#and while i'll never know what she truly had to go through

[conelluwrites]

namgyu demanding you say his name during sex is so real I loved that detail in your latest fic. Could you please write phone sex with toxic ex namgyu where he asks for you back and is desperate with the same “say my name” possessive vibe?

You'll Be My Downfall (Still I'll Call, I'll Call, I'll Call)

Ao3 link

Requests open!

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Nothing aside from what's in the request (toxicity, possessive behavior, phone sex, Nam-gyu behavior lol)

Other: Had a ton of fun with this one!! I love my lil jerk sm. I've never wrote phone sex before, I hope I got the idea right. The fact that two people I care about and have known for months asked me for a link to this blog got me tweaking lol

Breaking up with Nam-gyu wasn’t easy to do.  He made it hard in every possible way- making her reliant on him, breaking her down, and keeping her on a metaphorical leash.  So when she left while he was at work, he was furious.  He didn’t have time for this bullshit, he needs to get off and using his hand isn’t nearly as satisfying as using her tight cunt.  She ignores his calls, his texts, even ignores the bombardment of messages he gets his friends to send her.  Fuck that whore, who needs her anyway?  He crawls onto his bed not bothering to take off his clothing or get into pajamas and scrolls through the countless videos he has of his girlfriend- er, ex-girlfriend, he supposes.  He fishes his cock from his jeans and boxers and loses himself in her calls of his name and breathy moans.  He’s gone within minutes, spilling himself onto his fist.  He sneers and wipes it on the sheets, rolling over to the opposite side and going to bed.

That’s his routine for the next couple weeks- wake up, go to work, come home, message and call her, jerk off to their homemade porn, and sleep.  Of course he tries to drown his thoughts in other bitches at the club and whores his friends set him up with, but nothing scratches his itch.  Hell, he finds himself just sending the poor women home instead of pounding into their pussies recklessly.  Fuck, she’s really ruined him.  He hates her, really fucking hates her.

Except he doesn’t, he can’t bring himself to hate her.  Not truly, at least.  He despises the way she makes him feel, hates the way she haunts his every thought, dislikes the way the bed feels empty without her soft body next to him.  But he knows, deep down, that it all cycles back to the fact he loved her- no, he loves her.  The messages he sends her alternates between threatening and hatefilled and desperate and loving.

Today’s the day, he decides midway through his shift.  He’s disgusted with the way women are touching him, disgusted with the way they purr and rub his arm, disgusted, disgusted, disgusted.  Today she’ll respond to him, it’s been fourteen straight days of him messaging her and she hasn’t blocked him on any platform.  Time ticks by so damn slowly until he’s able to get home.  He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, pulling out his phone and typing out a quick message.  It’s some real mushy pussy shit, he hates himself for it but he can’t stop himself.

“Listen, whore, I know you’re reading this shit so respond already.  You know I hate being ignored so why the hell are you doing this to me now?  I can see the stupid fucking seen at the bottom of the messages, I can see you posting.  What, are you fucking some other dude now?  I knew you were nothing more than a loose slut.  Dumb cunt, you’re worthless, you know that?  You’re lucky that I don’t know where the hell you’re at.  I’d make you regret ever fucking leaving me.  Leaving me while I’m at work, what a damn pussy.  Lucky bitch.”

“Baby please, please just respond to me.  I can’t stand this anymore.  I can’t go on without you.  I need to know you’re okay.  We can meet up, right?  Can we?  I’d love to see you in person again.  You’re so pretty in those pictures you’ve been posting, makes me realize I took you for granted.  Please, baby girl.  Please?  I’ll do anything to get you back in my life.”

“Made it home.  Couldn’t stand those loose bitches at the club grinding on me.  Miss you so damn much, wish I could touch you again.  Love you, baby.  Gonna call you, pick up this time.  I think we can make something good happen.”

It’s short, but it’s also straight to the point.  It’s good enough he figures as he pulls his pants off and gets in the bed, pulling the sheets over his body.  He knows today it’ll work out, today she’ll pick up, today she’ll come back to him.

Seen

He rolls to his back, putting the phone on speaker and staring up at the ceiling.  Fuck, he’s whipped.

He immediately hits the call button when he sees that she’s opened the message, there’s no time to waste.

“C’mon, just pick up already.” Nam-gyu grunted as he held the phone in one hand.  “Dumb bitch, wastin’ my time.”  He rolls his eyes, sending a message to her.  He knows she’s looking at her phone, she’s gotta be.  There’s no way she already put her phone down.

When she picks up, he feels his heart jump and stutter.

“What is it, Nam-gyu.”  Her voice cuts through the silence, she doesn’t sound tired, just fed up.  “I’m busy.”

Busy sucking some other guy’s dick, he thinks to himself before shaking his head.  He can’t afford to let himself think like that right now.  “Finally,” he breathes out.

Another stretch of silence.  He can envision her, laying on whatever couch she’s crashing on and covered up with a blanket.  It makes his heart ache, he never knew he would be yearning for some woman and not just for her hot cunt but for her entire being.

“Listen, please don’t hang up.  I just- just say my name again.” He breaks the silence himself, he knows it’s a fucking weird request and that he should be berating her for being a dumb bitch.  But at this moment, he just wants to hear her sweet voice say his name again.  Preferably not sounding exasperated, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Nam-gyu?”

Yes…  Fuck, there it is.  His name falling from her lips.  He can feel it take effect on his cock instantly, it twitches in his green boxers.  He cups himself, his eyes closing as he imagines the way she used to look at him when he’d come home from work.  The way she would wrap herself around him when he crashed on the bed and whisper filthy, wicked things into his ear.

“Are you high or something?”

“Not this time, baby girl.  Just need you so bad right now.”

She feels a weird twist in her stomach at his voice, the tone is edging on needy and it marks her want to reach through the phone and reassure him in a way that will only lead him to shoving her off of him and saying he’s no damn woman, he doesn’t need her sweet shit.

“You need me too, don’t you?”  His voice is smooth, soothing, and tempting.  He knows what he’s doing.  “Say it, baby, say you need me.  I know you need me, babe, it’s okay.” The more he talks, the harder he gets. “C’mon, darlin’...”

“Nam-gyu, I-” she begins, her voice catching.  She wants to hang up, wants to tell him to fuck off and let her heal, but fuck…  Is it so wrong to give in to what he wants?  It’s just one time right?  She knows the rest of the house she’s crashing at are passed out so there’s no chance of her getting caught if she slides her free hand into her shorts.

“Good girl.”  His damn smirk is evident through the phone as if he knows what’s going on with her.  It’s not hard to believe, after she became so reliant on him- and he became begrudgingly reliant on her- he can read her like a book even when she’s not physically with him.  “Say it now, please?  For me?”  

“I need you.”  She breathes out, her fingers skillfully rubbing her dampening cunt.  

Fuck- he nearly groans at her whispered words.  “Fuck yeah, you do. You need me, baby girl.” He palms his cock, grunting in a way that’s barely audible for her to hear but it sends a sharp thrill through her spine regardless.  “Need your Nam-gyu so bad, dontcha?”  He fishes his cock from his boxers and pumps lotion onto his hand.

“I do, I do, I do.”  She whispers like a prayer, hearing the first pump of his lotioned hand on his cock through the phone.

“Say my name, say it for me- I need t’hear it.”

“Nam-gyu, fuck, Nam-gyu… My Nam-gyu.”

He almost whimpers at the words like some soft bitch, he hates it but he loves it.  “My baby girl…”

That evokes a strong reaction from her, a low moan leaving her as she moves her panties to the side and gives a glance to the hallway just in case someone wakes up.  No one’s awake, no one is listening, it’s just her and him.  She hisses as her finger traces up her slit to her clit.  He laughs softly, “just like that, my girl- so proud of you, hm?  Touching that sweet little pussy for me.”

“I am.” She coughs out, biting her bottom lip as her hips buck upwards as she circles her clit while hearing his hand pump languidly on his cock.  He rubs his thumb over his sensitive head and swipes the pre cum that builds up.

“I bet you miss my big, thick cock, huh?  Miss the way it stretched that perfect pussy open.”

“I do.”

“I miss the way you feel, baby girl.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, small pants and gasps leaving them both as they think of each other.

“Wish you were fuckin’ me, Nam-gyu.  Wish that cock was spreading my cunt open.  Wanna feel it again.”  She rambles out, “Miss the way you hold my thighs apart to watch yourself sink into me.”

“Louder.  Let that damn loser pussy you’re crashing with hear you.”

“Yeah?” His voice is strained, his hand stuttering on his cock.  She sounds so damn amazing as she speaks, the way she mewls like a cute lil kitten. “I wish I could taste your cunt right now, feel your squirm as I lap up your nectar and hold those precious hips down.  Make sure you know what you’ve been missin’ out on.” He grunts hard, his hips moving in sync with his hand.

She lets out a soft fuck, her eyes fluttering closed as she imagines her ex-boyfriend eating her out like she’s a damn feast and he hasn’t ate in days.  He rarely ate her out when they were together, but when he did he was a fucking master at it.

She whines, his words pushing her closer to the edge at the mere idea of the guy she’s staying with hearing her.  “Fuck…”  It’s a stammered word, her eyes opening back up so she can swipe through the pictures she has of Nam-gyu on her phone until it lands on her favorite. It’s not sexual, it’s just a candid shot of him mid laugh, but goddamn…

“My name.  Now.  Say it.”  He can barely get out the demands as his breathing turns harsher.  His grip is almost painful around his cock as he bites into the collar of his shirt.  His own phone is on videos of his cock pumping in and out of her sweet mouth, drool dripping down her chin and onto her awaiting hands.  She's pretty, as perfect as a picture even in her ruined state with his hands tangled up too tight in her hair.

Her back arches off the couch as she groans out his name and tries to speak a couple times before she’s able to properly beg for him, “I need it, I need your cum.  Keep pumping that cock for me until you come.  I miss you, fuck, I miss you.”

“Nam-gyu,” she chokes out, dipping two fingers into her glistening cunt to seek out that sweet spot in her.  She finds it easily, her practiced fingers massaging the gummy spot until her thighs are trembling.  “Come for me, Nam-gyu.  I’m gon’ come for you.  Don’t hold back, ‘kay?  Please…” She hates being vocal right now, hates the way her voice echoes around the living room.

“That’s it, that’s it…  Say it again.  Beg for my cum, baby girl.”

“Damn right you do, you need that load.  Need it right in your damn cunt, don’t you.”  His hand on his cock is so fucking loud, his gorans and grunts bouncing off the walls of his messy bedroom.

“I-!!”  She can’t get the words out before her orgasm crashes over her.  Her cum coating her fingers and hand as she fucks herself through her climax.

“We on for tomorrow, baby girl?  Gonna meet me at the stupid cafe you love so much?  Let me take you back home and show you what you’ve really been missing?”

He moans out a whimpering fuck, shit, goddamn, and then his pulsing cock lets loose.  It dribbles down his shaft, covers his hand, but he can’t stop.  He pumps his cock until he’s milked dry.

A soft, breathy laugh leaves her as she buries her nose into the blanket.  She knows she needs to get up and clean herself, but her legs feel like jello.  She’s not close to taking him back, not fully, not after the way he treated her, but right now she does have to admit she misses the way he’d throw an arm over her body and tuck her in close like he was terrified she would disappear after coming.

[lavena]

I really want to give baby Damian Martha Waynes eyes.

And then take them away before Bruce has a chance to see them.

Just like for one reason or another the Batfam ends up having to go to the League and Damian is sent off by Talia to join his peers in morning katas while the elder family members meet in her office for something.

And of course all of the Batfam are little snoops so they walk around her office and look at the documents and few pictures she has. And then suddenly Tim notices something.

"I thought Damian had your eyes Talia?" Tim says staring down at a picture of a 3 or 4 year old Damian with muddy green eyes rather than the bright almost toxic ones the family is used to.

"No, not at all, I don't even remember what color my eyes originally were." Talia responds barely digging through some files that Bruce needs.

"What does that mean?" Dick asks harshly.

" You didn't think the Al Ghul eyes were truly the "Al Ghul" eyes did you?" Talia scoffs "They're Lazarus eyes, why do you think Jason's eyes match ours?"

"I. I didn't think of that, huh" Jason mumbles dragging his hands along the different books Talia keeps.

"So... So when did Damian die?"

That brought silence to the room.

Jason stopped walking, Dick stopped breathing, Tim was looking sadly at Talia, eye shifting to Bruce as he stared at a wall.

"About 3 months before his 5th birthday, it was before my Father and I started to actually train him. An assassin snuck in after infiltrating the guard for a few months. Apparently he wanted Damians death to be slow. He perforated a lung, I managed to get there and kill the bastard, but Damian couldn't be saved without the pit." Talia says robotically.

"I do miss his eyes though, such a soft green" she almost whispers.

Bruce walks over to Tim, lightly taking the photo.

His breath shuttered for a moment.

He stroked his fingers over the eyes that he will never see again, that were taken from him far too soon. Both times.

"Those are my mother's eyes." He says

"He had my mother's eyes."

He stares, unable to do anything but mourn what he didn't know he lost again.

"Do you have more pictures from before?"

"Of course beloved, I'll make you copies"

The room remained silent spare the shuffling of papers and the drag of Bruce's finger over the glass frame

[3amfanfiction]

For the worms: Johnny prescribing to the idea “sharing is caring” when his newest girlfriend makes it past the two months mark (something previously thought impossible), don’t worry guys, it’s not “my girlfriend” she’s “our girlfriend”

