, and it feels nice to be acknowledged for who you are and the work you put in. But, you put a halt to those conversations quick, making sure to keep the spotlight on San tonight [even though you know he doesn't mind it one bit].

Soon, everyone is being ushered into the room, and the ceremony kicks off promptly on the hour. It begins with the foundation's president welcoming everyone to the ceremony, followed by his speech. There's four people they are honoring tonight, with San being the last person on the list to receive his award and give his speech. Along with awards in their distinct fields/categories, they've been awarded an additional cash prize, along with additional funding support for the research projects. San is the youngest professor in the room, an assistant professor at that, and it makes you immensely proud to be here with him.

To witness this evening, to witness everyone congratulate San on his achievements and tell him how amazing he has been doing on this long, tumultuous road.

When it's time for San to deliver his acceptance speech, he does his due diligence of thanking everyone in the room, his parents and you, before diving into the nitty gritty of his career, his work and where this will take him in the near future. They're strict about their 3-min cutoff, which surprisingly goes by fast for San when he's talking about his work— a hand signaling for him to start wrapping up at the tail end with his last words.

"So, with all that being said, I'm grateful to my students and postdoctoral fellows in these past years. It hasn't been long, but we have a long way to go together. They have continued to amaze me with their brilliance and their courageousness— trying everything and anything, even when pieces of the puzzle don't seem like they'll fit. But, they try, and they try. Until, it finally works. They find the right pieces to fit. And I think this is why we're all here tonight." He pauses before scanning the crowd. "Because we all have a bit of that courage. And that courage to advance science and truth has never been more important than it is now." He pauses. "Thank you." San comes to the center of the stage, doing a deep and long bow in appreciation before heading back down to your table.

"Great job, San." His mom whispers and squeezes his arm as he takes his place in between you two.

"That was perfect, Sannie." You look at him and he smiles.

"Yeah? Kinda winged it on the plane." You laugh.

"So, that's what you were doing while I was asleep."

"Yesma'am." You giggle, giving him a kiss to the cheek. The dinner portion starts, along with orders for cocktails and dessert. The foundation has a few video presentations to show the crowd what the funding has supported and how research in these areas have advanced over time. It's a very beautiful evening, and you loved watching the videos over dinner. There's even videos to commemorate the winners— and now, it's suddenly making sense why San was sending all those photos in a hurry during the week. You laugh, almost at tears, seeing San's childhood photos and videos.

It was a nice way to top off the ceremony.

After more casual photo sessions and a bit more mingling post-dinner and cocktails, you, San and his mother find yourselves heading back up to the rooms.

"I'm exhausted. I think the jet lag is hitting me right before we leave." She laughs and gives you two a quick kiss on the cheek and hug. "I'll see you both tomorrow for breakfast?"

"Sounds good. Goodnight, mom." San does a little nod before the both of you wave her off and finally head to your suite.

But, you lead the way and San trails behind.

Because now, he's more nervous than he's ever been. He's more nervous than he was prepping for the entire award ceremony. It's time for San to bring his plan to life, something he had been planning for months on end.

Just to get it all right.

For you. As you deserve.

And although he's gonna pop the question tonight, he's gonna promise you that you can take your time. That none of this has to happen quickly, that the both of you will get married and throw the wedding when the time feels appropriate, right.

Perfect.

You step into the suite and set your purse and coat down, but before you can do anything else to get more comfortable, San steps in front of you.

"I.. wanna take you somewhere. Is that okay?"

"Course, love. I'm down for adventures." You chuckle. "You aren't tired?" San shakes his head while undoing his tie, releasing the first button from his dress shirt.

"No."

"Should I change?" You look at him up and down and he shakes his head.

"No. It'll be quick. I just wanna get some air and take in Paris before we leave early in the morning. Grab your coat though, angel."

"Okay." You take your coat again just like San advises, also grabbing your purse before following him out of the room. The both of you head down to the lobby, your man heading straight for the front desk while letting go of your hand. He leans over to tell the associate behind the counter something, the man smiling and nodding in response.