Oh Temp you know the way to my heart. I love a good 'our girlfriend' moment. There's something so delicious about the entitlement of it, it lends a certain flavor that tickles my fancy. poly 141 x fem!reader. 7k words about (unknowingly) being the team's girlfriend. This is nothing but smut, enjoy!

~~~~

He knew you were the one the first time he met you.

You got him, in ways no one else ever had. You got his energy, his excitement, his need for stimulation. He knew he could be a lot but he also knew he'd never been too much. He'd just been waiting for someone like you.

He never listened when the guys wanted to dog on him saying no one would put up for long with how much he talked. He was a chatty guy, okay? He had a lot of thoughts running through his head and he wanted to share them with people. You never knew which thoughts were going to be strokes of genius until they're spoken after all.

And while he would talk about anything under the sun, he talked about his team most of all. Probably more than he should if he was being completely honest but it was hard not to talk about the people he loved. He was talking about you to them just as much after all. The two halves of his life overlapping as often as he could make them.

But you loved it. You loved him. It was obvious every time you told him to make sure he ate lunch as he was headed out the door, lunch bag swinging from his hand, bursting with goodies you'd packed up the night before. Every time you texted him first, took his trash with yours to throw away, brushed your hand down his arm in greeting, always winding up with your fingers tangled together as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your whole existence showed how much you loved him.

It was fate. It was perfect. It was another sign it was meant to be that it was your 2-month anniversary when you broke the news to him as you were walking him to the door one morning. He'd stayed over the night before because he knew he was going to be working late tonight so you both celebrated one day early. And what a celebration it had been. He'd stolen his three kisses at the door and was getting ready to step over the threshold when he realized just how big your heart was and the fact that you truly were listening whenever he spoke.

"Tell your team I said hi," you said, smiling sweetly up at him, sleep shirt rumpled and hair a gorgeous mess, "there's extra muffins for everyone in your bag."

Oh.

He hadn't realized—but that was okay—he should've noticed—poor lass, had he not been holding up his side of the relationship? The part where you support your partner and their needs and wants? He hadn't seen what you wanted but he understood now. You'd made your feelings known and who was he to stand in the way?

Beaming down at you he peppered your face with kisses, holding your cheeks firmly between his wide palms. Words broken up with the showering of kisses, "I'll tell them love, don't you worry—I'll tell them."

Best anniversary ever.

—

You were pleased with how your day had gone. You'd spent it picking up the house, doing a grocery run, you spent a good few hours on your hobby, and started on a dinner that would get you through lunches for the rest of the week. Your day left you feeling good so you threw on your comfiest t-shirt and sleep shorts combo and camped out on the sofa while dinner finished in the oven.

It startled you when you heard a key being inserted into your lock but you were reassured when you heard Johnny's voice on the other end. You weren't sure how he managed to talk his way into getting a key to your house so quickly but he had a way of lovingly worming his way into any opening you left. He had nearly convinced you to move in with him just last week before you realized what he was doing and put a stop to it. The man had a golden tongue.

In more ways than one.

You popped up over the couch to say hi when you were met with more than just your boyfriend. Another person stood looming at his back, dwarfing the man who made you feel small. You weren't sure what face you were making as you looked up at them, unsure of what was going on but not immediately worried. Johnny had told you enough stories that you were able to clock the man standing with him almost immediately.

"Love, this is Simon."

Right on the money.

"He's come for dinner. The other two were jealous they were gonna miss out on your cooking but they had prior plans. Just know they'd be here if they could."

What? Why was he making it sound like a hallmark moment? You tilted your chin up for a kiss as he came over to the couch, holding still while he cupped your face and pressed his hungry mouth to yours. You pulled away abashed at the racy kiss in front of company. Putting your hand to Johnny's face when it was clear he was coming in for a second go you addressed them both.

"I didn't realize either of you were coming for dinner." Your voice dropped to a whisper, "Johnny! I'm not even dressed."

"You look perfect love," he assured, looking over your outfit. "Besides, it's only Simon. And I've seen you in less. Much less." He leered at you with a smarmy smile and you couldn't help but laugh. He had a point, and you were decent, just a little rattier than you'd prefer when meeting someone for the first time. Hopefully Simon wouldn't hold it against you.

You climbed off the couch and went to greet your guest before moving to the kitchen, calling out to Johnny to set the table and get drinks ready. You hadn't planned on feeding anyone other than yourself tonight but with a creative side dish or two you had enough to go around. You'd just need to find something else for lunch but that was a problem for tomorrow. For tonight you had people to feed and you wouldn't let them go hungry.

By the time dinner was over you had a new appreciation for your boyfriend's teammate. While not particularly verbose he wasn't shy about making his opinions known. And his opinions seemed to be overwhelmingly positive.

"That was the best meal I've had in ages, dove."

You felt your cheeks heat as you smiled at him, "Thank you, Simon. It's one of my favorite dishes, I'm glad you liked it."

You looked over to see Johnny beaming as he looked back and forth between the two of you, happy as a clam to see you getting along so well. He looked like he was mentally patting himself on the back at the successful dinner. Like he had orchestrated something that was finally coming to fruition. It would be worrying if you didn't know your boyfriends penchant for good naturedly dipping his fingers into things. Nothing to do but wait and see what scheme he was cooking up in his brain.

—

You had piled the last dish into the sink when Johnny came up and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing along your neck. It sent a shiver down your spine at the unexpected touch, goosebumps popping up all along your arms before you relaxed back into him.

He was warm—heat radiating off him in waves as he pulled you to stand in front of him, turned to face him with a smile. He grinned back at you, overjoyed at having your attention.

Raising your arms you looped them around his neck, pressing close as you leaned up for a proper kiss. For all that he had sprung company on you, you were happy to see him and you had missed him today. You'd quickly found that he carved a niche out for himself, wiggling into your psyche like he belonged and conforming it around him. Now when he was gone you were left staring at an empty hole that used to be filled.

Your thoughts were pleasantly scattered, a warm contented haze settled over your mind when you felt another body slide up behind you.

You yanked your head away from Johnny only for the back of it to thud against Simon's shoulder, him penning you in between the two of them. Your felt a little like those sheep you saw in videos, held in place by a machine while they were manipulated to their owners liking. You tilted your head with a frown, trying to push back on him or away from Johnny, whichever would get you a little bit of space.

"What are you doing?"

You froze as one thick arm curled around your waist, big hand spread wide over the pudge of your stomach while the other snaked its way up your torso. He gripped your chin firmly from behind, moving you to face Johnny once more.

"Don't stop now, it was just getting good."

Johnny didn't hesitate for a moment to dive back down and press his lips to yours once more, moaning into your mouth and humping his hips forward subconsciously. You tried to turn your head to catch your breath but Simon kept you still, holding you trapped in the heady spill of Johnny's tongue and lips as they devoured yours.

You were limp by the time he eventually pulled back, a panting mess with spit-slicked lips and blown-out eyes. You looked up at him with your mind reeling until you felt another set of lips making their home on the column of your neck.

You flinched . . . or you tried to. You didn't get far with how Simon was pinning you back against his body. You turned worried eyes up towards Johnny, sure this was about to set him off, maybe start an argument about boundaries and how you were with him, Simon wasn't allowed to swan in and start taking liberties for himself.

Instead what you saw was Johnny's pupils eclipsing his irises as he strove to burn the image into his retinas. Greedy want was present in every line of his face as he watched his teammate kiss along his girlfriend's neck. That look mixed in with the shock of teeth Simon had just introduced caused you to let out a ragged gasp, filling the quiet kitchen air with your sound.

"Fuck LT," Johnny croaked, "Just like that."

"Johnny, what—" your voice wobbled as you squirmed in place—Simon finding every sensitive spot along your neck with ease. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, lass. When you told me this morning . . . I hadn't realized this was something you were wanting. I didn't see it." He looked contritely down at you, eyes flickering over to where Simon was pressing hot, wet kisses just behind your ear before darting back to yours, "But we're here now. All of us—as a team."

"I don't understand, I never said I wanted thi-IS." You ended on a yelp as the man at your back took the tip of your ear between his teeth and pinched. You swatted back at him, pushing against his forehead as he chuckled. It was almsot mean, like he liked the sound of your squeal.

"Settle down," he smirked, releasing your ear after a moment, holding it long enough to drive home that he was releasing you of his own will. "no need to cause a commotion. Like he said, we're here now."

The to stay was heavily implied by the weight of his words.

Before you knew it Johnny had leaned down once more, taking your mouth in his while Simon made headway on covering every inch of your neck with his teeth and tongue. It was a whirlwind. Groping hands slid under clothing to pull them off while trailing kisses on every new bit of cleared skin as they urged you to the bedroom. By the time you were sprawled back on the center of the mattress you'd been stripped as bare as the day you were born. Limbs akimbo. Chest heaving with gasped breaths. Unsure how you ended up here.

You watched the two men finish removing the last of their clothes before they crawled in with you, bodies pressing a wash of hot skin to yours, causing you to arch into the sensation. Simon took possession of your mouth while Johnny dove headfirst between your legs.

Your gasp at the first long stroke of his tongue along your seam was all the opening Simon needed. Caught between the double sensation of tongues, it was no surprise you quickly became a panting mess. You attempted to keep your hips from hitching but it was a losing battle, your body's instinctive reaction to get closer to the source of euphoria.

Meanwhile Simon had coaxed your tongue into his mouth and was nibbling and sucking on it in turns, your jaw cradled in his wide palm, tilting you exactly as he wanted. When you pulled your tongue back into your own mouth he took that as leave to begin tracing your lips with the point of his, dipping just inside to take sips at your mouth. Acting as if you were something to be savored. Enjoyed.

He reached down to pinch at your nipples, tugging them into hard peaks only to soothe them with his thumb when you complained. The first time you pulled away with a yip he pressed apologizing kisses down your neck and collar, ending at the abused nipple to take it into his mouth. He laved the sensitive flesh, whispering sweet words into your soft skin.

"Sorry, pretty girl, didn't mean to be so rough." Kisses and light nips with his teeth. How were his kisses so good? "We'll start gentle, yeah? Only soft touches for you tonight."

Moving back up to your mouth once more, he held you still while Johnny had you moaning, keeping your mouth fused to his, not letting you pull away for a single breath. You had to suffice yourself with stealing air when you could, an endless battle between your need to breathe and Simon's consuming kisses. You were lightheaded and woozy by the time you were able to properly pull away.

Drinking down greedy gasps of oxygen—anything to stop your swirling head. You looked down your body to see Johnny perched between your thighs, his bright blue eyes visible as he looked up at you from the cradle of your hips, paused to watch the two of you with adoration. You reached a free hand down to grab his hair, holding him in place and grinding your cunt against his mouth. Your fist clenched tightly as he went back to eating with gusto.

It was impossible for you to stay still, continuously squirming and humping your hips up into his face, chasing your high. Simon reached down and pressed a firm hand to your pelvis, pinning you in place.

"Don't you know how to keep our girl still? Do you let her squirm like this whenever I'm not here?" At Johnny's broken protest he scoffed, "Christ, I knew you needed direction, Johnny boy, but I never realized it was this bad."

Johnny muffled his dissenting keen into your wet heat at his words, humping down onto the mattress like he was the one unable to stay still. Simon looked at you and grinned meanly.

"Well, doll? How about it? Does he give you what you need or does he let you walk all over him?"

You were unable to do anything but shake your head in negation, no verbal response forthcoming. Simon turned to look down at Johnny once more.

"Well? Do I need to show you how to do it properly?" He cocked an eyebrow as he looked down his nose when Johnny drew back from your warmth, separating to draw in a few deep breaths, "It doesn't look like you know what you're doing down there." Simon reached down and palmed the back of Johnny's head, pushing him further into your cunt. "Get a good taste. I wanna see drool dripping down your chin by the time you're done. You should have slick up to your ears and she should be drenched down to the bedsheets." He ignored both of your moans, "Didn't realize I'd have to order you around in the bedroom too, just an unruly little pup, aren't you?"

The constant flow of words from his lieutenant only caused Johnny to become more fervored. Licking into you with abandon, he shifted to free one hand, moving up to press two fingers all the way to the knuckles in one fell swoop. Your wetness ensuring he slid in with no difficulties, a smooth glide with only the stretch to betray the insertion.

You couldn't help the moan that slipped out. A great climbing thing that started deep in your chest and worked its way out of your throat with a rumble. It was the work of moments for you to be right on the edge standing at the precipice, looking down onto your first orgasm of the night.

"There we go Johnny, you've got it now. That's just what she needed, huh? Needed a couple of fingers stuck up into her, something to squeeze. We can help her out with that."

Listening to Simon continue to rumble filth into the air and watching him lean down to press his mouth to Johnny's ear, whispering murmured words you couldn't make out was all you needed for that final push.

The heat that had been steadily building coalesced in your lower back and thighs, the visual of the two of them all the spark you needed to set it alight. Your toes curled and your back arched as you tried to get closer to where Johnny was sucking on your clit with pursed lips. A sobbed Johnny! all you were able to verbalize through the onslaught.

Coming back to yourself you were met with Johnny and Simon watching you with avarice, greedy for every expression that crossed your face. You focused on Johnny and saw an absolutely drenched face. He heard what Simon had said about slick from ear to ear and had made sure to accomplish it. Order received and all that. You would be mortified if you didn't feel so good.

You were limp as they moved to rearrange you, Simon sliding in behind your back as Johnny moved to kneel between your thighs, hard cock bobbing in the air. You felt Simon's wet head kissing the small of your back and tried to grind back—give him some sort of satisfaction in this ménage à trois you had happening.

He reached down to snag your hips, stilling you and pressing his mouth directly to your ear, hot air brushing the sensitive skin as he murmured, "None of that now. My turn will be later, we're focusing on Johnny this time."

And focus on Johnny you did. He shuffled himself forward, wasting no time in sinking home into your wet heat. Dual groans punched out of both of your chests as he fully seated himself in one go. You panted—breathing through the stretch as he did the same, trying to stop himself from reaching the finish line prematurely.

Simon didn't wait for you to regain your composure, he held two fingers up to your mouth tapping on your lower lip, "Suck pet," before he dragged them down to your clit, circling the puffy bundle of nerves still sensitive from Johnny's prior ministrations. He picked up a steady rhythm as Johnny gave the first tentative thrust. You couldn't help but clench down, enjoying the hitched moan it pulled out of him.

He recovered quickly and set out to pull those same moans from you, wanting every sound that dripped from your lips. He was relentless in his chase, making sure to use all the tips and tricks he'd picked up over the last couple of months to wring out every iota of satisfaction he could. He leaned forward, pinning Simon's hand between your bodies.

"Tell us how it feels, love," he panted into your mouth, pressing bruising kisses to your lips. "How good is my cock making you feel?"

Try as you might, you couldn't do more than chant his name, a steady stream of Johnny falling from your tongue. He was consuming your every thought, everything bound up in a tangled snarl that was added to with each slick glide of his cock.

Simon pulled his fingers away from your clit but didn't move his hand, keeping it pinned as he reached further down to do something to Johnny. All you were witness to was the way his eyes went wide and unfocused, a little furrow making its appearance on his brow as he paused and pressed into Simon's hand. He let out a sharp yip at whatever Simon was doing before finally moving back, giving the other man room to return to strumming your clit unimpeded.

You were caught between the push and pull of the two of them. Simon resting at your back to whisper lewd words directly into your brain while Johnny made his home inside of you, carving out a space that would always remember him.

It was overwhelming.

You normally turned into a pile of putty with only Johnny's hands on you. Now that there were two of them? You felt like you never knew where the next touch would come from. You would only just find a way to breathe with the circling of your clit for hands to suddenly make their appearance at your nipples. Come to terms with fingers at your nipples just to feel teeth latch onto your neck. They kept you guessing with each movement.

Johnny was doing an admirable job of building you towards your next peak, soft rolls of his hips stroking every sensitive spot inside of you, but apparently it wasn't enough for Simon.

"Hitch her hips up, Johnny. I want you fucking her like you mean it." He stared Johnny down, "If you can't put your back into it then I can relieve you."

"I know how to do it," Johnny sniped back, "Don't forget, I've been in her bed a lot longer than you have." You jolted, unused to having such a harsh tone in your house, let alone in your bed.

Simon saw your jerk and quipped back, "Behave, pup. I won't have you barking and growling around our girl." Simon slid out from behind you, laying you gently back on the pillows with one lingering kiss before coming around to Johnny's side. "Now are you going to listen to what I say or do you need me to step in?"

Johnny chewed on his words, still slowly pumping into you with soft propels of his hips. For a moment you were certain he was going to push back, to dig his feet in and argue with every word that came out of Simon's mouth. Your boyfriend was sweet, but not exactly levelheaded. It surprised you when he came to a decision and listened to what he was being told. You'd have to sneak aside later and get tips and tricks from Simon before he left. Anything to make your life a little easier.

Taking your hips he stuffed a pillow underneath, angling you upwards as he slid back inside. Your matching moans at the new position caused something almost gleeful to cross Simon's expression.

"There we go, I knew you had it in you to mind. You just needed someone bigger to put you in your place, didn't you?"

Johnny had no rebuttal beyond the stuttering of his hips at the comment, swallowing heavily before resuming his rhythm. The steady thwaps filled the humid air of the bedroom, playing background to your whines, Johnny's harsh pants and Simon's filth.

"There we go, just like that," he murmured, voice low and soft, "You're taking it so well sweetheart, is our boy doing a good job for you?"

"Yes," you panted, eager to agree to anything as long as they didn't stop, "So good."

"You hear that Johnny? Said you're doing a good job."

Johnny outright whimpered at the praise, hips stuttering and breath catching in his throat. Simon leaned over Johnny's shoulder and pressed his lips right against his ear. You watched his jaw move as he spoke—voice too low to make out any of the words. Johnny's face was a rictus of pleading pleasure. His expression frozen except for small twitches of his eyebrows, gaze shuttered and staring at your face as he panted. He lasted a few more thrusts before burying himself deeply with a low cry.

Simon laughed scornfully, "Ah poor Johnny boy, did you come already?" He listened to Johnny's overstimulated whine as he grabbed his hips and kept Johnny pushing into you, the wet squelch only proving that he was fucking his spend deeper inside. "Well I don't care if it's too much. You came before our girl, we can't have that." He gave a mean smile, "you're gonna keep fucking her until I tell you to quit."

"I—I can't Simon," Johnny panted, overstimulated nerves causing his muscles to spasm and twitch. "I can't go anymore."

"You want to stop? Then ask me nicely. Go ahead," Simon taunted, a wicked grin curving along his mouth, "Beg."

It was exactly the right wrong thing to say. You watched as Johnny's mouth fell open and his head tilted back, shiny tears springing up along his waterline to spill out from the corners as you felt another warm wave of heat inside. His second orgasm seemed to wring every bit out of him—his face locked in a pained grimace.

He tried to jerk backwards, tried to pull his hips from yours but Simon wasn't having it. He dug his fingers tightly into your hips, arms wrapped around either side of Johnny's waist and pressed firmly against his back, pinning Johnny between the two of you and not giving the whimpering man an inch of space.

"I told you, you're not done until she comes." Using his own hips he helped propel Johnny into you, helping you move to grind on Johnny's dick at the end of each thrust. "You know what you need to do to finish this."

"Please," the other man burst out, unable and willing to withhold any longer, "Please, Simon, need your help. Need you to help me." Tears continued rolling down his cheeks.

"That's all I needed, sweet boy."

Moving one of his hands he dropped his thumb onto your clit after swiping up along your slit, pausing to tease right beneath the head of Johnny's cock on a pullback just to hear him whimper again. With the slick pressure rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves combined with the relentless fucking and stunning visual you were falling apart within moments.

Light burst behind your eyes and your ears started ringing. You knew you were clenching tightly around Johnny's cock but you were unable to spare the thought to see what he looked like as you came. You fell back into your body as the sensations died down, literally falling back onto the bed where you had been arched so sharply only your shoulders were still touching.

As you became aware of your surroundings you watched Simon allow Johnny to pull back, both of you whining at the sensation of him pulling out completely. He flopped to one side of the bed while his chest heaved like bellows, a ruddy flush covering his face and chest. Shiny sweat lined his brow, glistening in the dim evening light.

You didn't have time to rest or take in your boyfriend for long before you were grabbed by the hips, Simon's fingers digging into your plush sides as he pulled you into a position he liked.

Your legs were thrown over his forearms before you realized it, feet dangling in the air and hands coming up to grasp onto his shoulders. As he leaned forward you acutely realized how powerless you were, pinned completely beneath his bulk, no leverage to be seen to get you out.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your own heaving chest causing your pebbled nipples to brush up against his torso, teasing little flicks of sensation to add to everything running through your body.

He notched himself at your entrance with a groan, swiping back and forth, coating the head in your wetness. Finding an angle he liked, he began pushing in.

You whimpered at the burn as he stretched you, even still after Johnny had just had you. You shuddered thinking about taking him without being stretched first, likely a harrowing undertaking. He continued rocking back and forth with small thrusts, each one inching deeper and deeper. Each withdraw causing more of both yours and Johnny's come to escape.

"I know it's a lot, but you can take it. All the way in, all the way to the back, sweetheart."

It knocked the breath out of your lungs when he seated himself inside. A heavy weight felt through your pelvis as his length pried apart muscle to make room for itself. You were afraid you'd feel him inside for the rest of your life. Another gaping chasm when he wasn't there.

It took him the space of a few heartbeats to get situated before he began to move with rhythm, a strong, steady roll of his hips knocking you up the bed with each drive.

Whatever remaining thoughts you might have had spilled out your ears. Nothing able to penetrate the fog he was putting you in with his movements. Your brain became a haze—no worries, no fears—nothing but the feelings he was stoking inside you.

Each time he slid in full you felt him kiss your cervix at the back of your channel. The quick pinch only increasing the pleasure you felt. The mix of the two giving gradients that weren't usually seen, hues bursting behind your eyelids at the sensation.

Proportionately large, he touched every soft spot inside of you simultaneously, a constant wave of endorphins flooding your brain and leaving you a gibbering mess. You clawed at him looking for purchase but unable to find any, inescapably swept away in his tide.

How did you end up here? Under the body of your boyfriends best friend. Because he was his best friend, no matter that Simon would never verbalize it. They were two sides of a coin—better together.

You let your head flop to the side, looking at Johnny passed out and half hanging off the bed on the far side, snuffling breaths a steady back-drone to the slap of skin on skin from you and Simon. You were out of your mind with pleasure, brain unable to spark two neurons together to come up with a thought. It was all white noise to you, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations Simon was drawing from your body.

That was why it was so jarring when two more bodies made their presence known standing beside you on the bed, wide shoulders blocking out the light leaving them draped in shadows.

You let out a huff of a startled scream, no breath in your lungs to get proper volume when hands came up to tweak your nipple and tuck your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

Simon gave a rumbling groan as all your muscles clenched and you bucked up in fear, tossing your head to try and get them off of you. You started to whimper and bat haphazardly at their hands trying to pull yourself away from Simon at the same time but the grip he had on your hips didn't allow you to go anywhere.

"Shh," he gentled, "you're okay, nothing here's gonna hurt you, sweet girl." He never slowed his thrusts, "It's just the rest of the team. That's Gaz and that's the captain." Bone-jarring thuds as his pelvis met the fat of your backside, sharp slap slap slaps echoing through the room.

"What?" you stammered, "I—I thought that—"

"Didn't think we'd let anything happen to you, did you?" he asked with furrowed brows, "Let something happen to our girl?" he scoffed in amusement. "Try again."

Oh. That's—that wasn't—you weren't—

But you couldn't verbalize any of your thoughts. You'd thought you'd been at the end of your stamina before but these two men brought fresh energy to the bedroom. Looking at both of them you recognized Kyle and John from all of Johnny's stories.