"Okay, the car is out front to take us to the place."

"Where are we going exactly?"

"You'll see." He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"What'd you tell the front desk, Sannie?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check on something about our room."

"Hm, everything okay?"

"Yeah, perfect." Is all he says before swinging the back door open of the black sedan waiting at the front of the hotel. He lets you in first, giving you time to slide in and get comfortable before he situates himself.

"To the Eiffel?" The driver asks, eyes peering at San through the rearview mirror.

"Yes, please."

"Eiffel Tower? I didn't think we'd have time."

"We can always make time, baby." He laughs. "I get it, though. Every time I've flown to Paris for work, I barely have a moment to soak it in. This will is much needed."

"A perfect way to end our quick, but eventful and amazing trip." You smile and hold his hand.

"Yup." He brushes his lips against your knuckles before placing a kiss to them. The ride is quiet— mainly because San is nervous, mainly because you're trying to take in everything that passes you by in this car ride over. San is acting a little weird and he's checking his phone with his free hand here and there, but you don't question it much. You blame it on the exhaustion or jet lag, nerves finally settling since the ceremony has finished.

The ride is soothing for you. Things don't seem to matter much in this moment.

And even though you find yourself feeling a little tired, you can't wait to get some air with San at the Eiffel Tower. Another dream of yours that you had been wanting to cross off on your bucket list.

You are now, with the love of your life.

When the car drops you off at a good spot, the night air is chilly, but the coat is enough to keep you warm. San smiles as he holds your hand tightly, his dimples on full show as he finds a good spot near the tower for you to take pictures and enjoy the view.

"It's beautiful in person, San. So, so beautiful." You look up, staring at the tower lighting up in its pure beauty.

"Isn't it, sweetheart?" He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before kissing the back of your head. "Glad I'm here with you."

"Thank you for taking me along."

"You know I wouldn't step foot on the plane with you." You laugh, but it fades when he suddenly removes his hold from around you and steps back. "Sorry, love. Mom is calling. Let me make sure she's okay." You look at him and nod, turning back towards the tower to take more photos to send to your mom. She hasn't answered to your last set of photos from the ceremony and it makes you wonder if she's super busy at work—

"Sorry."

"That's okay. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." He says softly. "Perfectly fine." He pulls you flush to his body, keeping you close. Warm. "Baby." San looks at you under the starlit sky, brushing your hair back gently. He replays every single moment he's shared with you like a film strip in his head— from the moment you first met, that kiss at the view, the first date. The crazy ups and downs, the break apart.

All the firsts he experienced with you, just to head towards the lasts.

"Yeah, San?" He continues to stare, smiling softly at you. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" You cock your head to the side, furrowing your brows when San lets out a shaky breath.

"I just love you. So, so much."

"I love you, too." You giggle. But, San's expression doesn't change, and something shifts in the air. He steps back a bit, pulling something out of his pocket. "San?" You gasp and almost stumble back on your feet in surprise. He gets down on one knee, popping open the box. The people nearby cover their mouths or smile in anticipation, a common theme to happen at the tower. But, it's a beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love.

"S-San, what is—"

"Will you marry me?" You cover your mouth in surprise, tears already streaking down your cheeks. You nod eagerly, barely able to make out the 'yes' that escapes your lips. You cry as San slips the ring onto your finger, swinging you around in his arms before gently planting your feet back down onto the ground and keeping his arms around your waist. The claps and sweet cheers from the small crowd around you continue while San cups your cheeks and kisses you sweetly, deeply. The kiss goes on for awhile, making you grip San's shirt on the side.

"Congratulations!" San's mom comes into view with a bouquet, making you both finally pull away. You also notice the ceremony's photographer off to the side taking photos, wondering how San [or his mom] pulled this off. Your eyes widen in surprise, laughing as you hug your newfound fiancé and take in the moment.

You were definitely not ready for the next surprise to come, though.

"Mom?!" Your mom pops in out of nowhere with your friends on a Facetime call.

"Yes, honey!" She laughs while teary-eyed. "I bring your friends, too!" She points at the phone.

"Congrats!" You hear in the many different voices of your friends, your mom crying and laughing at the same time.

"So glad I was here for all of that."

"Mom?" You ask again in disbelief. "Guys?!" You look at the phone screen. San is watching with his mom, enjoying the way everything is unfolding.

"Sorry we couldn't be there." Jiung says. "Congrats, San and Y/N! We love you! Go enjoy yourself, we'll see you when you get back!" You nod, quickly waving goodbye to your friends before returning your attention to your mom.

"Mom, how did you even—?" You cry, and you cry, and you cry. "Mom." You don't even talk and finish your sentence, hugging your mom tightly as she continues to congratulate you and tell you how proud of you she is. How she can't wait to see you and San get married in the coming years. How everything has just fallen into place perfectly.

"San. San asked me to come as soon as the ceremony agenda was finalized and he planned everything out." Your mom wipes your tears away and smiles. "Oh, my pretty girl. Look at you. You're gonna get married!"

"I know." You laugh. "It's crazy!" You hug her again.

"By the way, we're actually not leaving for a few more days. I wanted all of us to at least be able to enjoy this time together. Let you ladies shop and enjoy Paris, too."

"San." You whine a bit and gently pinch him, still in disbelief about everything.

"Ow—yeah, baby?"

"You're the best." He laughs, walking alongside of you, your mom and his mom— arm strung around your shoulder.

"I try."

"Best Paris trip, hands down."

"Yeah, I can agree to that." San agrees.

"Me too." Your mom says, making you all laugh. You all walk to a gelato shop right across the street, indulging in the best of the best before heading back to the hotel to get comfortable after a long day. You learn your mom had arrived late last night, her hotel room only a couple of floors down from yours.

She was here the entire time and you had no idea.

They all had hid everything so perfectly, and you didn't suspect a thing. Even when San was acting a little skittish in the car. The ceremony was surely a good way to cover that all up and keep it hidden in the dark. You loved the surprise.

When you say goodnight to your mom and your soon-to-be mother-in-law, you and San finally head back to the room and get comfortable. The staff drew a heart with rose petals on the sheets, a bottle of the finest champage and a box of chocolate covered strawberries sitting in the middle with a 'Congratulations' card. You snap photos for the memories before slipping the champagne and strawberries into the fridge to indulge in tomorrow. Then, you both step into a long, piping hot shower— San's hands massaging and caressing away at your body. Everything about the shower is intimate; slow kisses, slow movements. Hands laced tightly, bodies pressed tightly together. Tongues exploring and dancing around each other's mouths. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just taking each other in as is during this moment.

After a good 30 minutes in the shower, San helps dry you off before focusing on himself. You finish up your nightly routine before slipping into one of San's shirts and getting into bed. San shuts off all the lights in the suite, pulling the sheer curtains across the balcony door so you can still see the city lights and the moon coming in. He settles in next to you and instantly pulls you onto his chest, letting out a big sigh of relief when you both get comfortable.

"Mission accomplished today."

"You must feel relieved."

"Very fucking relieved." You snort.

"Congrats again, babe. You deserved all of the praise today."

"Congrats to you too, angel." You smile, resting on his chest for a bit. The both of you lay in silence, listening to the hustle and bustle of the city beneath you.

"My dream this morning." You break the silence and say softly while laying on his chest, tracing faint shapes on his skin.

"Hm, oh yeah." He hums. "Ready to tell me?"

"I had a dream about our wedding." You look at him, still teary-eyed from the whole encounter. "It was beautiful." You begin to tell him about the details, recounting the decorations, the setting, the flowers. Everything.

Laying out the image you had exactly in your head.

How you cried, how San cried.

"Oh, I know I'm gonna cry seeing you walk down that aisle. No doubt." You laugh.

"Yeah, I will, too." San chuckles.

"I'll make sure to give you all of that and more, how about that?" He caresses your cheek with the softest smile.