"Have you been taking good care of our girl, Simon?"

"Yes sir, Johnny gave her two and I'm working towards a third."

"Good man."

With the team complete the dynamic subtly changed. Where before it had been Simon giving the orders, he now defaulted to his captain, happy to let him take the lead as he directed Kyle and Simon to his own beat.

It was the work of minutes for John and Kyle to strip each other and climb into the crowded bed to join you.

You were too fucked out to muster any proper response so you let them move you as they pleased, content to be a doll placed into the perfect position.

Kyle moved to cuddle up to you up near your face, the cut of his abs all you could focus on for a second before you dragged your gaze up to his face. He smiled down at you charmingly, perched up on an elbow to hover over you, ensuring he was all you could see for a moment.

"We've heard so much about you," he murmured, holding his smile while looking gorgeous enough to stop your heart. "I can't believe we're finally all here together."

Heard so much about you? What had Johnny been telling them? What had he been sharing about your personal life to his team that they thought this was normal? You didn't get a chance for the thoughts to make more than a fleeting impression before they were gone again—the finger on your clit requiring your full attention.

You looked down past Kyle to see John with a hand between your thighs, stroking at the bud before dipping down to gather the wetness that was still being pulled out of you by Simon who hadn't paused. He ran his fingers along where you two joined, dampening his fingertips before resuming his stroking. You couldn't keep still at the sensation, legs jerking and jumping as your nervous system tried to make heads or tails of what was happening to it.

He made short work of coaxing you back into another orgasm, sparks lighting up behind your eyelids as you convulsed, squeezing Simon between your legs and gripping the hand that Kyle had threaded through yours for dear life. Your hips stuttered in their movement, caught between chasing the last sparks of pleasure and pulling away from the steadily overwhelming sensations John was easing out.

It was a relief when he pulled away, letting you begin making headway in catching your breath once more. You watched him reach up with his slick hand to clasp Simon by the back of the neck.

"All right, my boy, now for you."

Simon took this as all the permission he needed to chase his own end with a vengeance. He rutted into you with no finesse, using you for his own gratification as he allowed himself the orgasm he had been denying. It took no time at all before he sunk as deeply as possible, holding there as he emptied himself into you. You felt the heat of him filling you, his cock acting like a stopper keeping it all tucked tight and high inside your channel.

When he eventually pulled back a wave of fluid came with him, dripping down to the bed and coating your thighs. You couldn't do more than gasp—still working on catching your breath. Your head flopped over to look at Kyle, holding your hand clenched in his. He smiled at you and came in for a kiss.

At this point you didn't even think of turning your head away. You simply laid there and let him into your mouth, this man who you technically hadn't even met but who you felt like you'd known for years. All of Johnny's stories doing a wonderful job of painting these three men in such a way you were sure you'd met them a hundred times before.

Kyle's kiss was all consuming. He masterfully played with your lips and tongue, keeping you chasing him while he devoured you. It was wet and obscene and so, so good. He tasted faintly of peppermint, remnants of gum or a mint he had chewed earlier. It had you searching the corners of his mouth, looking for his flavor.

He smiled into the kiss before pressing two quick pecks to your lips and pulling back, giving you space to think. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been fucked six ways from Sunday," you managed, cueing a round of laughter from the three men. By now you'd caught your breath and were watching them with wide eyes, waiting to see what they'd do next. Simon had moved to sit over next to Johnny as John patted at your hip.

"Do you think you have one more in you or are you calling it?" he asked, looking unbothered by what your answer might be. Like he knew this wasn't the only time he'd have you in this position and being lenient was no trouble.

You nodded your head firmly, "I can keep going."

"Atta girl."

You felt your face heat at those words as your gaze darted away, embarrassed at how much you liked it. Even while you were spread out bare for them to view this felt like a peek behind the curtain, a glimpse of something too personal to make light of. You had a feeling you could climax from him whispering those words in your ear with his deep rumble at just the right time.

Without a doubt John realized what effect his words had on you if his amused grin was any indication. Thankfully he let it be, not calling attention to your expression. You didn't know he was shelving the thought until later; he had no intention of not pursuing the lead.

Helping you up he turned you so you were on your hands and knees facing Kyle with John's heat radiating into the back of your thighs. He checked in with an Okay, sweetheart? which you reassured him on before he pressed close as Kyle shuffled forward. Slotting his hips into yours he dragged his leaking cock through the mess between your thighs, the damp head bumping against your clit in a tease with each thrust.

"We've heard a lot about you," John noted, trailing a hand along your spine, enjoying the feel of smooth, soft skin. "Soap has practically talked our ears off since you met. Along with how amazing you are, he makes sure to tell us how pretty you are and how nice you smell." You felt him leaning over you and pressing his nose to the crown of your head, "I've gotta say, he was right on all accounts."

A shudder worked its way down your spine at the praise.

Pulling back, he lined himself up with your opening and slid inside in one smooth stroke. As your mouth dropped open to moan Kyle tapped the tip of your tongue with his cock, encouraging you to stick it out for him. He pressed inside when you did and you groaned deep in your throat at his flavor, salt and musk invading your nose as he cupped your head gently between his two palms, holding you steady.

You thought you had been done before, no longer able to continue, to ride the wave of ecstasy any more. They proved you wrong with their wandering hands tweaking nipples and strumming your clit.

It felt like it had been years and minutes both as they bounced you between the two of them. You would grow accustomed to the shape of Kyle in your throat only for John to pull you back, rearranging your organs with the strength of his thrusts.

You didn't know which way was up, your only concern was timing your breaths to Kyle's thrusts, keeping your teeth tucked away from any sensitive skin. Hollowing your cheeks you fought to keep suction, John doing his level best to ensure you couldn't find a comfortable rhythm.

The whole time you were spinning tighter and tighter. A wave building down deep behind your bellybutton, fed with each thrust from the two men. Your body welcoming them in.

The wave continued to build, higher and higher. Larger than you'd ever thought possible. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measures.

What was going to become of you when it crashed? Were you going to be able to be put back together or would you be destined to live out your life as shattered remains, always thinking back to the last night you'd been whole, the last night you hadn't needed others to hold you together like Kintsugi.

John continued thrusting behind you, never stopping, never faltering. He was relentless and driven and you were the finish line he had set his eyes on. You were the end goal that he would see through, come hell or high water.

It sparked something dark deep within your psyche. Something decadent.

Your last climax of the night rolled over you. Starting down low in your abdomen it grew and grew, fed into by each of the men that you had let into your bed tonight. It became too large to ignore, this gaping maw of want that was flooding your blood and your brain, changing your chemical makeup in its wake. You were pretty sure you screamed.

Both of their pants came harshly now as they fought for some semblance of control beyond the tight clutch of your cunt and throat.

John finished next, stamina no match for the silken glide of your cunt, sucking the oxygen from his blood with each press inside of you. But Kyle was shortly behind him. If you didn't know any better you'd say the sight and sound of his captain coming is what pushed him over the edge.

Certainly something to think about later.

It's comforting hands that helped you lay down once you were done, tucked between Simon and Kyle, Johnny still passed out with his foot and arm draped off the side. You were curled into Kyle's chest as you watched John pull on a pair of boxers.

"I'll go get us some water and towels, you all stay put."

You were far to exhausted to think of the ramifications of what had happened here tonight. Instead you were content to curl into warm skin and enjoy the feeling of Simon's arm thrown around your waist.

When John came back with the water you had a moment of laughter when you realized the bed was packed full with the four of you currently and there wasn't a spare inch for John to lay down. Instead he went to sit at the foot, tapping Kyle's feet so he would curl his legs up a bit.

"Anybody broken?" He asked, staring at you while he spoke. It was clear he expected you to be the one to voice any discontent.

"Nope," you yawned, crashing hard now that you were laying still, "right as rain."

"Good. We'll talk this all over in the morning sweetheart. For now, sleep."

Kyle kissed your forehead while Simon curled around you tighter. Tomorrow. You could figure it all out tomorrow. That sounded like a wonderful plan considering you were already drifting away to the soft sounds of breathing.

Next

[hanniebaeee]

Without you

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: lots of tears

Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff

Summary: When Hyunjin comes home after a week away for work, he finds you gone. And he's furious because you didn't say a word, just packed and left. And he knows it has everything to do with the dinner you had with his parents just before he left.

a/n: writing my pain away. I'm sorry if this is too angsty.

Hyunjin’s knuckles rapped against Jisoo’s front door with such force you feared that it might come off its hinges. You glanced at Jisoo, your face streaked with tears, your heart racing.

“Y/N!” His voice came through the door, sending a jolt of panic through your chest. “Open the damn door, or so help me, I’ll kick it down.”

Jisoo shot you a glance, silently asking if you wanted her to handle it. You just shook your head. You had to face him at some point. 

“You sure?” Jisoo asked, her protective instincts flaring.

You nodded, and she sighed before walking towards the door.

Memories of that night flashed through your mind painfully. Dinner at his parents’ place. Everything was going fine until his mum cornered you in the kitchen as you helped her put things away. She was so polite as she suggested that her son was very impulsive, and rarely thought things through.

You heart nearly stopped as she said that, because you had a feeling where this conversation was headed. And then she told you with a smile that if you really loved him, you'd stop holding him back, and let him have the life he truly deserved - a life with a Korean girl who'd fit better with his family. With him. 

And she had proceeded to pretend like everything was ok the rest of the night, while you had to do everything in your power to not break down. He was their only son. You didn't want to ruin his relationship with them, considering how wildly protective he was of you. 

The man loved you with everything in him. And Hyunjin literally wore his heart on his sleeves, and you would never knowingly do anything to agitate him. And so you'd gone home silently that night, spent a long time silently sobbing in the bathroom as he packed for a one week trip. He had multiple shows scheduled for the week, all outside Korea. 

Obviously he knew the minute you emerged from the bathroom with a smile. He had stared into your eyes, his mouth opening and closing like he desperately wanted to talk. But he had to leave in another hour, and he didn't want to start a conversation that he knew he couldn't finish before he left. So he engulfed you in a hug, kissed you deeply and told you that he loved you. And that you're his entire world. 

But sadly, that didn't make your aching insecurities vanish. Because after he left, you'd packed your own bags and called Jisoo, panicking.

He called out again, this time a little softer, but his tone was dripping with frustration.

“Jisoo, I know you’re in there. And I know she’s with you. Let me in.” he said. “Please.”

“Fine! But if you make her cry again, I'll make you suffer.” Jisoo opened the door, shooting him a glare as she moved aside. “She's in the guest room.”

Hyunjin stormed in, wearing his travel-worn hoodie and sweatpants, looking so tired, but furious at the same time. 

His sharp eyes locked onto you immediately as he stepped into the guest bedroom. Hyunjin stood there for a moment, staring at you. Your face was nearly unrecognizable - eyes swollen, skin blotchy from crying for days. You could barely keep your eyes open. 

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could see the tension radiating off him. 

“You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on?” he asked finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

You tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable.

“Hyunjin, please don’t do this right now,” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your oversized sweater.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” he said, stalking toward you like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. He crossed his arms, towering over you. “Start talking. Now.”

You folded your arms, a weak attempt to put up a barrier. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about?” He scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, considering I came home to our apartment looking like a ghost town. All your stuff gone. My gifts left behind like they were trash. And you dodging my calls?”

His voice was rising, and it was clear that more than anger, he was hurt.

“I didn’t dodge your calls,” you countered weakly, your voice breaking.

“You didn’t answer them. Or my texts,” he fired back. “What the hell, Y/N? I want you to tell me why you thought it was okay to pack your things and leave without a word."

You tried to muster the courage to stay firm, to push him away like his mother had suggested.

“I… I think we’re too different, Hyunjin.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. “It's for the best…”

His jaw clenched, his angelic features hardening. “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and how he took another step forward. 

“You don’t get to pull this ‘too different’ crap on me now,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine, say that. But don’t lie to me. Is that it? You don't love me?”

“No, no,” you insisted, though your voice was shaky. “Hyunjin, please-”

“Then tell me why you cried your eyes out after that dinner,” he challenged. “Tell me why my mom’s been calling me nonstop asking if you’re okay.”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d piece it together. He wasn’t stupid.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his short hair, his frustration giving way to something softer. “Baby, what did she say to you?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Hyunjin, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “It matters if it’s enough to make you leave me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and your eyes burned as you blinked them back.

“She loves you, Jinnie…whatever she wants for you, it's for the best…you do deserve better,” you admitted quietly. “Someone who fits into your world better than I do.”

Hyunjin let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He turned away for a moment, running both hands through his hair as he paced the room, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

“You deserve someone who won’t hold you back.”

He froze, his gaze darkening as he asked, “You think you hold me back?”

“Hyunjin -”

“I don’t care what she said,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I’m asking you. Do you think that?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “You’re my world. No one else fits better into it than you. My mom doesn’t get to decide who’s good enough for me, baby. I do. And guess what? You’re it. You’ve always been it. Don’t you see that?”

“I just…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to cause problems for you. I love you too much to -”

“To what?” he interrupted, stepping closer again. His hands found your face, his touch firm but gentle as he tilted your chin up to make you look at him. “To stay? To fight for us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice.

“And if my mom can’t see what we have, that’s her problem,” he continued, his tone fierce. “But you don’t get to decide for me. You don’t get to run away without even talking to me.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, your walls breaking down under the weight of his words.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, trying to push him away.

“Like what?” He smirked, his confidence creeping back. “Like I’m madly in love with you?”

“Hyunjin…” Your voice was barely audible as you mumbled, “I don't want you to regret this. Ever.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t you dare say that. Because it's bullshit. You’re everything to me.”

The tears flowed freely now, and you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. “But your mom -”

“I’ll handle my mom,” he growled, cutting you off again. “You’re my choice, Y/N. My family. My life.”

His words shattered the last of your resolve, and before you knew it, you were sobbing into his chest, clutching at his hoodie. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you so tight. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice trembling. “And I’m yours. Don’t ever forget that.”

You nodded against him, too overwhelmed to speak. A small tearful laugh escaped you, despite the tears still streaming down your face.

“There’s my girl,” he teased, brushing a thumb over your cheek to wipe your tears away. “Now, grab your things. Let’s go home.”

You hesitated, still unsure if you could ever face his mother again.

“Don’t worry about her,” he added, as if reading your mind. “I’ll handle it. This is not your battle, okay?”

And just like that, the weight on your chest began to lift. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just you and Hyunjin - two souls refusing to let go of each other.

And you knew, deep down, that you never would.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - one (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you've never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he's so much more than a crush, he's your soulmate. one | two (section 1) (section 2) | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨ across stardust pinterest board

note: please enjoy this truly self indulgent romance. will be four five parts total, and i'll post each as soon as they are ready to go. happy comeback week, and i hope everyone enjoys this 💖

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, a lot of fluff and tenderness, love at first touch, shared feelings/emotions/physical sensations, anxiety/stress over what to do, reader's family isn't the best, kq is not the best company for the purposes of this fic!, light smut including - heavy makeouts/grinding, hand kink, size kink, phone sex, sexting, fingering, jacking off, dirty talk, praise, use of good girl, use of pet names like baby/jagiya/sweetheart. basically this fic is an excuse for me to write star-crossed desperate love so i would say it's the literal opposite of a slow burn lmao

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 17.9k

It’s eleven in the morning when your day starts, hiding in the green room of a concert venue in Berlin, and the day feels lost already. With Eunji and Dahan ill that only leaves you and Iseul to handle makeup for all eight members and with how exhausted you are from yet another night of little sleep, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep up. You’re trying to stay awake, but while the members are all out on stage learning their marks and rehearsing the improvisational moments for this tour stop, the green room is quiet and you keep nodding off. 

“Bad night?” Iseul’s voice startles you out of one of your dips into sleep and your body jerks up right. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, “hey,” 

“Here,” She pushes a bright can into your hands, an energy drink, “you need this.” 

“I need to be sedated,” You grumble, taking it from her, “the time difference is never this hard,” 

“Mm,” She shrugs, “it’s unpredictable,” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I guess.” 

The thumping music outside as they run through another track is starting to give you a migraine. You take a long sip of the drink and then leave the can on the table in front of you, choosing instead to hide your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt and let out another long sigh. 

“Girl,” Iseul nudges you, “you look like shit. Your station looks like shit.” 

“Thank you?” 

“In thirty minutes we’re going to be busier than we’ve been since that Inkigayo stage for Answer,” She points out and you grimace at the reference. Back then it really was just a skeleton staff and one of the makeup artists quit on the spot, too stressed to continue the work and walking out in the middle of doing Yeosang’s foundation. 

What a mess those old days used to be. Nostalgia sometimes makes you forget how late those nights were and just how impossibly tired you had been. This feels too reminiscent of that for sure. 

Iseul taps your shoulder to get you to lift your face as she continues, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t do this shit on my own. I need you.” 

“Okay,” You breathe, scrubbing your hands over your face to jolt yourself awake as best you can, “you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t be sorry,” She gives you a sympathetic smile, “I get it.” 

This tiredness feels different though, so deeply ingrained in your body. Something’s been keeping your adrenaline running like a long, drawn out anxiety attack and you can’t understand it. You’ve been on tour before, you’ve been on planes, you’ve had long days, and you’ve worked with this exact group for years. There’s nothing on paper that should be making you so anxious, but the threads of it are humming in the deep back of your brain even now. 

“Come on,” Iseul prompts again, pulling you to your feet, “let’s get you in gear.” 

“Right,” You take another long sip of your energy drink and pray it starts kicking in soon and that the effects won’t make you feel crazier, “let’s do this.” 

She helps you put your station together with ease and then pull yourself together. Within those precious thirty minutes of calm before the storm you’ve downed two cans of pure caffeine, assembled your station and strapped on your brush belt, and tried to make yourself some form of presentable by slicking your hair back into a smooth knot and adding a coat of lip balm. 

As always, the boys have used the ladder game to determine hair and makeup order which means those at the bottom of the list have more time to relax fresh-faced on the couches before getting poked and prodded and wrapped up like presents for thousands of screaming fans. With only you and Iseul available it’s about to be a race against the clock to get them ready. 

Their managers hustle them from the stage to the back rooms where the rest of the staff waits, and the members gather around you and Iseul and your makeshift makeup stations. 

“Alright,” Iseul says as the members quiet down, “we’re down some staff as you know,” 

They nod attentively and you trade a close lipped smile with Hongjoong. 

“We’re just going to do the best we can as quickly as we can,” She explains, looking down at their names on a slip of paper, “Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San,” she recites, “you’re with me in that order.” 

You run through the names on your slip, “Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, that leaves you with me.” 

Iseul nods as you finish your words, “Please be ready to slot in when the person in front of you is finished, and then you can go directly to wardrobe for your soundcheck outfits,” 

“We’ve got it,” Hongjoong nods, “and if there’s anything you both need,” 

“We’ll be fine,” Iseul assures him, “but it’s definitely going to be cutting it close,” 

“We should get started,” You cut in, “if you’re ready?” 

Hongjoong jumps to your chair immediately and Wooyoung steps to Iseul’s, and before you know it you’re off. 

The room is alight with activity while you both work, only you don’t have a relaxed pace and only two members to perfect. You’re used to working with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, they’ve been your assigned members for as long as you’ve worked with Ateez, but when staff shortages or timing gets tight, it can be a bit of a free for all. 

You stay focused and execute each member’s makeup like a well rehearsed dance, and you do your best to ignore the buzzing anxiety in your veins. For a little while, you handle it like a professional. 

When Yunho finally settles into your chair, about a single second after Mingi leaves it, the exhaustion careens back into you sideways. It takes you a minute to prep your tools this time, and you’re pretty sure that without the artificial pick me up of the energy drinks you’d be passing out on the spot. 

You steady your hands against the vanity in front of you and take a deep breath, and when you look up you catch Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, a tiny crease of concern between his brows. 

“You okay?” He checks. 

You give him a smile, albeit a tired one, “The jet lag is really hitting this time,” you explain, “but I’m fine,” 

He looks sympathetic immediately, “Same for me, I feel like I’m barely sleeping,” 

“That’s not good,” You tell him as you prep your stainless steel palette, “you have a long night ahead,” 

“I’ll sleep tonight,” He says, “I’m sure,” 

“After dancing for three hours I’d hope so,” You smile and pick up your first set of tools before turning towards him. 

“Do you have anything you could take?” He asks, studying your face, “A sleep aid?” 

“I usually don’t like to,” You admit, “I always feel groggy the next day,” 

“And we have another show,” He finishes for you, his lips coming together in a thin line as he thinks. 

There’s nothing really for him to do, but it’s kind of him anyway to be so concerned. They always are, this rare group of eight idols who remember staff birthdays, bring coffee on the early morning schedules, and always, always take extra time to clean up after themselves so it’s not left to anyone else. 

You take a step closer towards him and glance over his bare face and then it occurs to you, “You know what’s funny?” 

“Hmm?” He tilts his face up to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done your makeup before,” You smile, it’s a ridiculous thought. 

“No way,” He blinks, thinking back, “it’s been… forever, are you sure?” 

You nod, “You’re usually with Eunji,” you tell him, “and even when we’ve swapped around, I don’t think so. I think you’re the only member I’ve never done,” 

“Wow,” He laughs, eyes bright, ���well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“Is there anything,” You start to ask him if there’s anything he prefers, anything special about his makeup that he gets done with Eunji that he asks for, but Iseul catches you idle as she pats foundation onto San’s forehead and answers for you. 

“His skin gets dry,” She jumps in, “don’t use too much powder,” 

Yunho grins, a laugh on his lips at the directness of her words. 

“And don’t use that oil,” Iseul adds, “that primer oil you like, he’ll break out by tomorrow,” 

“Thank you, Iseul,” Yunho says, and you watch San’s face as he stifles a chuckle. 

“Noted,” You smile, and you swap out two of the products in your hands before taking up your position by his side again. 

You’ve gotten used to working with idols, to working with Ateez and with Yunho specifically, and yet when you get this close a little flutter of nerves rocks through your belly. He’s handsome, and if you’re being honest he’s just your type. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or this weird feeling in your chest that you’ve been dealing with all week, but for the first time in a long time you think about what it would be like to kiss his lips. 

“How do you want me?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and you have to shake off the impending blush at the way his words make you feel. You have work to do, and you had gotten over your silly little crush on him years ago, you need to get a grip. 

You recover fairly smoothly though with a quick smile, “Right,” he’s never worked with you before, and he’s looking to you for direction, “head back a bit, please, and eyes closed,” 

“Alright,” He follows your instructions to the letter. 

“Okay,” You tell him, “primer first. Let me know if anything bothers you,” 