"Only if you want it, too."

"Course I do, it sounds perfect for us."

"Yeah?" You look up at him and he nods.

"100%." He kisses your forehead. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything."

"I love you too, San."

"Can't wait to do life with you."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated @randajjjad

204 notes · View notes

lovelake · 25 days ago

Text

Just like the promise of spring, the eventual falling off of the Van der Linde gang brought new beginnings, leaving Arthur with no loyalties other than his love for you.

arthur morgan x fem!reader, 1.3k wc, no illness AU because i choose happiness, fluff, brief mention of sex, mention of future children ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡. masterlist read on ao3

A rusty ring and domesticity. Loving whispers and hearty laughter to fill the place he now calls home. Crows from roosters to start the day, barks from two dogs and wags of tails, sturdy hooves from his most trusted horses. And most importantly, a special woman to cherish until his very last breath. You.

Happiness in life was never promised, but Arthur had it at the palm of his hand now.

Falling for an outlaw that once carried a $5,000 wanted dead or alive bounty on his head had come at a price for you back then, but the possibility of being swept up in the risk and trouble with the law hadn’t kept you away. Loving a dangerous man was thrilling.

Settling down had always been a goal for you two once things got serious – soft whispers of shared dreams of a future house followed the rowdy nights of drunken singing at camp.

Somewhere along the way, everything materialized. Just last spring, the gang had descended from Colter into New Hanover. It felt like forever ago, though, like a distant memory.

The house you two resided in had been abandoned at first, but you both put in a lot of love into nursing it back to health and made it your own.

Routines and schedules had been difficult for him at the beginning, after all, his life was unpredictable. But it gradually grew easier to become accustomed to this kind of life when he had your gentle arms to coax him into bed at the end of the day and to wake up in.

He was slowly crossing off a list of his favorite places that he wanted to take you to, ones that struck a chord in him in the years he had explored. So-called dates.

Tucked snugly against his side, the two of you sat beneath a large tree just a minute walk from Little Creek River. Fields of lavender lay in front of you. His new journal was set on his lap, the location crossed off - Hanging Dog Ranch.

Soft snickering of your two horses accompanied the singing of birds and bleats from deer that traveled the grass to reach the river, completely unbothered by the presence of the two sweethearts lounging about.

“Don’t go fallin’ asleep on me, now.” His murmur was quiet, spoken with sheer adoration as his thumb rubbed up and down against the bridge of your nose, the tips of his other fingers caressing your jawline.

“You make it hard not to,” he truly did. You felt nothing but safe against him, even back then, he had always done his absolute best to keep you from harm. Now that everything was more peaceful, that feeling only grew, turning you to mush when he held you.

“Think the dogs are okay?” The question blurted from your lips as the two fluffy companions suddenly popped into your mind.

“Yer worried ‘bout the dogs right now?” He looked at you incredulously, you felt his body rumble as he chuckled.

“Well…you know how they get, they’re probably lonely without us and the horses.”

“They’ve got each other, just like we do.”

“You’re so romantic,” spoken through a pearly smile, it sounded like a tease – but you meant it wholeheartedly.

He grinned like an idiot, tilting his face closer towards yours so he could capture your lips into a soft kiss. The moment alone seemed to stop the world, all the outside noises pausing as you focused on the love he was channeling to you.

Pulling away, he rested his head on top of yours with a content sigh.

“Y’see that ranch over there? O'driscoll's used to be holed up in there. Must’ve been…at least fifteen of ‘em. Someone had to be the one to end their shenanigans ‘round here so I could peacefully pick flowers for a particular lovely lady.”

“Wonder who the lucky woman was,” you snorted, knowing damn well you were the one the clumsily tied bouquet had been gifted to one fateful day. Sweet memories of that blossoming romance triumphed over the difficult ones that came with riding with the Van der Linde gang.

“Still remember feelin’ like a nervous fool, trippin’ over my words ‘n all. But when I saw the way you smiled so brightly, everythin’ got easier.”

His transparency was a breath of fresh air. Back then, he always spoke in a way that hid his vulnerability. And Lord, it had taken him a long time to make a move on you, having been too worried about the consequences of being caught up in a relationship. Loving a woman didn’t mix well with the business of rowdy outlaws whose enemies could target that love. Anabelle was just one example.

Pursuing you was quite possibly the bravest thing Arthur had done. He would’ve fallen apart if he had lost you at the cost of his feelings.

And even though he was now far away from the environment that had always pushed him to work, he continued doing so with ease. Arthur didn’t have idle hands, he always put them to use: fixing the wooden fences, tending to the animals, chopping wood for the fireplace, hunting, and massaging your shoulders at the end of the day.

You never quite asked him to do any of it, and that in itself felt special to him.

When he took care of the horses, you sat down on the soft grass, the dogs curled up on your sides, back against the fence as you talked to him and kept him company, he’d reply with a soft ‘mm’ or ‘is that right?’ while smiling.

Not a day went by that he didn’t get a nice hot meal accompanied by a kiss on the forehead, though. He’d try to help out with making the food sometimes, but you would nag at him to just relax for a while because he was always doing something.

Little traces of traditions from camp followed the two of you like a shadow. Anyone passing by your house after dinner time would likely catch a glimpse of two silhouettes holding one another and hear the tune of a phonograph.

Being tangled up beneath the sheets with passion heating up the bedroom was another world entirely — no longer having to be mindful about nearby ears or the lack of comfort. With nothing but security, having a baby on the way would be nothing but a blessing. A bundle of love who would be coddled and hear kid-friendly recountings of your time as outlaws for bedtime stories.

Preparations were already being made – Arthur built a sturdy crib while you worked on sewing small rompers and bodysuits during your free time. Talks of a child slowly integrated into your daily conversations, too.

“Maybe they’d get your artistic skills,” you mused, fingers slowly flipping through the pages of Arthur’s old journal – you’d read it over and over after he let you. Each sentence was raw, allowing you to see into his beautiful soul.

“Mm, and the little rascal will get to see how pretty their momma always has been.”

Sketches of you filled multiple pages, all from when he first started falling head over heels for you. It was endearing, really, how a man caught up in crime had scribbled hearts all over at the mere thought of you. Over the years, he had memorized each and every one of your features, like all artists did with their favorite muses. He could draw you with his eyes closed, with a stick on sand, or even with the mere trace of his fingers against your back — just as he did now as he held you.

“I was thinking we should head into town and go to the photography studio,” You suggested, closing the book and turning to lay on your stomach to face him. Arthur had never drawn himself, and well, you wanted some photos with him to hang up and frame. “Or maybe we can write a letter to what’s his name…that clumsy man you told me about!”

“Albert Mason?”

“Yeah, him!”

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea, darlin’.” The words were whispered as he brought his hand up to pat your head, watching as you nuzzled into his touch.

You were all he needed to feel complete and worthy.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #be still my beating heart

192 notes · View notes

anothanobody · 9 months ago

Text

Risks

the last chapter of Risks is here.

Chapter 14.

Thank you for accompanying me through this journey! I am really grateful for each of you that read my works!

#risks em au

33 notes · View notes

obsidianimagines · 6 months ago

Text

Nearly Lost You

Jack ends up in the hospital after his brush with death.

Jack Mercer x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of death/injury/blood, lots of cursing, starts angsty and turns fluffy, Bobby calls Jack reader's girlfriend, Jack lives AU :)

Notes: This is connected to the previous imagine with him. The title comes from the Screaming Trees song (Jack would totally approve 🤘)

Jack had been shot by Sweet's men. The one thing you were scared of in the Mercers' search for revenge actually happened, and it was nothing short of a nightmare.

The last few hours had gone by in a blur, ever since the moment Bobby realized that Jack ran outside and into danger. You'd ridden in the ambulance with him as the paramedics worked on him, and then been written off when it arrived at the hospital and they realized you weren't family. So you sat there in the waiting room with nothing but your thoughts.