“Mhm,” He hums and stays relaxed. 

He has the loveliest eyelashes, that’s the thought that echoes through your brain as you start working on him, and you wish it never occurred to you at all because you keep glancing up at his closed eyes. He lets you work, he knows you’re exhausted so he doesn’t push you for conversation, and you’re strangely grateful. You know he’s chatty sometimes in the chair, an extrovert through and through and always keeping Eunji company or talking with the member beside him, but right now he keeps still and gives you respite on a hard day. 

You’re patting foundation into his skin with a large paddle brush when Iseul interrupts your thoughts, “Do you have that eggplant liner?” 

“Check my table,” You offer, but with how sluggish your brain is feeling there’s no way you remember a single thing on your station without looking.

“Mm,” She pivots around and pokes through the products and tools behind you, and you glance over as San opens his eyes to watch Iseul rifle through things. 

“Damn,” She mutters, “how much time do we have?” 

“Um,” You glance down at your watch, “twenty?” 

“Perfect,” She scoots behind you and disappears into the hall, no doubt to find your traveling makeup case and the liner. 

You sigh, chewing the inside of your lip at the idea that you only have twenty more minutes, but you really don’t want to rush and have his makeup melt off on-stage. 

“You’re fine,” San assures, his body angled towards you and Yunho now while he waits, “don’t worry about the clock,”

Yunho hums his agreement from below you, “Plenty of time,”

You refocus on Yunho’s skin and notice a long black and white hair from the paddle brush affixed to his cheek, mixed in with the foundation. You take the brush again, wiping off any excess foundation and checking to see if more fibers are loose, and then you work the brush against his cheek in an attempt to free the loose hair but it isn’t coming off easily. Every attempt you make just slides the hair into a different spot on his cheek and covers it with more foundation. 

“Um,” You usually don’t like to do this, but you might have to, “can I just…”

His eyes open but his expression stays smooth, “Can you?” 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, “do you mind if I touch you?” 

“You already are,” He smiles, a small, amused crease between his brows you’ll have to pat out momentarily. 

You tuck your brush away and gesture with your hand, “You just have a hair,” 

“Oh,” He laughs, “of course, yeah,” 

You’re just supposed to touch his cheek, brush away the hair with the pad of your finger and then get back to work, that’s all it is, so you’re completely unprepared for the feeling that rockets through your chest when your skin finally touches his. 

Yunho gasps softly as your fingers brush over his cheek, his eyes blowing wide and his expression blanking, and it’s the only indication you have that he feels something too. A tightness wrenches in your chest, like someone pressed something hot and hard directly into your breastbone and your stomach does a somersault. Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest now that it’s started up again. 

The tattoo on your chest feels warm beneath your blouse. 

“You,” Yunho manages, his voice shaky and you know for sure he felt it too. 

You rock back a step, “I don’t understand,” 

“Shit,” Someone else says, and then you realize that it’s San and you’re not alone with the only other person in the entire world, you’re in the middle of work in front of at least one other person and it’s only your existence that just got tilted on its axis. Yours and maybe Yunho’s. 

“Oh,” You glance to the side, taking in San’s wide eyed expression, “oh my God,” 

“I’m not insane, am I?” Yunho smiles, his focus entirely on you, and you think you might just pass out, “You felt that?” 

There’s a noise in the hall and San scrambles up to his feet, “Iseul,” he says heading for the door, “do you need help looking?” 

He’s covering for you both, but thoughts are slow to form and all you can manage is blinking at the man in your chair. 

“You did, right?” He asks again, eyes soft and hopeful, and then his fingers brush over the center of his chest. Squarely over his breastbone.

He’s yours. 

You want to reach out and yank up his shirt, check the tattoo over his heart to see if it’s the same looping knot shape as yours, but you don’t need to see it to know for sure. It’s him. 

San says something about forgetting the liner altogether, a little louder so you both know the room is going to get crowded again, and you shake your head to jolt yourself out of your paralyzed position. 

“You didn’t?” His hand falls. 

“I did,” You rush to correct, “I’m, I don’t know,” 

He nods, wetting his lips and shifting in his chair. He moves to reach for you, but reason and sense click back into place immediately and you realize that no matter what your tattoo feels like and no matter what this means, you’re at work and about to have a very private moment in a very public place if you’re not careful. 

You shake your head with a glance at his hand and jerk your head towards the door, “Later,” 

“Right,” He leans back from you, “of course, right,” 

Footsteps to your right draw your attention and Iseul is huffing, checking her own watch, “We’ll do brown,” 

“That’ll be fine,” San assures her, but his eyes are glued on the pair of you. 

Iseul moves to step around you again and realizes you’re just standing there, “What’s with you?” 

“Sorry,” You manage, blinking hard and refocusing, “I just got dizzy,” 

It’s not entirely a lie, given that you felt the entire earth shift under your feet thirty seconds ago and your life is completely changed. Dizzy is the least of how you’re feeling. 

Yunho’s expression shifts immediately, concern across his face, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out again, from being too familiar. 

“Oh,” Her eyebrows raise high, “do you need me to finish Yunho?”

“N-no,” You take a breath, “just give me one second,” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yunho asks, and in the back of your brain you wonder if his voice has always sounded this good. 

“Here,” San cuts in smoothly, cracking the seal on a fresh water bottle and passing it over to you, “do you need to sit a minute?” 

San’s hand rests on your upper back between your shoulders as you take a long sip of water, the cold shocking your brain back to reality in exactly the way you need. 

“Thank you,” You tell him honestly, “I think I’m okay, just a headrush,” 

San nods, and when you refocus your eyes on Yunho, you almost laugh. His gaze is squarely on San’s hand where it sits on your back, and you watch the fast, silent exchange between the two men when San drops his hand and Yunho realizes his own reaction. He blushes, ears running red and he dips his head to avoid both your eyes. 

“Iseul,” San steps around you both and distracts your friend, “ready to wrap?” 

“Yeah,” She agrees, “let’s finish up. You’re sure you’re okay, y/n?” 

“Mhm,” You hardly trust your own voice, but you nod anyway, “I’m good now.” 

Yunho tilts his face back up as you step close, and the tension between you is so palpable and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. Your tattoo feels warm and heavy and something tells you that his does too, you can see it in the tenderness of his brown eyes. 

“Dizzy?” He asks quietly, keeping his words just for you. 

You shake your head, “No,”

“That’s good,” He murmurs, but he lets whatever words he wants to say rest on his tongue. 

Your tattoo throbs and you don’t dare touch his bare skin again. 

His makeup takes fifteen more minutes and his eyes don’t stray from your face the entire time. You barely finish on time, and wardrobe is standing by to get them into their first outfits of the night, so when you put the final touches on he’s already being pulled out of the chair before you have a chance to say anything. 

You want to corner him and ask him exactly when he’ll have time to talk later, but despite working together for the last few years, you and Yunho aren’t that close. You’re friendly, but you’re not familiar enough to casually ask what he’s doing later and not have it seem strange. While friendships between staff members and idols are not discouraged, even between the opposite sex, being overly familiar or suggestive would certainly leave a question in everyone’s minds, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself that quickly. 

This is between you and Yunho, no one else. You don’t want an audience for this. 

So he goes, pulled away by wardrobe and his other members, fitted quickly into his Soundcheck outfit. He has his game face on, so do all the members, and you watch him disappear down the hall without a second glance back at you. 

You collapse into the couch and press your eyes closed, focusing on the singular feeling of heat and soreness from your chest.

A soulmate. 

The tattoo on your chest was one you barely looked at anymore, too focused on living your life to sit in the mirror and wonder about the person who would be your other half, the person that would slot into the gaps in your spirit with a simple brush of skin on skin. But now, it aches. It pulses to remind you that it’s real and that you’ve found him. 

Everything in your life is about to change. Has already changed.

On the couch you don’t sleep as much as you disassociate, still stunned, your buzzing brain filtering out everything Iseul says as she cleans up around you and preps both of your brush belts for touch ups. There’s such a small amount of time between Soundcheck and the concert that you barely get to process, you just exist, playing the moment you touched him over again and again in your mind. Despite how utterly changed you feel, the world is just continuing on around you like a regular day.

Once again, you and Yunho miss each other for every brief moment between Soundcheck and stage.

The shift happens in the wings, in the underbelly of the stage where you and the other staff members for hair, makeup, and wardrobe wait for any last minute quick fixes. The eight of them are almost ready, pumping themselves up between rows of technical equipment and stage scaffolding. 

There’s so much commotion around you and yet your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet, the feelings you once had for him coming back to you full force in a blurry torrent. 

He shifts, stretches, swallows hard, and then looks up directly into your eyes. There’s a question in them that you can’t read, but you manage to smile. 

His shoulders relax just a little. 

You raise your fist, giving him the gesture for ‘fighting’ and he returns it with a wide grin. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, the final step of their pre-show ritual as the concert hall starts to roar, “huddle up.” 

The eight of them circle up with each other, one leg in and one out. 

“We’ve practiced hard,” Hongjoong starts, patting his members on the back, “let that practice pay off, and have fun out there,” 

“Okay!” San hypes them up, getting the tension high. 

“Let’s give it our all,” Hongjoong continues, a wide smile on his face, “fighting!”

They echo it back, and a tense feeling starts to roll in your gut. 

“Alright, one,” Hongjoong starts the count and you feel the tension in your own body rising, enough to make you take a soft step back from the group, “two,” 

On three they chorus it, moving their feet in a synchronized step,  “Eight makes one team! Fighting!” 

They break apart, clapping each other on the back, and your eyes meet Yunho’s for one more fast second before he’s jogging after the rest of the members and finding his mark on the stage risers. 

You feel the sensation of his eyes on you even after he’s gone. You have the length of four songs and their opening ments before members start swapping out on stage for makeup touch-ups and technical adjustments. The sound of the audience is intense, the start of the first song keying up, and you stumble back from your post to get a breath of air away from it all. 

There’s a bathroom along the hallway two doors down from the green room that’s meant for staff and you blissfully find it empty. With shaking hands you flip the lock and sink down into a crouch, your back braced against the wall as you breathe through the sudden wave of feelings filling your chest. 

Adrenaline, that’s what the bitter taste on your tongue is. 

Your heart is thumping, double time like you’re running a marathon, and then you realize it. You can feel him, even now with the bond between you unfulfilled you can feel his emotions coming to you like a wave. Adrenaline, anxiety, euphoria, exhaustion, it all roils through you and you brace your hands on the wall to get your composure back. 

They say the first time you feel your soulmate link it takes you by surprise, but this is an intensity you couldn’t have imagined. It’s all encompassing and honestly terrifying, and you’re struggling to understand which parts of you are you and which are him. You can’t conceive of how an accepted bond would make this feeling stronger when it already feels like your emotions and his are knit together so tightly. 

Anxiety strikes down the link and you realize it’s not stage fright, it’s for you. He can feel your panic and your fear just like you can feel every ounce of his performance and if you don’t get yourself in check you’re going to be distracting him even more than you already are. 

You yank yourself up off the floor and collapse against the sink, turning on the cold water tap and taking slow and steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting slowly, relaxing your body with every pulse of oxygen through your system. You hope he can feel it, but you have no idea how this all really works. You’ll have to call your sister when this is all said and done, find out what she felt when she met her wife, but right now in this bathroom in Berlin you have to do this by yourself. 

You hear the pulse of another song thrumming through the stadium as they keep performing, and you feel the thundering beat of his heart in your chest, but you breathe into it this time and try to keep yourself calm for his sake. You splash cold water on your face, keep breathing low and slow, and eventually you pull yourself back up to standing tall to look at yourself in the mirror. 

You look the same as you did a few hours ago, before him, but the warmth in your chest is still present and you wonder if that will ever go away or if that’s just a permanent part of the link. 

With shaky hands you unbutton your blouse and pull your bralette down in the center to reveal what you already know is there. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

The tattoo nestled at the base of your sternum is the only one you were born with. Every other line of ink on your body was put there with intention, but this one you’ve had for as long as you can remember. The maedeup knot is small, but intricate, and until this moment it had always been colorless. Loops of black and gray twining together to make a rounded diamond, unbroken with no beginning or end to the threads. 

Now the ink has changed, a deep red against your skin that makes the knotted josephin soulmark look even more traditional, but the skin is slightly inflamed, tender to the touch as you brush your fingertips along it. It feels like a fresh mark, not something you’ve had since birth, but considering how it’s changed, maybe it is new. A soulmark shifting color is common, you know that, but it still stands out so starkly against your skin and your other black tattoos. You can’t look away from it. 

A pounding on the bathroom door makes you jump and you fix your shirt, covering the mark back up and buttoning it away. You wonder if Yunho’s mark is the exact same like other couples you know and if it too turned red, if it’s warm to the touch, if he felt you brush against your mark through the link. 

“y/n?” A voice comes through the door and you shut off the tap. 

“Coming!” You wipe the excess water on your hands onto your jeans and take one last, fast look to make sure your mark isn’t visible, before opening the bathroom door. 

Wonshik, one of their many managers, is waiting for you on the other side. His eyes narrow when he sees you, “Are you ill?” 

“No,” You assure him. 

“You’re sure?” He presses, “We can’t afford to lose any more staff or risk getting the members sick if you are,” 

“I know, Wonshik,” You nod, “I promise I’m just tired, jet-lagged. I was putting cold water on my face, that’s all. I’m not sick,” 

He exhales in relief, his expression softening, “Thank God,” he says, “I can only take so many surprises.” 

A little sickness is nothing compared to a staff member and an idol under a dating ban being soulmarked, but you hold your tongue. 

“They’re about to come off,” He says, “Iseul was looking for you, she seems like she might start climbing the walls if you don’t get back to help her,” 

“No, of course,” You start back towards the side stage entrance, “I lost track of time, but it won’t happen again,” 

“Make sure you sleep tonight,” He adds, following you closely, “no sleep means no immune system, and no immune system means sick.” 

“Don’t worry,” You promise, winding your way through the dark backstage, “you won’t lose me,” 

“I better not,” He sighs, and then Iseul comes into sight. 

“There you are!” She hisses low under her breath, “I was about to have a panic attack,” 

“I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m good,” In the commotion, your brain starts to ease into normalcy. You’re used to this pace, the speed of lightning fast makeup touch-ups and assisting wardrobe when things start to go awry with their quick changes. The audience feels none of this, they just see smooth change-outs on stage and cool idols in new clothes, but backstage is a wild flurry and it always puts you on an entirely different plane of focus. 

“Here we go,” A stage director starts, gathering everyone’s attention, “four minutes… starting…” 

The stage goes dark and in the venue a video starts to play to the crowd to fill the space between costume changes. You prep your hands, making sure your kit is ready to go and you see the wardrobe specialists out of the corner of your eye readying themselves to help facilitate the quick change. 

Suddenly they’re here, and the stage director interrupts once more, “Now, four minutes people, let’s go.” 

“Mingi,” He gets to you first and he crouches down to drop his face to your height, “stay still one second,” 

He says nothing, but he nods as you pat powder across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, checking him over for any other defects. He looks good and you nod, “Go, go,” 

Mingi peels off to the left of you and you hear the sound of fabric swishing as he and Wooyoung rip off the top layer of their outfits behind the privacy screens and trade garments with the wardrobe team. It’s a fast shuffle, but you stay focused on who’s in front of you. 

“Seonghwa,” You wave to him, pulling blotting tissues out of the pack on your belt, “here,” 

He knows this drill well, you’re used to working with him and you have a clean routine down. He blots the sweat off his brow himself and starts to unbutton his jacket while you shift focus to Yunho. 

For a split second you almost forget what happened earlier in the buzz of backstage, but the minute your eyes hold on his awareness floods you. 

“Hey,” You say, but there’s a time clock shout behind you and you beckon him down, “come here, let me fix things,”

He drops down to your height just like Mingi did and stays steady while you work, but his eyes flick up, “You’re okay?” 

“I’m good,” You nod, “don’t worry,” 

His expression clears a little and you guess you have your answer about the feeling of the link going both ways. 

Hongjoong clears his throat behind you both, “We’re short on time,” 

“Am I good?” Yunho checks. 

Your eyes flick over him fast, “Yep,” 

He’s out of your eyeline a split second later, and you’re grateful for the distraction of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, otherwise you’re sure you’d dwell a little bit too long on the fact that Yunho’s half naked next to you, privacy screen or no. 

“One minute,” The stage director announces, “everyone’s doing great,” 

The boys are almost done, flying through the last of their zips and getting their hair smoothed down by that team as they finish. You put the last pat of powder on Seonghwa’s nose and give him a nod before he’s gone too, dropping his jacket as he goes and giving you all a quick flash of his bare back. 

You turn back towards the group as they prepare and your eyes zero in on Yunho again. His expression is serious, it’s his game face before he gets back out on stage, and you watch as he corrects the placement of his in-ears and ensures that his mic pack is secured. He runs through his pre-stage ritual and you can’t help but be a captive audience. 

“Good work,” The stage director says as Seonghwa rejoins the eight, fully dressed and ready for stage, “fifteen seconds for act two,” 

The crowd heats up again as the video starts to fade, and the members do their final checks. Yunho doesn’t look back at you once, his eyes forward and focused as he and the other members find their places on the rising platform that will take them back out to the main stage. 

You can see him a little though, in the low light in his white trousers and blue satin shirt. He lifts his hand, adjusting his microphone once again, and then as he drops it back to his side he lets his fingers skim over the familiar hollow of his chest. 

Your mark warms, you feel it as if it were your chest he brushed his fingers over, and your breath stops. 

The platform rises, the crowd roars, and your heart starts beating to a new rhythm. 

He really is yours. 

It turns out that later means much later. 

You manage to get out of dinner with some of the other staff members, but that just leaves you anxious and alone in a hotel room trying and failing to eat room service. Iseul would be back soon to take up her place in the other bed, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have Yunho’s number. 

Now that emotions are a little smoother, you can’t feel him. Or maybe you can, but it’s so faint that you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s definitely in the hotel, but that’s partially the solid feeling of your link with him and partially the YouTube live being broadcast from Seonghwa’s room where all of the members are. 

You put the live on and watch, feeling strangely disconnected from the men on screen. You’ve known them for years, but suddenly with this new truth everything feels foreign and confusing. 

You should call your sister, but it’s only six in the morning in Korea and even though this is an emergency of life altering and epic proportions, you can’t bring yourself to wake her on a Saturday. 

You try your best to eat the pasta you ordered and watch as the live eventually ends. Your phone dings and for a split second you think it will be him, but it’s just Iseul telling you she’s heading back to the hotel. 

A soft knock at the door makes your stomach lurch. 

You’re frozen. 

There’s another knock, a little firmer this time but then you feel the warm touch against your mark and you’re on your feet, your hand on the door handle before you can think. 

He looks tired, that’s your first thought. His face is bare again, and his eyes are rimmed in a little bit of red like he just removed the day’s stage makeup. Despite all that, he smiles when he sees you and sighs, leaning against the door frame, “You’re awake,” he says. 

“I waited,” You manage. 

He grimaces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his eyes flick behind you into the room and he swallows, “are you alone?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “but not for long, Iseul’s on her way,” 

He nods, “Come to my room?” 

“Are you sure?” Your eyes widen. 

“We need to talk,” He nods, “can you get away for a little while?” 

Iseul will probably expect you to be asleep, but you can’t let this go until morning. If you’re ever going to sleep you need to talk to him now. 

“I’ll think of something,” You tell him, “what room?” 

“2606,” He answers, reaching into his pockets and producing an envelope from the front desk, “take this,” 

He passes you one of his room keys and you nod, “I’ll be up in five minutes, but you should go,” 

“Okay,” He breathes and neither one of you makes a single move to step away from the door until a sound down the hallway pushes you into it. 

“2606,” You repeat and he nods, swiftly moving down the hall before anyone can see him standing at your door. 

You have no idea what you’re going to tell Iseul that would make sense, but you don’t care. You stack up your room service for collection, kick on a pair of slippers, and give yourself the fastest look in the mirror ever on your way out the door. You want to be gone before she gets back, the idea of facing her and lying ten times more difficult than an empty text. 

No problem - I can’t sleep, I’m just going to walk a bit. Don’t wait up.

You don’t stick around to see if she’ll believe it. 

You try to seem casual when walking to Yunho’s room, like it's yours. You don’t want anyone to give you a second glance and wonder where you’re going, so you keep your head up, smile at anyone you pass, and when his door comes into view you scan the card like it’s any other day. 

When the heavy door shuts behind you, you sigh. 

“God, finally,” His voice startles you, and you look up to see him pacing, “I’ve been going insane all day,” 

Your shoulders drop, you aren’t alone, “Me too,”

He runs a hand through his black hair and finally stops pacing, but doesn’t come any closer, “So, this is real?” 

“It feels pretty real,” 

“How did we never feel it?” He manages, “I’ve known you for years,” 

“We’ve never touched until today,” You tell him, and that has to be the reason, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve been turning it over in your mind all night, and with the exception of bumping into him last week in the hall, it’s all been polite bows and waves. 

“How is that even possible,” He breathes, “team dinners? Holiday parties? Work?” 

“Skin to skin,” You murmur, “I think that’s what it was,” 

“I had no idea,” He swallows, gesturing in the negative space between your bodies, “I always liked you, but I thought it was just, you know, a crush,” 

“You what?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“Well,” He backtracks, “not like that, it’s not like I’ve been holding a candle.” 

Your face stays neutral, but he grimaces at his own words. 

“I’m fucking this up,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” 

Your stomach warms, “Yunho, it’s okay, honestly,” 

“I just meant I’ve always liked you, I thought about asking you out when our contracts loosened up if you were still single.” He clarifies and then you watch his face blanch, “You are single, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “we don’t have to worry about that,” 

He nods and you see him searching for the next thing to say, the right thing. 

“Your mark,” You cut in, taking a few steps further into the room, “did it change?” 

“Completely,” He nods, “did yours?” 

“Yeah,” You wonder the right way to ask him if you can see. 

“Does it feel,” He starts.

“Warm?” 

“Yes,” He nods, “and tender?” 

“Like a fresh tattoo,” You take another step in. 

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” He confesses, “but I’ll take your word for it,” 

“Can I,” The words are stuck on your tongue, “maybe this is weird, but I mean, I guess we’re soulmates,” 

“You want to see it?” He surmises. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” 

His lips quirk, “I’m comfortable,”

Heat twists in your gut and you wonder if he can feel that too. If he does he doesn’t say it, but you watch as he pulls the black t-shirt off over his head. 

You’ve never seen his chest. Any inch of his skin except for his neck and arms really, and you guess that was part of keeping his soulmark covered. Idols always do, even when they’re in the most inconvenient locations, there’s always makeup or flesh colored tape or editing to take care of it. The idea that someone could replicate it and try to fake a connection is far too real for someone famous. 

He drops his shirt onto the bed and pink tinges his cheeks as he gestures towards it, “Well,” 

Your mouth drops, it’s the exact same, down to the size and the placement and every little loop and you stumble forwards to get a better look, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Has yours always been red?” You reach out, your fingertips hovering just over it. 

He shakes his head, “Not before today,” 

“Mine’s the same,” You tell him, your eyes glued to his sternum, “just the same,” 

You know every centimeter of this tattoo. You’ve studied it a thousand times in the mirror, tracing over every curve with your eyes, trying to find the place where the cord starts and ends. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers brush gently along his mark, and you feel the ghost of the sensation against your own. 

“I can’t believe we never knew,” You murmur, sliding your finger along each rounded edge. 

“You feel that?” He asks, “Right?” 

You’re nodding and moving to tug off your sweater before you can even think it through. He starts to shake his head, to say that you don’t have to, but you’re already tossing the sweater next to his discarded shirt and tugging down the front band of your bralette so he can see the whole mark. 

His eyes flick over you fast, but with the matching mark in front of him he doesn’t focus on anything else, “It’s exactly the same,” 

“I know,” You reach for his hand, but the minute more of your skin connects with his you feel your chest throb and you drop it like it burns you. 

He winces, touching his chest again, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“In the beginning,” You nod, “I think?” 

“Does it always feel like that?” 

“I’m not sure,” You admit, “I was going to call my sister and ask, but it’s too early at home,” 

He smiles, “Your sister found her soulmate?” 

“In highschool,” You smile back, “they’ve been bonded together since they were eighteen,” 

“Older or younger?” He asks, and you realize just how little you know about each other despite how long you’ve worked alongside him. 

“Younger,” You say.  

“I have a little brother,” He replies, “but he’s still in school,” 

You nod, painfully aware that this is such a strange conversation to have with your shirts off just standing in the middle of a hotel room, but somehow it’s easier than any date you’ve ever had. 

Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mark and he reaches out a hand again, “Can I?” 

Your heart quickens and you nod. 

His fingertips graze over the edge of your mark, mimicking your touch from before, sliding along the edges of the tattoo. His eyes widen and you know he’s feeling the sensation in his own mark, a mirror image of each other. 

“This doesn’t hurt,” He observes, letting his fingers linger. 

“I think we have to get used to each other,” You remember that fact from somewhere, “the link has been dormant for a long time, I think it takes a minute to get used to having it,” 

“Makes sense,” He murmurs, his eyes still squarely on your mark, “I’ll be honest though, I still really want to touch you,” 

“Yeah?” Your voice is thready. 

His fingers fall away and he nods, “Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” You agree, painfully quickly. 

He swallows tightly and takes the smallest step forwards, before offering out his hand, palm up and waiting for you.

Your eyes flick from his face down to his outstretched hand, and you reach for him slowly. You let your fingertips skate over the skin of his palm, down each digit, ghost the pads of your fingertips together. It’s warm, sharp and dizzying even just to brush against each other. 

You wonder what more will feel like. 

“Can I try something?” He murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper even though you’re all alone. 

You nod. 

He wets his lips unconsciously and moves a little closer, your bodies now only inches apart. Anxiety, anticipation, thrill, it all runs through your gut like a whirling wind and you shiver at the torrent of his emotions, a grin breaking out over your face. 

His smile mirrors yours, “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” 

“You can feel that?” 

“Yeah,” He breathes, grin widening, “this is crazy,” 

You laugh, a little nervous, a little elated, and he finally reaches out his hands. 

He takes a steadying breath, and then his fingertips brush along your jaw. 

You suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation, electric and hot, the feeling rocketing through your entire body. You tilt your face up to his as he continues his gentle touches, your eyes watching him as he studies you. His plush lips are parted, brown eyes wide with awe as he grows a little bolder to brush over your cheeks, down your throat, and back up to your jawline. 

“Feel alright?” He murmurs. 

You nod into his touch and he starts to lift off but you reach for him, “Don’t stop,” 

Your hands land safely on his hips, still covered by his sweatpants and you watch him swallow again at the sudden contact, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth fills the bond, no doubt the first threads of his arousal, and you wonder if he can feel your own. If he can sense how much he’s affecting you with just his fingertips on your face. 

His hands settle back on your skin, this time smoothing across you with his palms, one hand cupping your cheek and the other sliding over your shoulder and down your bare back. 

You can barely breathe, the room so silent and around you, like the only thing in the universe that exists is the two of you orbiting each other, standing at the precipice of something so catastrophic and wonderful. 

Your hands adjust, resting on his taut abdomen as you move a little closer together, and his eyes flutter shut as he breathes through the sensation of your hands on him properly for the first time. 

“You’re so warm,” You murmur, your hands softly tracing his abdominal muscles, instinct guiding you to touch more of him, seek out every inch of him as you unconsciously make a map of his body in your mind. 

He hums pleasantly, eyes reopening, “So are you,” 

He feels so right, so essential under your touch. 

Yunho wets his lips softly with his tongue, and a nervous thrill passes through your belly. His eyes flick over you, the pad of his thumb sweeping a line over your lips. You suppress a needy sound, still trying to keep your head amidst the thrumming emotions and steady thumps of your heart. 

He doesn’t stop, just stroking your skin slowly, fingers on your back pressing just a little as he sighs. 

“Yunho,” You shiver. 

“Cold?” He gravitates a little closer. 

“N-no,” Your body is all but pressed flush against him now, and you have to lean your face up even more just to see him as he stands tall over you. 

“I…” He starts to say something but lets the words die off, like he’s thinking something through, but then he sighs, “forget it,” 

His lips are on yours. 

Yunho lifts you, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you up into his embrace. You gasp against his mouth, finding his shoulders to hold onto as one of his arms bands around your lower back. 

The kiss is shattering, the world tilting once again, a new frequency humming between your two bodies. It’s hot, your skin buzzing from the contact, but the way you move together is fluid and easy. Your legs part naturally, settling around his hips and his free hand finds your plush thigh as he tugs you into place, slotting your bodies together like they were always meant to be. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your lips when he draws in a quick breath, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. His nose nuzzles against yours, and his lips part at the same moment yours do, tongues meeting in the space between your mouths to flick against each other. 

“Don’t,” You push closer to him, fingers knotting into the back of his hair as you kiss him back. 

He hums, the hand on your thigh sliding up to cup your ass and you shiver as his wide hand stretches across your backside, squeezing your pillowy flesh. 

A tiny whimper does leave you then, liquid heat spreading through your body, the combined sensation of both your arousals giving you a headrush. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs between kisses, “you’re so beautiful,” 

“Yunho,” Your voice is thready, his name a stretched out sound. 

He holds you close, nearly stumbling as he moves. You blink your eyes open just as he spins you both, pushing you up against the hotel wall and pinning you in place with the weight of his body.  You should slow things down, but nothing in your life has ever felt this good and you find yourself diving back to meet his kiss again. 

 His arm slides out from behind your back as he pushes closer, your body fully supported by the flat of the wall behind you and his hips under yours and one hand firmly anchored on your ass. With his arm free he cups your cheek, a pleased sound on his lips as he dips you back into the wall and deepens the kiss. 

Heat blooms through you, your kisses getting needier, artless and desperate just to get a little closer together. The kind of kissing that sounds as messy as it is, tiny pants and moans muffled between you, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. 

“God,” He shudders, his lips breaking away, but his eyes only flick over you for a second before he dives back in. This time his lips travel, hot kisses across your jaw and back to the hollow of your ear, down your throat as he holds you a little higher on the wall for the right access. 

You grip his shoulders with one hand and lock your fingers in his mess of black hair with the other, your head falling back against the wall. He pants against your throat, a soft groan as he kisses, and your stomach tightens pleasantly. 

“Y-Yunho,” You gasp, arousal rolling through you, and unconsciously you rock your hips, desperately seeking some kind of friction. 

He hums low in his throat, kissing back up your neck fast to get to your lips again and his hand slides off your cheek as he crowds you tighter, bracing himself against the wall above your head. His abdomen presses against your core, and even through layers of fabric you feel his heat. Hungrily, you roll your hips again and catch a little pressure, moaning in earnest against his mouth. 

Yunho makes a tight sound and then he breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he takes in slow breaths, his body all but trembling with need as he holds you. 

“We need to slow down,” He manages. 

You can’t find words, not yet, but you nod against him. 

“You deserve better,” He says, “dates, presents,” 

You laugh softly, your hand in his hair softening from a grip to a gentle hold, carding through the long locks at the base of his neck, “I don’t need all that,”  

He smiles wide, brushing off your words, “Still,” He sighs, still recovering from the heated make out, “I think I have more self control than fulfilling our bond by fucking you into the wall,” 

Reality bleeds back in at that. Soulmarks were just that, indicator marks. A way to find your person amidst a sea of thousands, if not millions. All the shared sensation and emotion a precursor to something more permanent and binding, something only sealed together by sex. 

You lift your head up, and he leans back to mirror you. 

“I lost my head there,” You admit, warm blush in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” 

He smiles, and you take in his expression. His hair is a mess, mussed and disheveled and his face is pink from his nose down to the dark, well-kissed curve of his lips. His bare chest is flushed bright pink and his eyes are bright and warm. You fight the urge to kiss him again. 

“Me either,” He shakes his head, “it’s incredible,” 

“Overwhelming,” You nod, exhaling softly. 

He makes a soft sound to agree and then starts to push back from the wall gingerly, letting you slowly unwrap your legs from his waist and ease down to the floor. 

He lets you go when you’re steady on your feet and clears his throat, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants and running a hand through his tangled locks. He’s hard, that much is obvious from the distinct outline of his cock through the gray fabric, but you do your best to look away and not think about how thick and heavy it looked just from kissing you. 

“Jesus,” He adjusts his sweats again, “sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” You cup your own cheeks with cool fingers, “I promise you’re not the only one,” 

His eyes hold yours for a lengthy beat and then he swallows, taking a wide step back and nodding, “Right,” he shakes his head, “we’re supposed to be slowing down.” 

“Slow,” You lean against the wall behind you, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to steady your thumping heart. 

“I’m going over here,” He grins and walks to the far wall by the door to the bathroom, leaning back and crossing his own arms, “we really should talk,” 

A pulse of anxiety flickers through you, and you realize just how quickly you went from his hotel room door to nearly falling into bed. He’s handsome, a kind man, your once upon a time crush, and certainly fated to be a good match for you, but that doesn’t mean you should throw out good sense and rush things. No matter how much your impulses were screaming at you to do just that.

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a bed between you, and you nod, “You’re right,” you finally say, “we barely know each other,” 

Yunho’s smile fades just a bit, “I wouldn’t say that,” 

“We’re coworkers,” The words tumble out, “I know what we’re both feeling, but,” 

His brow furrows as he thinks through your words and he shakes his head, “y/n,” he cuts you off, “do you believe in soulmates?” 

“Yes, of course,” Even if you hadn’t before, the way you’re feeling now would be enough to dispel any skeptic. 

He takes in a quick breath, the sound sharp as he draws it through his teeth and he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You’re scared,” he massages the top of his sternum with his fingers, and you recognize your own chest is tight with anxiety, “I can feel it, talk to me.” 

The instant vulnerability of the bond is startling, and you can feel your own expression crumble. It’s suddenly a bit like being an ant caught under a magnifying glass, too much sharp attention all at once and you swallow tightly, eyes flicking away from his tender gaze. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, “I’m not pushing for more, not tonight,” 

“Yeah,” Your voice is soft, too quiet for your own liking. Something about the way he sees you so clearly and so quickly makes you feel exposed, nervous and strangely childlike. 

“Hey,” He breaks through your little thought spiral, “look at me,”

You straighten up again, finding his eyes. 

“I’m just happy I found you,” He tells you, and you feel the truth of it in your gut, “we can figure everything else out together, and at our own pace, okay?” 

Relief spreads through you, the knot in your chest loosening, “Promise?” 

“Promise,” He nods, raising one hand with his pinky extended, “I just want us to try,” 

You nod, extending your own pinky to seal it, “Me too.” 

He smiles at that, “Barely know each other,” he scolds softly, “I’m offended.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tension bleeds out of your shoulders. 

“Mhm,” His expression is full of cheek, “I’m the one with a crush, remember? I notice things,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly and your arms relax from their tight position crossed over your chest, “What things?” 

“Let’s see,” He starts, and for a brief moment you think maybe he’s bluffing, but the moment he starts you melt and he holds your gaze as he warmly recites all the little things he’s noticed about you over the years. 

“You only wear silver jewelry,” he notes first, nodding towards you. 

Your tight hands uncurl. 

“You have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” The more he talks the more he relaxes against the far wall, “and you start getting flushed after the second shot of soju, you really are a lightweight,” 

“You always pick a Big Bang song for karaoke, and you’re late to work every Monday,” He laughs a little at that and keeps going, “you don’t wear a lot of color but when you do it’s red. We’re both from Gwangju but you moved to Seoul when you were five,” 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster, warmth filling you again and you don’t know if it’s your affection or his anymore, but it hardly matters. 

“Um,” He takes a deep breath and glances away for a moment and then catches more threads from his memory, “you’re a Sagittarius, you’re a runner, and the last book I saw you reading was Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. I bought it, but I haven’t had a chance to read it just yet,” 

“Yunho,” You find yourself smiling, a hand over your surprised lips. 

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs a little, “we aren’t strangers. I know this is scary and fast and going to change the rest of our lives,” 

Elation, pure joy, spills over unfettered from his side of your new emotional tether. 

“But I like you,” He confesses, “I have for a while, and this,” he brushes his fingers along his soulmark, “just changes the timeline.” 

He’s yours. 

You push off the wall, crossing the room and all but leap back into his embrace, your arms looping around his shoulders again as you push up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 

“This is real,” You murmur. 

“Yes,” He cups your cheeks, nodding as he pecks your lips again. 

“You’re mine,” 

“Yes,” He grins. 

“Oh, this is crazy,” You laugh, forehead against his again. 

“We’ll go slow,” He assures you again, “we’ll figure it out together,” 

“Together,” You nod. 

He dips low once more, this kiss more tender, and he separates you both before things can heat up again. “Hmm,” He glances across the bed and makes a small face at the time displayed on the digital clock, “did you eat?” 

“I tried to,” You confess, “I was nervous,” 

“You need to eat,” He snaps up his black shirt from the bed and slips it back on, and your chest warms. It’s strangely domestic, strangely commonplace like you’ve been in this position a thousand times before. 

Yunho adjusts his shirt and then kisses your hair as he passes by you, padding over to the hotel microwave and searching through the assorted snacks and instant meals, “It’s too late for room service,” 

“I’m okay,” You pull your own sweater back on and sit on the edge of his bed. 

“y/n,” He glances back, a softly scolding tone. 

“Really, you need to sleep,” You offer. 

He dismisses that thought, “But I’m hungry, eat with me?” 

You concede, and while he starts whipping up two servings of ramen, you wonder if this is what he’s going to be like. It makes sense, he’s always been a caretaking kind of person, but having it so tenderly directed at you feels right. 

“When we get home,” He says as he pours in the spice packets, “I’ll take you somewhere nice,” 

“This is nice,” You smile. 

“y/n,” He sets the ramen on a side table and sits next to you, “this is cup noodle from a hotel microwave,”

“The company is nice,” You take the ramen happily though, and tuck into the warm meal.

“It is,”

“Mm, you know,” You slurp back some noodles and softly clear your throat, “you weren’t the only one with a crush,” 

He freezes, letting his noodles drop back into his cup, “What?” 

“I’ve always liked you,” Your own confession feels easier after his, “I put it aside since we work together, but I guess, I mean, what I’m trying to say is that we both felt it before the mark, you’re not alone in that.” 

 “I had no idea,” 

“I’m very professional,” You tease him lightly. 

He nudges you and tucks back into his noodles, “How long?” 

“Hmm,” You get more comfortable, crossing your legs and scooting back a little onto the mattress, “I thought you were cute when we first met,” 

“God,” He groans, “we were such kids,” 

You nod, swallowing another bite, “Mhm, you had that blonde hair,” 

He laughs. 

“I remember thinking, ‘that one’s trouble’,” You confess. 

“Me?” His eyebrows perk up, “I’m perfectly nice,” 

“Trouble as in you’re my type,” You roll your eyes, “but I don’t think the crush properly came until later. You’ve always made me laugh, and when I realized how I was feeling I just did my best to keep some distance,” 

He nods, face getting a little serious, “I know what you mean,” 

That knowledge leaves you both a little quiet. The late hour, the adrenaline come down, all of it barrels into you at the same moment as the next anxious thought. How in the world were you both going to navigate this with a contract as tight as theirs and the public eye always watching? 

“Yunho,” You murmur, the last of your noodles left to go cold as you sit with that thought, “Are we going to be able to figure this out?” 

“Figure what out?” He looks genuinely confused by your question, “Us?” 

“You’re an idol,” You nod towards him, “I’m staff,” 

He rests a hand on your knee, “We’ll be fine,” 

“Aren’t your contracts,” You trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. 

“They’re strict, yes,” He nods, “year seven,” 

Dating, romance, even the perception of it was more than discouraged by companies in this industry, their artists contractually obligated to be single and available and dedicated only to their fans. Five years would have been the industry standard to prevent any idol from being caught out with a partner, let alone a potential soulmarked one, but seven is excessive. 

You blanch, “That’s almost two years away,” 

“We will find a way,” He says, “we’re not the first people in the industry this has happened to,” 

“Really?” You perk up, “Who?” 

He falls short, “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s bound to have happened.” 

“And then ruined their careers,” You groan, flopping back flat on the mattress and covering your face with a hand, “which is why we’ve never heard of them,” 

Yunho laughs, earnestly laughs, and takes the half empty ramen cup out of your hand to discard, “Maybe, but for now, let’s just stay positive. Get to know eachother better,” 

You nod. 

“Nothing can change the fact that we found each other,” He points out, dropping down onto his side on the bed next to you, “and I’m okay with that.” 

“So we just lie to everyone?” You chew at the inside of your lip, staring up at the white ceiling. 

“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers tuck under your chin and draw your eyes to him, “I know you’re anxious,” 

You sigh, letting his softness calm you again. 

“I know,” He repeats, “I am too, but we don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re both tired and it’s been an emotional day,” 

“Okay,” You nod, “okay, yes, you’re right,” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek again, and you watch him exhale and sink further into your touch, “Will you stay tonight?” 

That wakes you up. 

Your eyebrows raise, “Stay?” 

“Just to sleep,” He assures you, “I just… I don’t want to be without you yet,” 

“I need to get back before Iseul wakes up if we do that,” You note with a grimace. 

“What time?” He glances back to the clock. 

“Seven,” You say, “her alarm is set for seven-thirty,” 

“We can do that,” He grabs his phone off the side table and sets an alarm, “we’ll get up,” 

The pull between your bodies is so strong you’re fairly sure you would have stayed no matter the consequences, but you nod, “Then I’ll stay,” 

He grins and pushes himself off the bed, “I’ve got clothes, if you want to get comfortable,” 

“Sure,” you sit up and wait for him to find things in his still packed suitcase. 

“Um,” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the bag, “these should work, and if you get cold,” 

You smile as he grabs a gray hoodie and comes back to you. 

As you start to pull off your sweater again, he turns around and leaves his back to you, “Sorry,” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, making short work of changing. You’re swimming in his clothes, but his sweatshirt smells like him and you just want to bury your face into it, “you can turn around now,” 

His shoulders relax as he turns back, and you watch his lips part as he takes you in. 

“What?” 

“You look cute,” He clears his throat, shrugging off his reaction. 

You smile and ease back onto the bed, “Oh, I get it,” you laugh, “is your guy brain on fire because I’m wearing your clothes? Is this some kind of… you won the competition, ownership thing?” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, kneeling on the bed to shuffle closer, “No competition when you’re literally fated for me,” 

“Right,” You let the word drag out on your tongue to tease him. 

“But I like taking care of you already, and now you’re warm and comfortable,” He collapses next to you onto the mattress with a sigh, “and I know I don’t own you, but you are mine, just like I’m yours now. I won’t apologize for liking you in my clothes or in my bed, for liking when you look like my girlfriend,” 

Warmth blooms in your cheeks and you duck your face into the sheets. 

“Now come get under the covers,” He maneuvers the duvet, “it’s late, you were dead on your feet today,” 

His voice is so warm and familiar, and you slide into the covers beside him. 

In bed you keep a little distance, and despite the number of times both of you say that you should go to sleep, your conversation is almost impossible to stop. Yunho holds your hand in the middle space of the mattress between your bodies, and in the dim lighting of the hotel room you whisper thought after thought back and forth. A million things coming to mind you need to tell each other so suddenly now that you’ve found each other. 

As you talk his fingers travel, restlessly stroking your skin, up and down your arm and tapping out patterns. When his palm slides back and forth over the sharp lines of the tattoos on your upper arm, and you feel the question slipping out of your lips and revealing more about yourself than you intended before you can catch it. 

“Your parents,” You blurt out, “will they be happy?” He’s spoken about them so much over the past hour that you can’t help but ask him that question point blank. 

“So happy,” He responds with ease, a laugh on his lips, “they always worried me being an idol meant I’d never be able to find the one and settle down, they’re going to love this story,” 

You smile at the easy way he calls you ‘the one’, but the question you really asked still remains unanswered and you exhale softly, “But,” you manage, “will they be happy with me?” 

Yunho stills, reaching across the bed to hook his finger under your chin and draw your eyes up to his again, “Very happy,” he says, “just like I am.” 

Your muscles relax, his words a soothing balm, and you adjust your position on the pillow beneath you, “Just checking,” 

“Mhm,” He studies your face, “jagi, why wouldn’t they be happy with you?” 

The endearment slips off his lips with ease, and a burst of warmth spreads through you. You’ve never needed pet names and softness like this from a partner, but from him it makes your heart quicken. 

The momentary elation fades though, and his question comes back into your mind. You take a deep breath, you owe it to him to tell him now, “My family won’t be happy,” 

“With me?” His eyebrows raise. 

“It’s me,” You shake your head, “my parents have difficult ideals, and I’ve never pleased them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, they… they’ll find a way to not be happy for me.”

His eyes soften, and his thumb strokes along your jaw, “I’m sorry,” 

“It is what it is,” 

“Are your parents soulmates?” He asks softly. 

You shake your head, “No, they don’t really believe in soulmarks,” 

You watch his eyes widen in surprise. 

“Unless,” You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “the match is ‘fortuitous’,” 

“For status?” He surmises. 

“Status, money,” You shrug, “connection. But I think I could marry the next president and they’d still find a way to be disappointed in me,” 

His jaw flexes tense for just a moment, before his expression smooths over again. 

“Anyway,” You clear the bad thoughts away as quickly as they came, “my sister and I never went along like they wanted, like my cousins and the rest of my family, so we are the great disappointments. It’s not… it’s fine, but, I guess you should know before we, you know,” 

He smiles, a bit of amusement in his expression that you can’t place, “Did you think having bad parents would scare me off?” 

“It could,” 

“No,” He slides a hand under your side and tugs you across the mattress to press a fast kiss to your lips, “it never could.” 

“But I’m,” You start, all the reasons why a partner might care ringing in your ears. 

“Beautiful?” He cuts you off, “Just my type? If it’s anything else I don’t want to hear you say it,” 

Your stomach flip flops hard and you push lightly against his chest to get him to stop. 

“The thing is,” He brushes your hair back from your cheek, “my parents are soulmates. I grew up in a house full of a lot of love, even when they were being strict and scolding us.” 

Your smile at his warm expression. 

“So I know they’ll love you,” He explains, “they know what this feels like, what it means. I have plenty of family for us both,” 

Your throat constricts, tears threatening for a moment. 

“Your sister, though,” He grounds you out of the bad thoughts without even thinking, “you two are close?” 

“Very,”

“I’d like to meet her,” He smiles. 

“You two would get along great, my sister and her wife both, actually,” 

Yunho nods, listening attentively, “Do they have kids?” 

“Not yet,” You groan, “but I’m dying to be an auntie,” 

His thumb drags a comforting line across your cheekbone, his expression warm and affectionate, “Cute,” 

You sink into the pillows, a yawn creeping up to your lips, “She’s going to lose her mind when I call her,”  

“Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You huff a laugh, “she thought that when I started working here I should have found an inconspicuous way to bump into all of you to test possible bonds. She’s going to be riding the ‘I told you so’ train.” 

“She’s funny,” He smirks. 

“Very,” You sigh, unconsciously cuddling into his warmth. 

“Has it been a while since you’ve seen her?” He asks softly, adjusting his arms around you so that you’re cradled against his chest with the pillows at your back. 

“Mhm,” You yawn again, the warmth of his body settling the last of the adrenaline inside you, “a while,” 

“Let’s find a day off after the tour,” He tucks the duvet around you. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes feel heavy. 

“Yeah,” He kisses your forehead. 

“Yunho,” You yawn again, dipping your forehead into his chest, “God, I’m so tired again,” 

“Mhm,” He yawns too, “me too, jagi,” 

You hum softly, fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt just to feel a little skin, “I like that,” you murmur, “I like you,” 

“I like you too,” He chuckles, “now go to sleep,” 

A piece of you wants to protest, wants more time cocooned in this day with him, but something about his body feels so right. After a week of sleeping poorly, your body tight and anxious and heart fluttering for no reason at all, when he touches you, your mind goes blissfully blank. 

Your muscles relax, your breath dropping low and soft in your chest. 

Nuzzled against his tattoo, you drift.