You could still hear the gunshots and Jack's voice as he yelled for Bobby. As he yelled for you. But the worst part was when he stopped making any noise at all. By the time the shooters were all dead, Jack's mouth was full of blood as more escaped his wounds and stained the snow. The coppery smell still lingered on you, shirt and sleeves smeared with red from trying to help him until the ambulance arrived.

It was unlikely that he would survive, but you weren't leaving that hospital until you knew for sure. No matter how many people looked at you funny as you sat in the corner and sobbed.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you blinked to try and read the name through your tears and the dried blood on the front screen...Jack?

A wave of nausea washed over you when you realized that it was probably someone from the hospital calling you—the emergency contact in his phone—to deliver bad news. You shakily flipped it open and answered with a soft "...Hello?"

"How is he?"

Bobby. Jack must have left his phone in the house somewhere.

"He made it to the hospital. They took him in the back, but they won't tell me anything since I'm not family."

"Jesus Christ. You're his girlfriend! You were in the fuckin' ambulance with him!"

"I told them that. Apparently, it doesn't matter."

"Go up to the desk and give 'em the phone."

You looked over at the desk, where you'd already tried to argue your case. Eventually, you had to stop or risk being removed from the premises. The nurses surely wouldn't be happy to see you approaching, but you did what Bobby told you.

As you thought, one of the nurses began to speak up once you reached the desk. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we've been over this–"

"It's his brother," you interrupted, holding the phone out to him. "He wants to talk to you."

The man took the phone, almost scowling at you as he put it to his ear. "Sir, I–"

Bobby's yells could be heard from the other side of the phone, and in any other context, you would probably start laughing. At that moment, you were actually glad for the oldest Mercer's strong personality.

The nurse tried and failed to get a word in edgewise amongst Bobby's verbal assault. By the end, his hand was shaking as he gave the phone back to you and began clicking and typing on his computer. "It looks like he's still in surgery. I'll have another nurse take you back to the OR waiting room."

"Thank you." You put the phone back up to your ear. "Did you hear that, Bobby? He's still in surgery."

"Call me back when he gets out, alright?"

"I will."

Bobby hung up first, and you closed your phone before shoving it back into your pocket.

A few minutes later, a nurse escorted you back to a different waiting room. One far less crowded. You slumped down in one of the chairs and leaned your head back against the wall, praying to God that Jack would make it through the night.

Four days later, you sat in the chair next to Jack's hospital bed, his hand held in yours. You let out a sigh as you brushed your thumb across his fingers, the absence of his usual rings feeling pretty strange. He still hadn't woken up, but the doctor assured you that you had nothing to worry about on that front.

Jack was stable. He was alive.

Of course, outside of the hospital, Jack was considered dead, which meant his brothers couldn't visit yet. They were even planning a fake funeral and burial just to make it more convincing. Because until they killed Sweet, he could easily send someone to finish the job.

You hadn't left the hospital since the ambulance brought you both there. Camille was kind enough to bring your things so you could use the shower and change out of your bloodied clothes. A nurse gave you a blanket and a couple of pillows so you could sleep on the tiny couch in the corner, and all of your 'meals' came from the vending machine at the end of the hall. You stayed there with Jack because the last thing you wanted was for him to wake up alone in the hospital after what happened to him.

Giving his hand a little kiss, you rested your head on the bed and closed your heavy eyes. Sleep didn't come easy in the hospital, even though being there was so emotionally exhausting.

When you felt his fingers move, you thought you imagined it. Until you heard a familiar, yet much raspier, voice say your name.

You sat up and looked at your boyfriend, who was finally looking right back at you after so many days. "Jack?" All you wanted to do at that moment was scoop him up into a big hug, but he was still badly hurt, so you simply squeezed his hand and gave him a smile, your eyes beginning to well up with tears again.

"What the hell happened?" He croaked, squinting at the bright lights as he slowly came back to reality.

"Let me get you some water, baby." You let go of him so you could go over to the sink and fill up a paper cup. "You were shot. You don't remember?"

He took the cup when you offered it and had a big gulp, helping make his mouth and throat less unbearably dry. "I...I, um..."

Your words and the dull ache in his legs and chest had it coming back to him. Just in bits and pieces, but it was enough. Getting that snowball to the face, bleeding out and screaming in the snow. And the gunshots, the sound of bullets hitting the brick and glass of the Mercer home, where his family had still been inside.

His eyes went wide, and he reached out to grab your hand. "Were you hurt? Were my brothers-?"

"I'm okay, Jack. So are your brothers." You sat on the edge of the bed and gently cupped his cheek with your other hand. "You were the only one who got hurt, unless you count the guys who attacked us. Your brothers took care of them."

"Good." Jack leaned his face into your hand slightly, sniffling as tears stung at his eyes. He could remember you sobbing over him as he started to black out, pleading with him not to go. He never wanted to do that to you again. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" You asked, frowning slightly.

"I don't know. For leaving the house and getting myself shot. For getting you involved in this shit." If you had gotten hurt or worse while Jack was too injured to protect you, he never would've forgiven himself. He thought having you at the house would be the safest thing, but he should've just asked you to go back home entirely. Even though he knew you wouldn't have dreamed of leaving him there in Detroit, he wanted to kick himself anyway for being so fucking selfish.

"Hey, none of this is your fault." He closed his eyes as you leaned in and pressed a small kiss to his lips. "I love you, Jack, and I don't regret being here at all. I'm sticking with you no matter how crazy things get. Got it?"

Jack nodded and buried his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around you—at least as much as he could with an IV in and the injury near his shoulder. "I love you, too."

Careful not to put any weight on him, you stayed there for a while, you and Jack simply holding one another and thanking the universe that the other was still breathing.

"The fuck were you doing running outside like that?!" Bobby yelled loud enough to be heard in the hall.

Jack's brothers finally came to the hospital to visit him, and the very first thing Bobby did was smack him in the back of the head. Granted, it wasn't as hard as he would usually do it, but it still stung a bit as Jack rubbed the spot. "Jesus, what was that for?!"

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" Jerry added, but at a more reasonable level.

"That asshole called Mom a whore. I wasn't thinking."

"Yeah, we know you weren't." But once he heard what was said, Angel wondered if he wouldn't have tried to chase that motherfucker too.

Jack knew his brothers weren't happy about him getting hurt, but what he didn't realize was that they were each more upset with themselves than with him. If they hadn't been arguing, they would've noticed when he disappeared. They wouldn't have almost lost him like they lost their mother. Bobby had it the worst because to him, being the oldest meant being responsible for all of his little brothers, and especially his baby brother, who didn't have as much experience in this kind of life as the rest of them.

Instead of ever admitting how terrified he'd been at the idea of losing a brother, he continued on as he sat in your vacant chair. "Jackie, you ever do some shit like that again, I'll beat your ass."

"Alright, Bobby. I think he gets it." Jerry looked back to Jack again, gesturing towards the suitcase in the corner. "Where's your girl?"

Jack cracked a smile. "She went to get us some lunch. The food they serve here is shit."

"That girl must really fuckin' love you," Bobby said as he put his boots up on the edge of the bed. "She's been here all week."

"You found yourself a good one, Jackiepoo." Angel mussed his hair, and Jack pushed his arm away in annoyance. "Don't fuck it up."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Bobby scoffed. "What do you know about good women, Angel?"

"Don't even start, Bobby!"

After a little more bickering, Jack's brothers took the time to tell him everything that had happened since the shooting. How Green had helped hide Jack's survival before he was shot by Fowler—who Angel had easily tricked into getting himself killed—and how they had used the money meant for Sweet to get Jerry's old union friends on their side. Now, Victor Sweet's body wouldn't be found for months, and he would never hurt anyone else again.

It was over half an hour before you opened the door and walked into the room holding a takeout bag, which you placed on the rolling table next to the bed. "Hey, guys. If I'd known you all were coming, I would've ordered more food."