You’re supposed to wake up to an alarm. Early enough that you could slip back into your hotel room and your own bed to yawn and stretch next to Iseul and make her believe you were there the whole night. That’s what was supposed to happen. 

Instead, you wake to the heavy sound of a hotel door and Seonghwa’s voice, Yunho jolting awake beside you. 

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says for what sounds like the third time to your fuzzy sleep-addled brain, “oh my god?” 

“Hyung,” Yunho pushes himself up, his arms unwinding from around you, “hey, don’t freak out,” 

“Don’t freak out,” Seonghwa’s eyes blow wide, “are you fucking kidding me? Hongjoong is going to kill you,”

“You don’t understand,” Sleep is still heavy on him and he shakes his head to try to pull himself away. 

“I understand plenty,” Seonghwa counters, “how long have you been lying to us?” 

His reaction surprises you, and you ease yourself up to sit next to Yunho. You’re not sure what to say or not say, you don’t know what they’ve discussed in the past when it comes to dating and relationships, but by  Seonghwa’s outburst you can guess it’s honesty at a minimum. 

Yunho’s face falls, “No, it’s not that,” 

“I can tell you what it looks like,” Seonghwa lowers his voice to what amounts to a stage whisper. 

“Hyung,” Yunho rubs his eyes, running a hand through his mop of black hair. 

“It looks like you’ve been sneaking around,” He continues, “how long have you two been fucking?” 

“Hey,” Yunho’s voice sharpens, and his hand crosses your body to anchor on your opposite thigh. 

Seonghwa’s eyes track it and he shakes his head, “This is so stupid,” he steps back in surprise, “you’re both being so, incredibly stupid.” 

Yunho gives you a squeeze and opens his mouth to reply but Seonghwa keeps going. 

“Naive is what it is,” 

Irritation bubbles in your gut and you can’t stop yourself, “Seonghwa, will you shut up for one second?” 

He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open, “What?” 

“Can you please,” You hold his gaze, “please, just listen to Yunho for a minute before you jump to conclusions.” 

He shifts, taking a step back and crossing his arms, and then he looks to Yunho. 

Yunho finds your eyes quickly, silently asking, and you give him a nod. 

“Okay,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair again, “I’ll just say it.” 

Seonghwa waits, his expression completely neutral except for the irritated corner of his lips.

“y/n is my soulmate,” Yunho squeezes your thigh again and you slip your hand into his to twine your fingers together, “we didn’t know, but now we do.” 

Seonghwa’s brows go high, shock filling his features. 

“We’re not hiding,” You add, “we just… it’s just,” 

“How long?” Seonghwa manages. 

“Soundcheck yesterday,” Yunho says, “we haven’t known long enough to lie, hyung.” 

“You’re sure?” He looks between you both, and you know what he’s thinking. How could it be possible to know each other for years and not know. 

“We’re sure,” You answer confidently, calmly, “I swear,” 

“It’s real,” Yunho’s thumb strokes across knuckles, “it’s very real.” 

Seonghwa swallows, taking in the news and sinks back against the hotel dresser, “Well, fuck,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho laughs. 

“You were off timing yesterday,” Seonghwa points out, “and distracted,” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yunho grimaces. 

“No, but,” He shrugs, “I know you and you’re never off time.” 

“It wasn’t easy to focus on the show yesterday,” Yunho admits. 

“I’m sorry,” You nudge him with your shoulder, knowing a huge portion of that must have been the panic flooding his side of the link. 

He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for,”

When you look back up, Seonghwa is smiling and he sighs, “Oh, you’ve both got it bad.” 

“Obviously,” You hide your face in your sweatshirt sleeve. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asks, “Because you can’t act like this around anyone else,” 

Your mouth feels dry. 

“We don’t know,” Yunho answers, “we have to figure that out, for now I think we just try to keep things normal.” 

Seonghwa nods and then leans forward, “Listen, I know you’re not asking for my advice,” 

You both wait. 

“But you're my brother,” Seonghwa says unequivocally, “so I’m going to give you some anyway.” 

Yunho nods. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Seonghwa points out, “and I’m sure it will be hard to act like acquaintances in front of everyone, but you have to do it, at least until you make a plan.” 

“Yeah,” Yunho’s cheeks are a little pink and he squeezes your hand. 

“No one fires the idol for things like this,” He reminds you both, “so for her sake, put it away for today.” 

“He’s right,” You nod, “today we go back to coworkers,” 

Yunho draws your clasped hands up and kisses your fingers, “Okay,” 

“You’re lucky I offered to check on you,” Seonghwa sighs heavily, “if any of the managers came in,” 

“Check on me?” Yunho perks up at that, “Hwa, why,” 

Things come into focus for you at that moment, how bright the hotel room is with sunlight, how well rested you really feel. You twist in the bed and look at the digital clock, “Oh no,” 

“You were late,” Seonghwa explains, “we figured you overslept, I offered to use the spare key to get you up.” 

“Fuck,” Yunho curses. 

You both slept straight through Yunho’s alarm. 

“Iseul is going to fucking kill me,” You roll out of bed, your hands breaking apart as you scramble for you phone, “what the hell am I going to tell her?” 

Your phone reads nine-thirty. In thirty minutes you’re supposed to be packed into a van and on the way to the venue and when you look at the collection of notifications your stomach churns. 

Three calls from Iseul, and a lengthy string of text messages. 

Did you already get up and get ready?

Your work bag is still here…

Not funny, girl, where are you?

Did you make it back last night? 

Can you answer me?? 

I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard anything - You haven’t even read these? 

You better not be dead in a ditch, I’ll kill you myself. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hands are trembling as you tap out the fastest reply - Alive, be right there.

Yunho’s a whirlwind behind you, stripping out of his sleep clothes and yanking on whatever outfit is at the top of his suitcase, “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” 

“Sure,” You search the floor for your jeans and dart into the bathroom, “my best friend is going to murder me though,” 

You change at lightning speed, swapping his sweats for your jeans and then tying up your hair into a messy bun before pushing back out into the main room. 

“Everyone’s downstairs,” Seonghwa offers, “you shouldn’t run into anyone on the way back to your room.” 

“Good, okay, good,” Your heart is pounding, “where’s my room key?” 

“Here,” Yunho darts forwards and finds the little envelope, passing it to you, “take a breath,” 

“I have to go,” You manage, “I have to think of something,” 

“Don’t kiss and tell,” Seonghwa offers and he’s being funny but it’s vaguely helpful. 

“Wait,” Yunho grabs your hand and tugs you back, snapping your phone out of your hand. 

“Yunho, I don’t,” You start to say but he waves you off. 

He types fast, adding himself as a contact in Kakao Talk, “My number,” he explains. 

Seonghwa huffs a laugh. 

You take the phone back and tuck it into your pocket, “I’ll message you later,” 

“Good,” He dips forwards and presses one warm, tender kiss to your lips, “now get out of here,” 

You kiss him back, just once and fast, a little shred of self indulgence before you have to act like he’s just another guy, and then you’re darting out of the room, shouting back a thank you at Seonghwa as you go. 

You navigate the halls fast, and opt to take the stairs to get down one floor faster and more inconspicuously. You take a deep breath when you get to your hotel door, and then you dive. 

“So you are alive,” Iseul’s waiting, just like you thought she might be. She’s sitting on your still made bed, her phone in her hands and a tense expression on her face, “I was just about to tell the managers you were missing,” 

“I’m so sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean to worry you,” You take a few steps into the room. 

Her eyes flick over you, and you realize at the moment her eyes widen that you’re still wearing Yunho’s hoodie, your sweater still discarded on his bedroom floor. 

“You hooked up with someone?” Her voice spikes, “Are you kidding me?” 

Thankfully the hoodie is plain, just a heather gray with no identifying attributes that scream his name, but you’re still swimming in it and it’s clear you’re rumpled from bed. 

“Listen,” You hold up your hands, “I didn’t mean to not text you, I just fell asleep,” 

“With some guy?” She stands. 

“Yes,” You settle on some version of the truth. 

“Who?” She flounders, “We’re supposed to text each other,” 

And you always did, when either one of you went home with someone there was always a little preemptive safety report. A name, an address, a shared location, something so that you weren’t completely alone in the world with a strange guy. 

“I’m sorry,” You say again. 

She studies you, and it’s like she’s looking through you. 

“Oh my god,” Her eyes widen, “we know him.” 

“Iseul,” Your cheeks heat. 

She points at you, “I’m right!” 

“It’s not a big deal,” You skirt around her words. 

“The only reason you wouldn’t text me is if you were with someone we both know,” She narrows her eyes, “so give it up.” 

“I can’t,” You press, “leave it,” 

“Why are you being so weird?” 

“Iseul,” You sigh, avoiding her gaze, “I just woke up in a panic, and I have like fifteen minutes to get showered, can you give me the third degree later?” 

“I’m not letting this go,” 

“Yeah,” You pull off Yunho’s sweatshirt and head to the bathroom, “I know, but we have work.” 

“Work with a coworker you slept with,” She stands in the doorway while you start the shower, and you realize her tone isn’t so much as angry anymore but probing. 

“I didn’t sleep with him,” You groan, “well, I guess I did, but we didn’t have sex, okay?” 

“That’s awfully cozy for a one night stand,” She crosses her arms, “unless you’re seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” 

“No,” You test the water heat and unbutton your jeans, “I swear I’ll explain another time, but can you just drop it for today? Or do you want to stand here and watch me shower?” 

“Fine,” She concedes, “you will tell me?” 

“I swear,” You nod, “I want to tell you, but I’m not ready yet, okay?” 

Her eyes soften up at that, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “but I’m having big feelings about it and I need to work it out,”

“Oh,” In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never seen you in love or even close, and she just blinks, “got it,” 

“Can I shower now?” You gesture towards the running water. 

“Yeah,” She steps back, “yeah, but I’m still mad you didn’t text me.” 

“Okay,” 

“And I’m still going to guess who it is,” She smirks. 

“Fine,” 

Her smile widens and she rolls her eyes, “I bet it’s one of the BB guys, isn’t it? You always like a dancer,” 

She turns the corner before she can watch you blushing harder, so nearly on the money with her guess, but you put it all out of your mind for now and focus on your day. You’re late, and it’s about to be another long one. You’ll have time for everything else later, if you can just keep your cool. 

Work is bizarre to say the least. You and Yunho both do an excellent job of not looking at each other except for when he’s in your makeup chair, and you’re getting better and better at ignoring both San’s and Seonghwa’s nervous glances. 

This time you start the makeup early, less time pressure with the schedule adjustments, and the night goes off without a hitch. Soundcheck to stage to VIP benefits, it’s a whirlwind and you’re grateful for the distractions everywhere you look. 

You can still feel him, emotions from his side of the link ebbing and flowing throughout the day, but the sharp intensity of yesterday has dulled a bit after your night together. In quiet moments you find yourself thinking about his lips, or the way his hands held you as you tumbled into sleep, but you push it down and stay professional. 

As the show ends, Iseul ropes you into team dinner, desperate to observe who you interact with and how, still on her quest to find your mystery bed partner, but the boys aren’t there and so there’s nothing for her to really see. 

Later, with Iseul passed out from one too many shots of soju, you slip back into Yunho’s hoodie and cuddle into the warmth of your own bed. You need more sleep, you know that, but your brain isn’t cooperating. You toss and turn in the sheets, body feeling like a taut cord, and all you can think of is him. 

You miss him. 

It’s not even two days of having him in your life like this and you feel nervous and achy without him. There’s no way you’ll survive two years of this. 

Over an hour passes as you sigh, changing positions again and again, and then your phone finally buzzes. You scramble to see if it’s a message from him, nearly dropping your phone in the process. 

Can’t sleep? - He must be feeling your restlessness. 

Not at all - You reply, chest feeling warm at the contact. 

Little bubbles pop up immediately to indicate he’s typing and then another message pops on your screen - You’d think after last night we’d both be exhausted.

So you’re as awake as I am? 

Just can’t relax. I liked having you here last night. - He confesses. 

You roll over in the bedding onto your front and push the pillow under your chest before you keep texting - I liked it too. I’d come up except Iseul wouldn’t lay off guessing who I was with this morning. 

Oh? Did she guess correctly? - You can practically see the smirk on his face. 

Nope - You tease back. 

Was she upset? - He asks. 

At first, but I told her I would tell her soon I just needed some time - You reply. 

That’s good, honest. - His message makes you smile. 

How was Seonghwa? - You tap out. 

Fine…. stressing and acting like a hyung, you know - He says. 

You smile and type out another message - Is he keeping this to himself for now?

Yes - Yunho’s message comes in, and then another - For now, he knows we need to decide things first. 

That’s good - You send back. 

Things lull for a moment, and you try to think of something more to say, but Yunho swoops in with a question that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughing - Who did Iseul guess you were with? Was I even on the list?

I thought you’d be happy she didn’t guess - You reply. 

Bubbles appear immediately, then another message - I’m a little offended, I’m the obvious choice.

Why’s that? - You tease him. 

You feel something warm in your chest, and his next message flies back - I thought I was your type? 

You stifle another laugh - You are, she’s not very observant.

So who did she guess? 

Your belly flip flops and you hide your face in the pillow for a moment. His obvious jealousy, even just to tease you, is making your heart quicken and you can’t stop yourself from making it harder on him. 

You take a breath and reply - About half the BB crew and a few of your managers.

The replies don’t come for a moment, and you nervously refresh the chat. 

Finally a message comes in - I’m trying to think of something funny to say, but I’m actually just irrationally jealous. 

She was just teasing, no need to be jealous - You smile into your hand. 

Doesn’t matter - He says - Now I’m just here alone wondering which of our coworkers Iseul thinks you have chemistry with

He is jealous. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in your belly and press your legs a little tighter together. If you close your eyes you can feel the echo of his hands on you from last night, and all you want in the world is for him to come down here and kiss you hard like that again. 

With a slow exhale you return to your phone - Don’t be jealous, Yunho. We both know I’m yours.

Yeah? - His reply comes after a beat - No need to be jealous then.

Exactly - You reply. 

I bet you like it a little though - His message flies in as yours sends.

You feel warm all over and you run a nervous hand through your hair before replying - No, I don’t. 

Jagi, you forget I can feel how worked up you’re getting. 

Your stomach clenches, drops and twists. He’s going to be the death of you and you’re still just flirting.  

You work up the courage and finally send your reply - You’re the one that pinned me to the wall last night. 

I’ve been thinking about that all day - The message reply is fast. 

You smile and bite your lip, snuggling further into the mattress and trying to ignore the growing pulse between your thighs - You did seem distracted during rehearsals.

You feel warmth in your chest, and you know exactly how much your flirting is affecting him. Another text pings through and you shiver when you read it - How could I not be distracted with you there? All I could think about was the way you said my name last night. 

Your thighs press together - Yunho?

Yes, jagi?

Or more whiny, was it? Yunho-ya? - You type it out fully, emphasizing the extended sound, knowing exactly what he wants to hear from the way he gripped you last night. 

The room is suddenly hot, and your heart beats faster to sync with his. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, bubbles popping up and then receding again and you wonder how he’s lying in bed. If he’s hard already, if he’s palming himself? You wonder if he sleeps naked when he’s alone and youre core clenches, arousal pooling in your gut and you know he can feel the threads of it. When he finally presses send on his message you have to cover your mouth to keep quiet. 

Feeling needy? Are you squirming around in that hotel bed wishing for me, sweetheart?

You feel that message from your top to your toes and you steal a fast glance at the bed next to you. Iseul is sound asleep, turned away from you and snoring softly, and you let out a relieved, shuddering breath. 

You could pump the brakes here, tease him and find a way to say goodnight, but you simply can’t. Need and arousal overwhelms you and you tap back your reply fast - I’ve been aching all day.

Do you have headphones? 

The question catches you off guard, but you write back - Yes, airpods.

Put them in - He says, and you swallow tightly, reaching for the little headphone case on your bedside table. 

Your fingers are shaking as you take them out of the case and put them in, making sure they’re connected before you reply - Done. 

His call lights up your phone, ringing in your headphones and you swipe to answer with a panicked glance at the bed next to you, but Iseul sleeps on, none the wiser. 

“y/n?” His voice is so rich and quiet, a little raspy edge after singing all night and you nearly moan. 

“Hi,” You whisper as soft as you can, “I can’t,” 

“Don’t talk,” He soothes you, “don’t wake Iseul up, I’ll talk to you and you can text me back, okay?” 

You minimize the call and open your chat back up, sending him a quick emoji to acknowledge his words. 

“Perfect,” He laughs softly, “this is way easier than texting. Listen, I know we said slow, but I’d love to help you relax if you want that. If not, I can just say goodnight, it’s up to you.” 

You exhale softly, a needy thrill in your gut - Let’s relax together. 

“Oh,” He sighs pleasantly, “yes, I’d love that.” 

You want me? - You ask. 

“You can feel how much I do,” He responds, “I’m sitting here convincing myself not to come downstairs and get my hands on you.” 

You hum softly, shifting in the sheets and relaxing deeper into the pillows. 

You hear his own breath, the way he parts his lips with a wet sound, “Can you tell me what position you’re in?” 

You tap out the reply - Lying on my front, on my stomach. 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased, “I bet you look so cute, all twisted up in the sheets and blushing,” 

I was tossing and turning. 

“I bet you were,” He groans a little, “I tried everything. I hit the gym, cold shower, did some deep breathing, but you have me so keyed up I can’t sleep,” 

You send him another emoji, the blushing face. 

He laughs, the rumble of it too deep and warm in your ear with your headphones in. 

You tap out another message - What position are you in? Trying to picture it. 

You hear him shift around in the sheets, “I’m on my back,” 

Wearing? 

He chuckles, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking what you’re wearing?” 

I asked you first.

“Fair,” He shifts again, and you picture him restless on his back in the bed you shared the night before, “just boxers,” 

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. 

“And you?” 

You wish it were sexier all of a sudden, but that just wouldn’t be practical in a room with your friend so you tell him honestly - Pajamas, the button down kind, they’re gray. 

“God, you’re adorable,” The covers on his end shift again, “wish you were up here with me.” 

Me too 

“This is probably better,” He says though, “I don’t think I could hold myself back for another night.” 

Me either - You confess. 

“y/n,” His voice warms, low in his chest, “jagiya, can I help you? Can I tell you what I want you to do?” 

Your hands are shaking and you type the reply so fast there’s a typo that you have to fix - Pfease - Please.

He chuckles, “Alright, get comfortable, just listen to my voice, okay?” 

You message him one last thought - What about you?

“I’m… I’m, uh,” He lets out a shaky breath, “I’m already stroking for you,” 

You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, dropping your forehead to the pillow in front of you. 

That’s so hot - You text him quickly when you hear him say your name, probably a little nervous he came on too strong. 

He hums, “Good,” he says, “then don’t worry about me, just listen to my voice.” 

You set your phone to the side, snuggling into the mattress and the pillows just like he asked for, sparing one more glance at Iseul to confirm she’s still completely out of it. 

“Comfy?” He asks when you stop shifting around. 

“Mhm,” You murmur in a whisper. 

“Good,” He sighs, “now slip one of your hands under your cute little pajamas, between your thighs.” 

You slide your arm down, tucking it under your body and into your sleep pants. 

“Under your panties too,” He says, his voice a little husky. 

“Mhm,” You murmur again, following his words. 

“Tease a little for me,” He instructs you, “not too fast, just your fingertips on the outside,” 

You breathe low and slow, gently passing the pads of your fingers over your slit, just barely ghosting against the hard nub of your clit. 

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” He groans a little and you hear the sound of sheets, “you make the cutest faces when you’re feeling good,” 

You make the tiniest noise of acknowledgement, fingers still brushing your cunt. 

“Can’t wait to see you fall apart for real,” He confesses, a strain in his tone as he sighs, and you picture him. His long legs spread wide in the bed, stretching from corner to corner, his boxer briefs pushed down and his hand fisting his cock. 

You’re going to lose it when you finally get to touch him again. 

“You can touch now,” He murmurs, getting your attention back, “are you wet?” 

You push your fingers through your folds and sigh when you feel just how slick and swollen you are. With your other hand you find the phone nearby and tap out a quick message - So wet

“That’s good, that’s so good,” 

Your fingers start to circle on your oversensitive nub and there’s no way he won’t have you coming in five minutes or less with it feeling this good and his heavy breath in your ear. 

“R-rub your clit for me,” He pants and your eyes roll, you can hear the sounds of the sheets rhythmically swishing as he pumps his cock harder, “get your fingers nice and wet,” 

You whimper into the pillow, biting down hard on your cheek to keep yourself in check. 

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, “sound so pretty,” 

You rub harder, faster, your legs stretching wide under the downy comforter to give you better access. 

“Baby,” He gets your attention with that, “push two fingers inside yourself, imagine I’m there with you,” 

You shift, hand slipping lower and body arching to slide your middle and ring finger as deep as they’ll go. You stay mostly quiet this time, but your breathing is heavy and you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Close your eyes,” He murmurs, “picture my fingers,” 

You gasp softly. 

“Grind,” He tells you, “grind your pussy on my palm and feel my fingers fucking you,” 

You bite back a moan, only the slip of a soft sound into the microphone as you start to rock, rolling your hips and working your clit against your hand as you sink into his fantasy. You always took him for soft, the romantic type who’d blush at saying the word ‘pussy’ let alone talking you through what’s bound to be the headiest orgasm of your life, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong. 

“Yes,” Yunho moans and you shudder, “I can hear you moving, you’re doing so good,” 

Pleasurable stars burst behind your eyes and you grind harder into your slick palm. 

“So good,” He groans and you hear him roll in the bedding, his voice changing to something lower and breathier, and then the rhythmic rock of sheets from his side of the phone tells you all you need to know. You can almost see it, Yunho braced on his forearms, hips thrusting to drive his cock in and out of his hot fist, his face buried in the pillow you slept on the night before. 

Heat melts through you, your body alight, and you grapple to find the phone again - Close

“Already?” He says in a flushed exhale, “You’re so hot, that’s so hot,” 

You need him to talk to you, you need him to tell you what to do, and you whimper into the bedding as you work your body faster up to the peak. 

“You gonna come for me?” He murmurs, “Yeah? Hmm?” 

You drop the phone and press a hand over your lips, stifling the threat of a real moan. 

“Let go,” His voice is so low in your ear you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, “come for me,” 

Your legs are trembling, knees digging into the mattress and sweat gathered on your brow, and you feel the pressure start to crack open inside you, “Coming,” you whimper into your fingers so he knows, and then it breaks. 

“God, good girl, yes,” He groans, “I’m coming with you, fuck,” 

Your body curls into itself as you release, locking up in pleasure as you feel wave after wave of heat. You bite down on your knuckle to keep from making a sound, silently falling apart, dimly aware somewhere in your gut that half the heat you felt was his, that part of that pleasure was his own. 

Yunho moans in your ear as you ride the sensations, panting and cursing and you can’t wait to feel him pulsing inside you while he sounds this good. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover, but when your brain starts to connect again you realize you’re panting against the cool flat of the mattress and both your phone and pillow are nowhere to be found. You swallow hard and pop your head up, but Iseul hasn’t moved an inch and you thank god for her liberal use of melatonin while traveling. 

In your ear you register the sound of Yunho’s breath and the end of a sentence, “still there?” 

He must have been talking, and you try to focus in on the sound of him now as you slip your hand out from between your sticky thighs. 

He exhales slowly and you hear him shifting around, “y/n, baby, are you there?” 

 “Uh-huh,” You manage. 

“Sleepy?” He murmurs, misreading your sound, “That’s okay,” 

You make a tiny noise of protest and search the bed for your phone. 

“Baby?” He’s confused and you grin at his sleepy sated tone. 

Sliding off the bed onto nearly boneless legs, you find your pillow off to the side and your phone underneath. You snap it up and send a message quickly - Wait

“Wait?” He breathes, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here,” 

You tiptoe to the bathroom as quietly as you can and then shut yourself behind the heavy door, flicking on the light and collapsing to sit on the closed toilet lid. 

You disconnect your earbuds and bring your phone to your ear, “Hey,” 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, still a little breathless, “Hiding in the bathroom for a sec so I could actually talk to you,” 

He hums, a quiet, lazy laugh, “Ah,” 

“Are you okay?” You find yourself asking, a little nervous tumble in your gut. 

“Me?” He says, “I’m incredible, you’re incredible,” 

“Yeah?” You draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around yourself and smiling into the phone. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He checks, but you still hear the sound of him calling you ‘good girl’ and you shiver. 

“Not too much,” You sigh into the phone. 

“Good,” He hums, “I thought so, I was trying to pay attention to how you were feeling, but it was a little,”

“Hard to focus?” You offer and he laughs. 

“Yeah,” He sighs again, heavy and sated. 

“I can’t wait for this tour to be over,” You confess, “I just want to be with you,” 

You feel a pang in your chest and listen as Yunho rolls in the sheets, “I know, I want that too,” 

A little lump forms in your throat and you breathe through it, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Have you ever felt like this before?” Your thundering heart has started to slow, and you let your eyes close as you murmur the question. 

“Never,” He murmurs, “but I felt this way before we touched,” 

You feel his tenderness wrap around your heart as if he were in the room with you, and with a small smile you whisper, “I thought you said you weren’t holding a candle?” 

“I lied,” He says softly, “it’s been you for a long time,” 

He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but you feel the way he loves you through the link in a wave. It’s as good as any confession to you, just as honest if not more so. 