"Don't worry about it," Jerry said, "We've gotta go anyway. I'm picking the girls up from school today."

"That's too bad." Looking between all four of them, you asked what you'd spent so many days hoping for. "Since you're visiting, I assume that means there's good news?"

"Yeah." Bobby sat up from the chair with a pained hiss, patting Jack on his good shoulder. "You don't have to worry about Sweet tryin' to kill your girlfriend anymore."

Jack glared at his oldest brother, and you rolled your eyes as you pulled containers from the paper bag.

"Let's go, man." Angel nodded towards the door. "Camille's gonna chew our asses out if we make Jerry late."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'."

Alone again, you moved the table in front of Jack and took your food with you as you flopped down in the now empty chair. "So, is it really over? I mean, your brothers are going to be the number one suspects."

Jack picked up a plastic fork in his left hand and awkwardly scooped up some of his noodles. "The police interrogated them this morning. They don't have anything on them. No witnesses and no evidence."

"That's good." Even with the joy of Jack being alive and well, Sweet's presence had still kept you on edge. There was a fear that he might get the better of the Mercer brothers and eventually kill Jack once he discovered his survival. But the bastard was finally gone. Evelyn Mercer was avenged, and her boys would walk away clean. "Now you can leave in a few days like the doctor said."

Jack had never liked hospitals much, but who did? The only thing that made it bearable was the fact that you were there with him. Still, he was going to light up a celebratory cigarette the moment they rolled him out the front door.

"Can't wait."

The chilly December air bit at Jack's face as he blew out a cloud of smoke. His brothers were working on fixing up the house as a group of neighborhood kids played hockey in the street. Everything was calm—normal, even—for the first time in weeks.

You sat on the sidewalk with Daniela and Amelia, all three of you scribbling on the surface with different colors of chalk. The moment he noticed their box of chalk and mentioned to them that you were an artist, they practically begged you to draw with them. So he'd parked his wheelchair a few feet away as you bonded with his little nieces.

Amelia nudged your arm and pointed to her drawing. "Do you like my flowers?"

"I love them!"

"What about mine?" Daniela asked.

"They're all beautiful," you said, delighted as both of them grinned. "Flowers are just what we need on a cold, snowy day like this. Don't you think?"

The girls quickly declared that they were going to draw even more of them, but before they could, Sofi and Camille called out from the front door.

"Okay, okay. No more work for today."

"That's right. Come in the house, wash your hands. You too, girls!"

You grabbed the little plastic bucket and helped the girls put away all of the pieces of chalk. "Maybe we can draw more later." They ran off towards their parents with the bucket in hand, and you brushed yourself off as you got to your feet.

Jack grinned at you and carefully bent over the arm of the chair to put his cigarette out in a pile of snow, holding onto the butt to throw away inside. He could almost hear his mom reminding him not to litter, and certainly not in her yard.

You gripped the handles of his wheelchair and leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss when he turned his head towards you. Jack happily kissed you back and ignored the annoyed look from Bobby, who was still over by the saw. Giving him one extra peck at the end, you straightened up and pushed him down the sidewalk towards the path to the front door and the ramp that Jerry had built.

Jack hated that his still healing shoulder kept him from wheeling himself around. He hated that you had to help him change into his clothes, and even help him shower or get out of the chair just to take a piss. But the first time he expressed that, you reminded him that he would do the same thing for you in a heartbeat if your roles were reversed, and he knew it was absolutely true.

Angel was right. He'd found a good woman. In spite of his injuries and the rough road ahead, he was happy to be alive so he could keep doing his best to be the kind of man you deserved.

#jack mercer #jack mercer x reader #jack mercer imagine #four brothers #garrett hedlund #my fics***#i'm not 100% happy with it but it's still cute

233 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

Text

Fake it Til You Make it [TEASER]

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | teaser wc: 1.2k genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // the biggest of hugs and kisses to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this for me! this is a continuation of morning rush (not required to read this, but might help with some context!

join my taglist here <3