“I wish I could come upstairs,” You manage, tears pricking your eyes. 

You hear him swallow and breathe a slow breath through his nose, “Soon, I promise. We’re going to do this right,” 

“I know,” 

“Are your headphones still in?” He asks

“No, but I can switch back,” 

“Put them back in and go get back in bed,” He softly instructs, “it’s late, but I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?” 

“Okay,” You swap back over to your earbuds and adjust them. 

“Get back to bed,” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yunho,” You interrupt him, “thank you for staying with me,” 

“Always,” He says, and for the first time in your life when someone says they’ll be there, you believe it. 

“I’m going back out,” Your voice drops to a whisper, “good night,” 

“Mhm,” He listens as you slip back into bed, “just get comfortable, just breathe. I’m right here with you, jagiya, I’ll be right here.” 

He murmurs to you softly until your mind is sinking into darkness, body finally unspooling and letting you drop off into sleep. It’s not the same as his arms around you, but it settles you more than any meditation, his voice a steady whisper through your dreams. 

In the morning when you wake the call is still connected and the first sound you hear is his slow breath and the steady beat of his heart.

[ovadzs]

unspoken

𐙚 mcs: oscar piastri x sistersbestfriend!reader

𐙚trope: childhood friends, friends older brother etc

𐙚summary: you've known oscar forever, because Hattie is your best friend, but you've never really got to know him. Until he leaves, and distance makes you leave things unspoken.

𐙚cw: brief mention of sickness, not proof read

𐙚word count: 4k (short, sorry!)

𐙚notes: hii anon!! tysm for this lovely request! hope this does it justice <3!! truly appreciate requests, because planning makes me feel so unmotivated. if anyone else has any reqs, pls drop them!!

Friendship was beautiful, to you at least. You enjoyed watching girls link arms and giggle down high streets, or people throwing their friends on their backs and sprinting through Brighton beach, howling as the sand betrayed their quick feet.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to go far to see it.  You had your best friend, and your heart often exploded a bit when she bought you thoughtful gifts or sent you stupid videos.

You and Hattie Piastri had been inseparable since preschool, when she’d taught you how to tie your laces before a very important beanbag race. Now, way down the line, you’re staring at her as she talks about some band you’ve never listened to before.

You’re unfocused, as usual. You like that she lets you zone out, because she just wants to talk. You work. You balance.

That’s until her brother slings his arm against her shoulder and you freeze, your breath hitching.

“Hey, ‘Car.” you mumble, giving him a lazy smile, hoping your cheeks don’t betray you by flushing an awkward pink, and he grins at you.

He says your name carefully, slowly, like he always does, and you have to look away before you start stuttering. Hattie notices your change in demeanour, like she always does, but says nothing. Instead, she excuses herself, saying she wants a coke, but she’ll be back. She doesn’t offer you one, but you know she’ll come back with two anyway.

“So, I have some news.” he announces quietly, shifting closer to you, and you look up, trying not to seem too interested.

“Um, what?” you mumble, trying as hard as possible to meet his gentle eyes, but you just can’t do it.

“I’m like, going international. To race. Properly.” he explains, waiting carefully for your reaction, and you gasp quietly, regret hitting you aggressively, winding you slightly.

He’d always made you nervous. Since he’d lended you his helmet when you first came to his house, eagerly wanting to ride your new blue bike (it had a basket, and tassels. You were OBSESSED with it, truly.) with your newest friend Hattie.

You’d been about five, and he was probably seven, but he seemed so much older than you. More mature. Gentle, and caring. Like your bike safety mattered to him, and Nicole definitely hadn’t forced him to rummage through his shed to find it, a funny like ‘81’ sticker scratched on the back.

You’d asked him what it meant. He’d told you he was going to race under that number one day. You’d believed him.

That was probably the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.

You’re known for being shy, it’s on brand. But you were still adaptable, with everyone but Oscar. Staring at him intently was easy, but the second his eyes met yours? You were gone. You told Hattie once, that he made you nervous, and she’d laughed.

‘Osc? Like, my brother? He’s the only person calmer and shyer than you I’ve ever met. How can he make you nervous?” she joked, while painting her nails a neon pink on your bed. You were teens then, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d been making you nervous for the last 10 years. 

And now, here it was. After another silent few years of small talk and painful greetings, he was leaving. You didn’t know his favourite colour, or favourite food, or if he even enjoyed school. You cursed yourself, and your blundering awkwardness.

“That’s amazing, wow. Well done!” you exclaim, and he beams.

“Don’t worry, I'll be around for all the holidays. Not that I’m assuming you’ll miss me, or anything.” he adds, answering your silent question, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Nah, sure I will.” you say casually, like you haven’t spent a decade watching him, without really ever saying a word.

He leaves the next weekend, and all you say is ‘bye.’

***

You’d been told that distance made the heart grow fonder (or something like that, whatever) but you’d never believed it. But now, now? You understand.

It’s much easier to think of him without him being there. That him being so far away enables you to forget how tongue-tied you are around him, how you’d stumble over the simplest of sentences. Even ‘how are you?’ used to be a challenge.

Now, he just consumed your thoughts. At first, you didn’t really watch his races, but now, each weekend, you huddled with Hattie on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. Watching that 81 trail around in circles, fingers crossed dramatically.

You’d started to text him too. ‘Good luck!’s and ‘Wow, well done.’ after each successful race weekend. It was a formality at first, then a gesture, then an attempt at friendship. To make up for all the times you hadn’t spoken to him, because it was much easier when his brown eyes weren’t searching yours.

Soon, they changed. Shifted into casual conversation. Meaningful thoughts, and references.

It got embarrassing soon, how much you thought of him. You couldn’t not think of him. You jumped at every ‘ping!’, every buzz. You even made a playlist, not that he’d ever know.

He texted you the same night you made it.

‘Nice playlist. Not my style, really. Lack of house music, very melancholy. But the music is objectively brilliant.’

You panic a bit, even though there's no way he could actually know it was about him. It was simply titled ‘unspoken’ and you’d chosen that photo of Noah in front of that fuckass white house with a wrap-around porch and blue shutters and a room overlooking the river. And the first song was conveniently ‘lover you should’ve come over’ and you really hope he’d at least listened to it on shuffle because you couldn’t handle the embarrassment-

‘Almost 100 songs, you’re really going through it.’

You hesitate, before replying.

‘I didn’t realise you had my Spotify.’

‘Didn’t realise that oscarp81 with me and my dog as the profile was me?’ comes his snarky response, and you leave him on read.

You search his account instead, finding a bunch of evidently unfinished playlists and blends with his sisters, until you find a recent one. One letter, your first initial. You don’t want to look, because it’s obviously not about you. But obviously you do anyway, and you’re surprised by what you find. One of your favourite songs, staring straight back at you.

‘Strangers in the night? Didn’t take you to be a Frank Sinatra fan.’

‘I’m not. You played it in the car once, and I liked it.’

You’re stumped on how to reply, how to explain the aching in your chest.

‘When do you come back? It’s been a while.’

‘I know, Mum’s not happy either, but I’m back next week. Can’t believe it’s been almost a year.’ he replies quickly, and you nod to no one in particular.

‘G’night, Car.’ you send quickly, before shutting your phone off and trying to fall asleep.

You’re the only one who calls him ‘Car. It’s Osc, mainly, to others. But you’d chosen Car when you were younger, as he’d been telling you all about those very same vehicles he’d been driving soon.

“You’ll be ‘Car’ in a car, eventually.” you’d giggled, and it had stuck. He was Car from then on.

***

It’s brilliant and awful and everything you’ve ever wanted and horrific when he returns, because you want to crawl and die in a hole again. But, you can’t anymore, because you truly are friends now.

“‘Car!” you call, running up to him as he knocks on the door of his own house (which you were at so regularly, you sort of fit in the place like furniture.)

You quickly fling open the door, and Hattie brushes past you, embracing him tightly and he beams at you both.

He doesn’t move to hug you, once Hattie steps away from him. You don’t move towards him either- you don’t need to. You just look at each other carefully, smiling.

“I have not missed how awkward you two are, though. Please tell me you’ve both grown out of it, blasted introverts-” mumbles Hattie, and you both laugh.

“Welcome back.” you grin, and he nods.

“Thank you.”

More heads of the Piastri family emerge from various rooms and floors and dogs bark and the house feels so much fuller and warmer now he’s back, and you do too. And it’s not an uncomfortable burning, or shyness, or anything of the sort. It’s just warm, and kind, and you let it flow carefully in your veins, unbothered if it shows on your face or not.

***

The summer break is too short and agonisingly too long for you both. That feeling of doom settles in, that each day is a day closer to his departure, but neither of you ever say anything about how you’re feeling. You just enjoy your newfound friendship, passing hours and days by each other's side.

Bike rides by the beach, wiping ice cream from the top of his nose. Dragging him to karaoke and bowling and rollerskating, stuff he had always secretly wanted to be invited to but had never asked.

You’re lounging on a bench, arms entangled casually with Hattie’s, as he speaks.

“You know, I thought you didn’t like me, like last year. Assumed she’d told you bad things.” he mumbles quietly, looking at you while gesturing to his sister, and you look at him incredulously.

“That's absurd. I just, I don't know. I didn’t not like you, or anything though.” you reply awkwardly, and Hattie elbows you aggressively.

“She’s telling the truth. She told me once, like ages ago, that you made her nervous. Can you imagine? You’re so NOT intimidating.” exclaims Hattie, and he smiles at you, like you’re something new. Something he hasn’t really noticed before.

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know.”

***

Another year passes. You’re inseparable now, as he returns for summer. Hattie’s found a boyfriend, which you’re obviously not impressed by, it gives you and Oscar much better reasoning to hang out alone so frequently.

“You look different.” he comments, as you drag him to the pier, your crocs filling uncomfortably with sand.

“How so?” you ask back, and he tightens his grip on your hand.

“Um, older. More mature, taller. I don’t know. Just, different. Prettier.” he adds, and you hesitate.

“Thanks, ‘Car. You too, really. When did you get so tall?” you ask, studying him intently.

He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you affectionately as you tumble to the ground together.

“What, you scared of me again?” he asks jokingly, and you squirm as you try to push him off you.

“Bro, get off me!!” you shriek, laughing, and he rolls beside you, so you’re both staring up at the sunset together.

There's a moment, just enough time to breathe.

“I signed with McClaren next year. Like, in Formula one.” he announces quietly. “I haven’t told anyone else yet, I just, I don’t know. I’m letting it whirl around in my head for a bit.” he admits.

You squeal instinctively. “Oh my god oh my- that’s amazing wow I’m so proud well done that’s brilliant I knew you’d do it since that day you gave me your helmet and told me you would that’s amazing you need to tell anyone why did you tell me first you idiot-” you ramble, excitement pouring from your lips, and he laughs.

“I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know first.” he clarifies, and you swallow, hard.

“Thank you for telling me.” you whisper, and he turns to face you.

“Thank you for being here. Like, you’ve never wavered. You’re the only person I’m related to that’s been there, forever.”

“I’ll always be here.” you admit reassuringly, and you mean it. 

“Unfortunately, I won’t be. I leave again in a month, and I won’t be back until March, for the race. You’ll be there, right?” he sighs, but you nod.

“Of course.”

***

Those eight months pass painfully slowly. He got busy, and famous. He doesn’t ask about your new playlists anymore. He barely even texts you. And you miss him so deeply, but you’re equally as happy for him.

And as the day draws nearer, you are unbelievably excited to watch him do what he does best- race.

Sunday rolls around and you arrive into the garage with his entire family, your new cap angled awkwardly over your wavy hair. You feel underdressed, with cameras stuffed in your unsuspecting face. But then you see him, and his familiarity is so unbelievably comforting you have to stop yourself from running into his (much larger, not that you’re staring or anything) arms. 

Then he turns, and you see his arms are already occupied. By someone who is clearly his girlfriend, the way he’s fawning over her, and you want to throw up and cry and you don’t know why.

Because he wasn’t yours. He never had been, not even close. You’d never even tried anything, or vice versa. It had barely even crossed your mind, being with him like that. Holding his hand in a way that wasn’t guiding him, just because they could rest there. That was alien.

And here they were, slotted against each other so perfectly you have to admire it. She’s beautiful, and as much as you appreciate Oscar’s charm, he’s done pretty fucking well. 

“I promise, I would've warned you if I knew she was coming.” comes a whisper from Hattie, and you nod briskly.

“I didn't even know he had a girlfriend.”

“He won’t, for long. I don’t like her.” she mumbles angrily, and you scoff.

They come over now, and you exchange pleasantries. Hattie makes an effort not to scowl at her, and she seems unaware of the hatred radiating from your best friend's body.

“Good luck out there, ‘Car.” you smile, as he begins to walk away back into hospitality, and he beams back.

“Thank you for being here.”

“I said I would be, didn’t I?” you mutter, trying not to look into his girlfriend's electric eyes. She was so intimidating, without even trying. 

“‘Car’, huh? Cute.” you hear her mock, as they walk away, and you scrunch your nose.

“She’s so annoying. That’s why we’re only meeting her now, because we can’t say anything. Even Mum doesn’t trust her. Honestly? I’d rather it was you!” she says jokingly, but your throat catches a bit, and you cough.

She stops at the sound, pausing at the sight of your sour face.

“Oh, crap. Are you joking with me?” she groans, and you stare at her, confused.

“My brother? Seriously.” she continues, slapping her forehead dramatically, and you’re so overwhelmed with emotions that you can’t reply.

“This whole time, you weren’t shy. You just liked him, you idiot. I always left it, thinking you were just being weird.”

You stammer a bit. “No, no. I didn’t, really, I don’t-” but you can’t finish your sentence, because you’d be lying.

“I didn't realise, really, until now. Until I saw-” you start again, but you almost hurl.

Panic strikes her face. “Okay, you look like you’re about to be sick. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m gonna go home. I can’t, I don’t want to be sick here though. But I’m okay. I’ll see you later, okay?” you mutter, subtly gripping your stomach like it’s something you ate and not your heart shattering suddenly into sharp shards.

You hobble home. It’s pathetic really, how awful you feel. But you suppose it's fair enough, considering it’s been about 15 years of emotions you’ve concealed.

Unspoken.

All coming out now, seeping out through any emotional cracks he’s made in your heavy walls.

You are sick. It’s reassuring, really. Makes you feel better, like it so often does.

You then let yourself grieve, mourn, shout. Anything and everything spills out aggressively, until you feel so deflated that sleep finally placates you.

***

Days pass. Hattie doesn’t push you to come round, because he’s there. Because she’s there. Because they’re both there, together.

“Oscar asks after you,” she reports. “He wants to know why you disappeared. Why you haven’t replied to any of his messages.” comes her crackly voice, through the screen.

“What, you didn’t tell him I’m sick?”

She huffs. “Of course I did, numpty. But I’m not sure he’s convinced.”

You pause. “I’ll text him then, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow?" you ask, and she nods, before hanging up.

Just as you go to message him, telling him you’ve got some weird stomach bug, your door rings.

You see him through the window, and curse, because he sees you too. He waves up at you, and you are now obligated to talk to him.

“Hey, Oscar.” you say, as you open the door, and the lack of the nickname clearly hits him.

“Am I not ‘Car’ anymore?” he asks jokingly, but you don’t smile back. You feel terrible, because he hasn't done anything wrong. He’s allowed to like someone else, anyone else, to be with whoever he wants. 

But you want him to want you.

“Sorry, ‘Car.” you reply weakly, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing.

“Can I come in?” he asks carefully, and you hesitate. This, to you, feels like a decision. 

You decide it’s time to let it go, even though you never really had it to begin with.

“Um, I’m sick. Like, throwing up kind of sick, sorry. I wouldn’t recommend it.” you explain, and the obvious rejection is evidently painful, from his small step back.

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” he mutters, clearly upset, and you nod, closing the door.

***

He doesn’t go back home for hours, replaying your small interaction constantly, cursing himself. He didn’t understand what he’d done wrong, how he’d lost you. When he did make it back, his girlfriend was waiting by the door, expectantly.

“Oscar, let’s go for a walk.” she says, somewhat angrily, and he blinks. He longs for your gentler voice, a voice that’s never barked at him. That never made him wonder if he’s worth anyone's time or not.

“Where were you today?” she asks quietly, and the question makes him hesitate.

“Fine, I know where you were. But you know, you stood me up. To go and see her.”

Shit. They were meant to go to lunch, just when he’d gone to check on you.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” he admits carefully, and she sighs at him.

“Yeah, because you were too busy thinking about her. You’ve been thinking about her endlessly since she left before the race, I know it.” she accuses, sharply, and he winces, because she’s right.

“I was worried- that’s all. She’s like another sister-” he begins, but she glares at him.

“Really, Oscar? Don’t feed me that bullshit. I can see it, we all can. You like her.” she shouts, and Oscar scoffs.

“No, I really don’t. Seriously, baby, I look at her the same way I look at Hattie. They practically blur.” he jokes, but his heart isn’t in it, because he’s lying.

“I watched you interact, so briefly, and I saw it. It’s been months, of you hiding me, and me feeling like I was a replacement. A filler, for someone else. Like I was just here because I was accessible. And now I know who you’re really waiting for.” she says, suddenly quiet and painfully serious.

The night feels cold, and sharp drops of water fall on their bare arms.

“Don’t do this. I love you.” he mumbles, but as the water rains down aggressively, the distortion of each droplet makes her look a bit like you. And he actually does wish it was you he was talking to.

“No, you don’t. You’ve never said that before, you know? And now you’re just saying it because you can. Because you’re scared she actually sees you as the brother you’ve been in her life. But I’m not someone you can hide your fear behind. ‘Car’. We’re done.” she says finally, and the use of your precious fucking nickname feels like a knife straight to the gut.

And he knows that talking to you is the only way it will ever come out, as each second he spends here makes it twist slightly.

“You need to go, don’t you? Because I’m right.” she whispers, and he stares at her teary-face.

“I’m so sorry. I promise you, if I’d known, I would never have done this to you.” he explains, and she shakes her head.

“Yes, you would’ve, but it’s okay. Go.”

And he does, without thinking. He runs, sprints, ignoring the thundering sound of the rain on the pavement and how his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his aching chest. He ignores his legs burning and his breath failing and all he can think of is you, driving him on, dragging him to the finish line, to your unsuspecting face.

And when your doorbell rings again, you assume it isn’t him. You don’t bother to check the window. You don’t question what madman is outside in weather like this, because you don’t care. Because it’s not him.

But when you open it, and it is him, you gasp.

“Whatthefuckareyoudoinghere?” you ask, all in one exhale, shocked.

“Hi.” is all he manages, panting from exhaustion.

“Did you run here?” you ask, but you don’t move. You don’t invite him in. You’re too busy just staring.

“Yeah, I did actually.” he admits sheepishly, and your mouth falls open even wider.

“Car, you’re insane. Why are you he-” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I broke up with her.” he announces quickly, loudly, a mix of regret and insanity and pride hanging from each word.

Your face morphs suddenly into something unreadable.

“Okay, and?” you ask harshly, and he’s surprised by your tone.

“Because I didn’t love her, not really.”

“Oscar!” you say, exasperated. “Look, I’m sorry you guys broke up, but why are you here, making this my problem?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Not the way I love you.”

You stop looking angrily at him now. You stop really looking at him at all. You’re just… there.

“What?” you whisper, like you didn’t hear him.

“Well, okay, sorry. That was a lot. I just mean, that I might maybe, like, like you. Or love you, I don’t know. Pretty sure it’s love. I mean, my heart is kind of like, exploding right now. I might be having a heart attack. Can you do CPR? You seem like the kind of person who definitely can do CPR. Please save me, okay? I was about to make a weak joke about mouth-to-mouth, but you’re looking at me really funny. Are you okay? You know, if we both have heart attacks simultaneously, that’s really not ideal. Can I please go first?” he bursts into a stream of nonsense, and you laugh at him.

He follows suit, until you’re both howling, trying to find air before one of you does actually require resuscitation. 

“I’m sorry for disappearing. My heart was exploding too.” you admit quietly, and he smiles at you, completely unbothered that you’re still hiding under your porch and he’s being somewhat drowned.

“You didn’t disappear. You never have.” he replies, and the way he smiles at you makes you stop hesitating.

You run at him, giggling as you feel the cold water soak into your clothes, and he catches you carefully, spinning you around slightly as you try to steady yourself.

“I might maybe, like, like you. Or love you, I don’t know. Pretty sure it’s love.” you mumble into his ear, and you watch a grin stretch across his face.

“Well, that’s reassuring. I don’t think I’m dying anymore. Can I still make my mouth-to-mouth joke?” he laughs, and you nod.

“It better be funny, ‘Car. ‘Cause I’m kind of getting drowned out here.”

He lets you go carefully, staring at you with such precision, such desperation, like he’s trying to memorise you. Like you might melt, like sugar, and he has to commit you into his mind.

“I lied, I don’t have a joke. I’m just going to kiss you now.”

And as he does, you both say everything you never said before, without uttering a word.

Nothing and everything remains unspoken.

[neeeooon]

i think otoya is the kind of person who is aware that he is capable of changing his ways with girls when he finds the “one”, but he’s never truly believed in that. but when when like a girl transfers it’s quite literally love at first sight and he wants to change for her. you can decide whether she gets with him or not, thanks so muchh !! ^^

aww yes i love this idea tysm!!

love of my dreams

otoya eita x fem!reader. ft. karasu and yukimiya. love at first sight. fluff, crack, otoya is a bit weird at the start, cussing, slight death/kms joke at the end. wc: 810

“fuck.”

otoya just told karasu and yukimiya how much he liked his bachelor life. how he wasn’t ready to change. to settle down.

and then you just had to walk through those damn doors.

“fuck.”

you had a guide at your side, telling otoya you were a transfer student. his eyes were glued on you, and every step you took, unable to tear his gaze away. he wanted to know your name, where you transferred from, and what you were studying. probably something similar to him, as you were being toured through his building.

a sharp jab caused him to curse again, and otoya shot a glare at karasu and the cheap plastic butter knife he’d been stabbed with. “yer staring.”

“of course i’m staring. i’m in love.”

“you don’t do love,” yukimiya chimed with a snicker before shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “that’s your whole thing.”

otoya didn’t want it to be his whole thing anymore—not after seeing you.

he continued to think about you through the rest of his lunch, then his classes, his drive home, and even while he was texting yukimiya for answers to their finance homework. he didn't believe in love at first sight, at least he didn't think he did. you changed that so quick, otoya was still reeling six hours later.

otoya: i need her number

otoya: pls be my spies pls pls pls

karasu: i never thought i'd see down bad otoya like for real and not just to get pussy

otoya: is that a yes

karasu: for all we know she has a boyfriend

yukimiya: or a girlfriend

otoya: GODDDD IM GOING INSANE I NEED HER SO BAD

otoya: she's the one for me. i'm done. no more playboy otoya.

yukimiya: if you're serious. REALLY SERIOUS. i'll help

karasu: same ig

otoya: there's a special place in blowjob heaven for you two 🙏

and two days later, with the help of yukimiya and karasu, otoya had intel. they also told him you had a gap in your schedule and ate lunch by yourself in the dining hall.

and when otoya saw you? he was nervous.

your hair was pulled away from your face, the eraser-end of your pencil tapping your lips as you concentrated so hard on your homework that a delicate crease formed between your brows. otoya wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and kiss the spot instead.

shaking his head, his grip tightened around his sandwich as he slowly approached you. when you looked up, otoya felt his face grow hot. "sorry to bother you. is this seat taken?"

you rapidly shook your head and gestured to the chair. "no, no, you can take it! just make sure you put it back—"

"i mean, is it okay if i sit here?" he quickly cut off with a small grin, his chest fluttering when you blushed in embarrassment.

you dropped your pencil to hide your face in your hands. "oh my god, i'm so... yeah, yes, you can sit here." shaking your hands out to release some of the stress, you flashed a bright smile. "i'm y/n."

“otoya,” he greeted casually, as if a flock of butterflies didn’t make a home in his stomach.

you repeated his name quietly to yourself before nodding. “i think i’ve seen you in this building before. what are you majoring in?”

when he told you, your eyes lit up so brightly that otoya swore they glittered. “no way! me too! weird that we don’t have any classes together, though. maybe next semester!”

the rest of the time spent before your next class was filled with the two of you talking. otoya thought he'd fail at the genuine small talk thing since he didn't want to use any of his usual lines on you, but he was surprised at how easy it was. whenever he got quiet, you were right there to pick up where he left off.

"this might be too soon," otoya started as he walked you to your class. "but would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

your smile faltered slightly, and otoya was ready to jump over the rail and fall to the first floor. it wasn't too far down, so he probably wouldn't die, but if he hobbled in front of a truck right after—

"i don't have this class tomorrow," you explained gently. "but would thursday work instead?"

fireworks exploded behind otoya's eyes, along with the relief of no longer needing to die. he readjusted his grip on his bag strap and flashed you a slow grin. "thursday works. same spot as today?"

you beamed. "yep! oh, and here's my number, in case i'm late or we have to reschedule!"

otoya knew, as you entered your name into his phone with a cute emoji, that he would eventually die a happy man.

[moon-fics]

hi hi hello apologies if u get a whole lotta notifs from me i’M OBSESESSASSEEDDD WITH YOUR WORK UGH SO SO GOOD got me giggling spending all-nighters readig your fics😭 saw that ur requests are open and what do u think of our sweet sweet bob reynolds and a flirty + really outgoing/extroverted reader? like life of the party bc dawg i am SOOO in love with shy boys as an extrovert makes my heart SOAR ugh love you!!!!!

PLEASE NOT THE ALL-NIGHTERS!!!! I never thought I'd have that honor!! I will write this with all my power!!

You don't know how Valentina managed to get everyone to agree to this. Truly, you cannot fathom what she had to pull to get the New Marvels to attend a gala. Yet, here you are in a gown talking to public officials and important people.

It's not that you mind it, because you're glad to be socializing with people outside the team. It's nice to meet people and not have them know about your shame room or your backstory. It's even better when there's free food involved as well.

You're talking to a group of people who you can't remember the names of, but you know one of them is a journalist. You do your best to instill confidence in them about the team and to keep their hopes up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bob wearing a suit with his hair greased back. He looks extremely uncomfortable, and you're so glad he's been working on himself. Otherwise, this place would be a mess. However, he still has his limits and you're sure he's reaching it.

You excuse yourself and approach him. He's standing alone because as far as anyone here knows, he's not officially apart of the team.

"You doing ok, Bob?" You ask while stepping in front of him. He gives a shy smile while nodding his head awkwardly.

"Yeah, I just don't enjoy crowds." He answers. There's still a smile on his face even as he pulls at the collar of his jacket.

"Ok, well, you look like a wet cat. So, let's just fix some things," You say. You don't let him protest before you run your hand through his hair. You shake it out until it's no longer streaked back. Instead, it's parted in the middle again, just as it should be. "There we go," You hum.

"D-does it look better?" He asks with uncertainty. His cheeks are a light tint of pink that only you'd notice. It's adorable to see him like this, and you wish you had a camera. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble for looking bad."

"No one is going to get in trouble for how you look. That would be insane, and I'd honestly stomp on anyone's toes if they mentioned it." You assure him. He still looks like he's trying to hide a grimace. You quickly realize it's the coat that's causing the issue. It's tight around his body, and you know he prefers baggy clothes. "I'll take your coat," You suggest.

"What? No, you'd just be holding it the entire night." He says. You give him no room to argue and are already pulling it off his shoulders. The white shirt underneath is enough to keep his appearance. "S-stop!" He insists while trying to pull the coat back on.

"Listen, if it bothers you that much, I'll just wear it!" You huff.

"Wear it? Won't that look weird?" He asks. He aids you in pulling off the coat and lets you take it. You wrap it around your shoulders, and the warm material feels nice on your skin. He stares at you for a few seconds with his lips slightly parted. His eyes roam over you as if taking in your outfit for the first time.

"Got something to say?" You laugh. He snaps his eyes back to your face and gives a half smile. He's adorable, and you cannot stand it.

"N-no, you just look really nice," He mumbles while rubbing his nose with his sleeve nervously. He glances away from you and looks around the crowd. "Do you mind staying with me? I don't like being alone at functions." His voice is soft. His hands fidget with his sleeves, and he squints his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll stay," You agree. You move to stand next to him and get a glimpse of what he sees. As much as you like talking to people, you wish there was more to do. It's fancy, and the music playing sounds like something you'd hear on an elevator. You'd much prefer some more upbeat songs or at least a ball pit. "You look good, too." You comment.

He looks at you, and there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Uh, thanks. I didn't really know how to dress. I had borrowed it from Bucky," He admits quickly. You're surprised by that because the suit should be bigger on him, not smaller. "It's really old." He clarifies when he sees your confused expression.

"Well, next time we'll just stay home." You suggest. "Besides, I'm a little jealous other people get to see you in a suit," You tease.

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. "Y-you are?" He wants confirmation that you aren't making fun of him.

"Oh yeah. I was practically drooling over you when you exited your room," You giggle. He catches on that you're flirting with him and tries his best to play along. Even while his heart is beating way faster than it should.

"Well, I'll, uh, have to take you as my date to one of these sometime," He tries to flirt back. He's certain he's not very good at it, but at least he's trying. "Unless that's not something you want to do. I could totally just wear a suit around the tower more often," He begins rambling.

You slide your hand into his and curl your fingers between his. "Or, you could just ask me out on a regular date," You suggest.

He nods and lets out a chuckle. "I could do that," He shrugs. There’s a moment of silence where you wait for him to ask. Instead, he keeps staring at you with a goofy smile. As if you just hung to stars.

“Are you going to or is this like a waiting situation?” You ask. His eyes widen and he covers her mouth with his free hand. He clearly thought that was him asking you out.

“No, no yeah! I just- I didn’t know if now was a good time or if that meant we were going to go on a date,” He scrambles over his words. “Would y-you like to go on a date… with me?” He asks.

“No, I think you took too long. You’re going to have to wait a week or two,” You tease. You can’t help the sly smile that spreads across your lips. He looks helpless at your statement and it’s almost too much to handle. “Yes, I’ll go out with you,” You confirm.

He lets out a sigh of relief and his body loses any tenseness. “I genuinely thought you were going to make me wait,” He laughs nervously. “I would have but I really wanted to do it sooner than later.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to wait that long either,” You nudge him playfully.

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you���ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[magickizu]

Phantom Contingency Plan

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

After something happened and the Phantom-Squad (Danny, Ellie, Dan and Jazz) had to reveal themselves to the batfam, Bruce calls up Danny and tells him, now that he thought about it and in the least offensive way possible: how likely is it for the Phan-Squad to "go rogue". Danny is silent, a thought filled, contemplating silence. "... I'll come by the cave tomorrow eve at 8pm."

P.s.: sorry if the batfam becomes too much ooc, I grew up a marvel-child and just recently became invested into dc. pwq

"This is absolutely ridiculous, B!" Jason, in full Red Hood get up, was leaning against a support beam. He just can't sit right now. This idiot really just straight up decided to go and ask Danny for their weak points! Instead of going the normal route of collecting information, to expand the contingency plan alone- like it was supposed to be!

"As if any of them, who's very core is actively making them protect, save and help- literally!!- would just go against it and harm themselves with it." Why Hood was this adamant, about the Nightingales? Okay, yeah, maybe it does have something to do with him crushing on Danny, the moment he made the pits fall silent for the first time... But why the hell would he ever say that out loud!?

"It may be in their instinct, but you can never be sure what happens when that person breaks." Nightwing, who leaned on a nearby table. He talks calmly, but stern. His expression shows the hint of unease even he feels; the Nightingales have come to Gotham in an attempt to flee from someone. Someone who's set on hunting them down and hurting them, they're basically refugees. It doesn't seem 100% right, definitely. But the "what if"s are too big of a risk, none of them got any idea of what they're truly capable of.

"Bullshit..." Hood crosses his arms, looking away. His helmet is off, just the domino, so his muttering comes out as just that.

"Hood, please. Nightwing is right. As much as they want to help, you know it's for the best. Not even Constantine could think of something." Barbara sat next to Batman, as she turned to face the boys.

"Wait, what?? You can't be serious! Even Gandalf the Blond didn't know??" Nightwing looks at her incredulous. The redhead shook her head, but a slim smirk formed on her lips from the nickname.

"That doesn't excuse anything-" Hood got cut off by the notification that someone was coming in through the tunnel.

For the first time since the others came in, Batman moved from his seat at the batcomputer. He turned towards the tunnel entrance, where the roaring of a motorcycle can be heard. While Barbara and Nightwing seemed surprised, Hood could somehow, probably through his now healing core, sense it was Danny- which in turn just sent his head reeling a bit and his heart fluttering a little. Batman just checked the clock; the moment Danny brought his bike to a halt, next to Jason's, it was exactly 8:00pm, as promised. The ghost king really does keep his word, that's good to know.

Danny wasn't wearing any padding: no sturdy jeans, no leather jacket, just his usual get up and the black helmet with neon green accents. Crazy dangerous for a normal living person, but what could possibly happen? He's already dead, plus more sturdy anyway and untouchable when he wants to. Plus he's got the heightened reflexes, to use his abilities timely. ...which honestly just made his entrance, like- Wham!

Nightwing whistled impressed, "Damn dude, you're making little wing real competition, looking all cool and serious like that." He smiles, still impressed. Barbara just gave him a look that said, to keep his mind focused. In turn Nightwing answered with a look that asked, why it's only him and to look at Hood. Who in all fairness just was completely entranced by his crush looking extremely awesome, which made him incredibly hot. Well, at least until-

"Jay, stand back." Danny said, well... more like softly commanded, right as he took his helmet off, hanging it onto the handlebars. Said vigilanty did as he was told, without questioning. If it could harm Danny, it will harm him.

"Thank you, for not only your understanding, but your quick response, as well as trust to not misuse this. We really appreciate it." The Bat said in his low, serious tone. Danny nodded, giving him a similar facial expression.

"And thank you, for appreciating the afford." He grabbed two silver suitcases: one was flatter and the other looked more like a box. The moment he stepped closer to the table Nightwing was sitting on and where Hood was still standing, albeit a little off now, Hood became a little paler and suddenly feeling a bit weaker and uncomfortable. As if something underneath his skin began itching, somewhere inside. Danny's gaze shot towards him immediately, after setting them both down.

"You okay?" He asked, the concern visible in his eyes. The man's feet took him over towards Hood, the moment he was approximately 2 meters away, Danny shook and rubbed his arm. Probably to stop the same feeling Hood felt.

"I'm- ...yeah. I can handle, just uncomfortable." He chose to be honest, knowing, hearing and feeling the concern emanating from his core. But he nods, then stands himself next to the taller man.

Meanwhile Batman, Barbara and Nightwing stood themselves around the table in a half circle around the suitcases.

"The thicker case is filled with blood blossoms. Do not open that one, unless it's happening. These flowers have anti-spectral properties, they not only harm us, can occasionally break haunts and ghostly curses, they can and will kill ghosts and ghost-adjacent beings through exposure alone. Especially in that quantity." He begins to explain and Jason shifts slightly, shuffling one step away, trying not to make it obvious. Nightwing and Barbara look on in shock, even Batman has to take a deep breath.

"But aren't they just a fairytale? Constantine had mentioned them, but also said that they come from old folklore. Medieval times, when Christianity wasn't even that known. And aren't they supposed to have anti-supernatural properties?" Barbara questioned and it's true. John told Batman about them, but added that he didn't exactly know if it wasn't just some old folklore and not to put his bets on it. He knew of the infinite realms, sure. But Ghosts explicitly? Not that much..

Danny nodded. "They are as old as humanity and they have been used in countless traps and banishment rituals. It's just that..." He grabs his neck, thinking of which words to use and letting his usual self finally slip through. He's been practicing explaining things, this definitely put it to the test. "Hmmm... Okay, uhm... It was said that they have anti-supernatural properties, because quite a few ghosts were mistaken as other supernatural creatures. For example... Yetis!" He snapped his fingers, smiling proudly to himself, that he came up with it that fast.

"Yetis...?" Nightwing asked completely flabbergasted. "Pfff... Bigfoot also a ghost? Ow-" He couldn't help himself, but got a slap on his arm from Barbs, who glarred daggers at him.

"Yes and no, Bigfoot is actually a spirit of sorts, but not really. He just wants to be left alone, man. And yes, Yetis. They are ghosts of the far frozen and spirits of ice, the cold and healing. Because they're technically ghosts, they'd be affected, but they don't exactly look like your conventional, stereotypical ghost. So people just forgot about them due to monotheistic religions, because instead of blaming vengeful, violent and malevolent spirits, they became demons. Which lasted not that long after exorcisms and prayers became a thing." Danny explained.

"I see... So that's why Constantine didn't know for sure." Batman nodded. Hood got a stool and sat down a little further away- was this what kryptonite felt like to the supers? He made a mental note to never tease them about it again... In the back of his mind and in his chest, he can hear- no... Sense a chirping. It's Danny sensing Hood's tense unease. The smaller ones core calling out, //it's okay//will protect//save//. It did help a bit though and Hood's grateful for that.

"And this one?" Nightwing pointed at the slimmer suitcase, intrigued now.

"Those are regular ecto-blasters. They just shoot ecto infused lasers- completely harmless to anything living. The only thing it does is to inconvenience or harm a ghost, but they're mostly non-lethal." Batman nodded again, opening the case and inspecting the guns. "If you need more, just say so. I used to use them constantly, so I still got quite a few on the shelf." He crosses his arms, for comfort. But Hood's attention was drawn more to the 'used to use them'. Danny wheelded harmful 'mostly non-lethal' weapons for a while, so that also implies that he knows how to turn them lethal... Why?

"If that is possible, I would be most grateful." Batman said, holding eye contact with Danny, who in turn nodded.

"I'll drop them off tomorrow, then. You'll need to recharge them with both electricity and ectoplasm. Don't ever let them run low, tho or it will back fire on you. Not pretty. When you aim to stun: hit wherever besides the chest, it regenerates. But when you aim to harm and injure: aim for the core. It's, you guessed it, in the middle of the chest. Even if ghosts can regenerate, just empty the thing and keep firing; the amount of ecto we lose, is too much to heal against. Especially because we need said ecto to heal in the first place. And don't be surprised: ghosts melt. We don't turn to ashes, get sucked away to who knows. We melt into ecto." Danny answered almost immediately, stunning the birds and Oracle. But the bat only nodded, containing his own curiosity, as he closed the case and readied them to carry away.

- - - - -

"Danny! Talk?" He turns his head towards Hood; both sit on their bikes, standing next to each other. The traffic light glowing red, when the taller man calls. Then after a few seconds of silence, Danny looks around and motions for Hood to follow.

After some more explanations in the cave, on how to most effectively use each weapon and tool against his very own life and leaving the two birds as well as Oracle stunned silent, Hood decided to ride along. Since he has to go in that direction anyway, might as well ride with Danny and spend more time. As the light turns green, Danny nods and leads the way. After another 10-15 minutes of silent driving they get to a quiet viewpoint in a more abandoned area of the neighborhood. They come to a halt and the taller is the first to speak,

"Just... Just out of curiosity. How come or well, why were you so, I wouldn't say eager but, so... fast to respond? Not even the League members reacted this... How to put it, ready? Collected? Hell knows, they didn't nerd out about their weaknesses. So-"

"Jay, tell me: how much do you trust yourself?" The smaller man takes off his helmet and hangs it up on the handlebars again. Hood sighs and does similar, leaving only his domino mask on, as he leans against the railing, next to his king. He shrugs.

"I guess... talking about confidence in my skills and how to use them? Yes. Yes, I do." But the electric blues only look over the city skylines, he nods.

"No, I mean in yourself." So naturally Jayson's breath hitches, when these eyes suddenly stared into his. "Your ability to control your emotions, when the worst happens and push comes to shove." He takes a deep breath, his gaze flicking from the other up to the sky. Surprisingly it's a clear view of the stars. And again Jason decides that a) this man has so many more secrets, than he already thought and b) it just adds to his enchanting mystique and liminal beauty. Oh damn, he fell hard and deep.

"I mean... The pit-rages stopped, when we began training, but..." That's when realisation hit him. "...I don't know. No."

"...and I do know, that I won't." Jason looks at Danny almost immediately. His small, growing and healing core rumbling with //confused//what?//. Danny sighs heavily: "the last time it happened, I developed new powers again and apparently declared war to the conspiratorial wing of the government, leaving nothing but death, destruction and a crater the size of Wayne Manor's property line behind. I wasn't even at full health. I've also seen what happens, when I let my anger win and that was from a point where I was about 10 years weaker than I am today. It was a wasteland of a world, didn't even see the justice league there, so..." Danny's hands slip from the railing to hug himself, Jason just stares stunned and in shock, trying to buffer the words and sounds the other one makes. Said one smiles weakly his gaze never leaves the stars, as if they're giving him some form of comfort or answers only he can read. "...emotions are more than natural for ghosts, we're literally made by them. The will to survive, the need to protect and help or ... The boiling rage to avenge." He finally gave Jason a small glance and encouraging smile. "Really it's only natural. But that's also why I'm so hellbend on teaching you to control yourself. The more your core heals,..." He reaches out touching Jason's chest and his heart skips a beat. Gods he hopes the other doesn't notice, but he doesn't react so that's good? "The more you will feel and the harder it becomes to regulate. But... I got the feeling, you'll manage." He smiles and pats Jason's chest, then he turns back to the stars. His smile slowly fading. "...but if things happen, that'll make me lose it for good? I'd prefer to be taken out clean before another 'reign of terror' Happens."

They're silent, Jason has to process what he just heard. Danny more so as it still looks like he's listening to the stars sing, however that's possible. But hey, that's the Nightingale's ever since they showed up: anything but normal. The bigger one finally huffs, "So... You're really a big f*cking fish, huh... Your siblings that powerful too?" The other shrugs, yes and no. "Damn... Well, I definitely hope that it'll never happen. ...would absolutely suck to lose you." He glances at the other, just barely to try and get a sneak peak at him. But Danny just smiles softly, eyes closed. That's when Jason can sense the chirping from Danny's core again, //appreciate//you too//love//.

...wait. Wait, hold on!-

"Welp, was nice but I gotta go now. Jazz is probably done with dinner by now and they're waiting for me." The smaller turns to walk towards his bike, patting Jason on the shoulder and back again. "I'll see around, Red Guy. You know where to find me." He winks cheeky and puts on his helmet and like a phantom into the night, is gone. Jason still stands there...

Did he... Did he really just understand... Love? No, wait again! Danny and his siblings too always say, that ghosts are very sensitive to emotions and can read them off of- ...

...did Danny knew from the very beginning...?

[hamsterl0ver]

kats vs overly fanservice-like reader ⋆☕︎ ˖

warningz⋆ fluff, mild language, reader is genuinely strange

blurb⋆ in which the katseye girls have to deal with an overly eccentric member who loves doing her job... a little too much. A person of the people they call her but her fellow members just thing she's a curious case.

wordz⋆ 2.041k

a/n⋆my first ever official fic ☕͜ (ᵔ ̮ ᵔ)› more to come, but a short and sweet one for all the girls, i wrote this to be as platonic as I could, but you can perceive reader to be in a relationship with any of the girls. nd if your curious i heavily based readers personality on a chinese cosplayer Karina! thought it'd be cute (oh and requests are open!)

Manon would be repulsed— in a teasing way, she would see you amongst the other girls as you all sat in a row, giving your all into pleasing a fan. The fans of course eat it up as usual while Manon watches you from the corner of her eye with a scrunched up face, feeling absolutely freaked whenever you do a cute pose, or laugh at some tacky pickup line at your grown age. She isn’t entirely disgusted at your actions, more just curious on how fast you can play out these corny scenarios.

It had been like any other fan meet, your drowsy body laid pressed up against the edge of the table as you held hand in hand with another one of your dedicated fans. It was only supposed to be a 5 minute long greet but after signing the SIS album, you felt as if the whole ordeal was being dragged on. The ghanaian sitting next to you emphasized with your exhaustion as she tossed you a knowing glance, before taking her focus to the woman in front of her. Manon’s peripheral vision was enough to keep track of you and your wary state.

You had been bored our of your mind— despite this being your first public fan event, you found it profound that your interactions with your fans where been heavily monitored as if you'd cross the line. Though, it didn't take long before an overly enthusiastic fan piqued your interest with her odd comment, "Doesn't my perfume smell great", the girl spoke as she sat curiously in front of you. Your eyes practically widened as she motioned towards her wrist, the location with the most concentration of the sweet scent. "Mhm, just like a fresh flower bloom" You hummed, Manon found your comment intrigued, but didn't raise an eyebrow at it, that was until she saw you raising your hand towards her as your fingers looped around her wrist from the corner of her eye.

Poor Manon tried giving her undivided attention to the fan in front of her but she couldn't puzzle what you where doing. Her eyes widen as you grab the girl's wrist and smell her perfume "seductively" as you call it, while the fan freaks out. This is when Manon cannot hold in her emotions anymore— she is BURSTING out laughing as you try your best to keep your composure. She's teasing you like crazy when you both get back home, and when clips of you with the "Oh she's that type of girlfriend" videos circulate around tiktok she's sending all those to you. And best believe she's teasing you about it on weverse with comments like "Oh guys, best believe I'll be next!" or "Some people lack shame, but thats okay."

Sophia is just, confused? She's known you since day one, assuming that the both of you where attached to the hip since Dream Academy. Sophia has genuinely never seen you like this until now, to be fair, you had been joking about being an absolutely "stud muffin" even during pre-debut days, but she never truly expected you to go through with it— AND be this committed to the bit. Best believe she's staring you down during every interview and every fan interaction, just to make sure you don't accidentally slip up and cause another viral yet incrimination moment for the girls. But despite that, she'd much rather be a fool with you, than you making a fool out of yourselves, so yes she is entertaining your strange behaviour.

She only really started playing into it during a promotion live for touch, the both of you as per usual, where too preoccupied mugging the camera that you failed to notice that both of you where too close for comfort. It hadn't occurred to you how close in proximity the two of you had become, it wasn't until Megan sweetly read out a comment along the lines of "Oh my, my sophy/n heart" that it made everything abundantly clear. Sophia opened her mouth to defend herself only for you to butt in just as quickly. "Mhm, me and my beautiful glorious queen Sophia..." You drone, your words slow as you reached your hand over the table which held all the sweet treats and grabbed the nearest edible thing and raised it up to your face.

"Are just such a great duo." You giggled, pushing the sweet up to Sophia's glossed lips, her eyebrow raised before finally giving in. As she let the sweet treat enter her mouth you continued to speak "Isn't that right Soph?" You asked, the bewildered filipino kept her composure as she mumbled 'sure' under her breath, as Megan and Lara laughed at the two's antics. Which lead to a scolding right after the camera's got shut off.

Daniela is so befuddled, to the point she's physically screaming, and running away, crying, throwing up, all of the above, she's everything but pleased. She's never been one who was used to this whole idol culture, on top of the fact that she's constantly having the please the fans is horrific to her. Which isn't as horrifying as watching one of the closest people in her life being a fan-service advocate, such as yourself. She finds you genuinely terrifying how good you are at reading people and flirting with others. Honestly, she really found you charming during the production at Dream academy, even whenever you joked about "putting your skills to the test", she never took your charms seriously, that was until she saw your true form on stage.

It had just been another stage performance, the heat the lights, the music, it all had gotten to you, the sweat dripping from the side of you neck got a some fans in a stir, but nothing notable. Walking off the stage, (which forced you to make contact with a few fans before going backstage) you hopped off with a signature smile on your face that your charm was really put to the test. As a bead of sweat fell from your face, a towel was handed in your direction, presuming it was a staff member you grabbed it within a heartbeat. With Daniela behind you, she tried her best to stop you but it was too late, it was a fan who graciously offer you their hand towel. And now you where stuck between a rock and a hard place. You could either A, play it out and pretend this was all part of your grand plan or— yeah, that was the only viable option.

Daniela wide eyed gaze faced you as you continued to wipe your neck with the towel, your ego dying a little more as you tried to keep the smile plastered on your face. "Thank you baby." You hummed folding the towel to give it back to the crazed fan, who just insisted that you keep it, and of course you did, sliding it in the back of the hem of your skirt before gliding away from the situation. As you all head back stage, Daniela who's still in shock and disgusts pulls you into an empty room to debrief. Asking you questions along the lines of "Why'd you do that" and "Are you mad?", with your only response being "Felt like it" or "Y'know that was a good show— and you like good shows!" Only earning yourself a slap on the cheek as a response.

Lara loves it, she really does because that just means you match her vibe so well. She loves seeing you do it, and she loves playing into it with you, almost always making a whole show out of it to farm some more content from the fans. Any given moment she's coercing you into doing/saying something freaking on camera or in public, just because she finds it so entertaining, best believe she's the only one among the girls who actually approves of the fan service agenda. Although Lara does have some limits, because her parent's do see all the clips that go viral of her, but she teeters on the edge of what she can or cannot do with you. It's gotten so bad, that Sophia and Yoonchae have to cover the both of you whenever your on screen, because personal bubble does not exist with the two of you.

It's always when the two of you get on live alone, which always has the PR team in shambles, having two members who have no filter is hard enough but having the two of them by themselves is practically hell. You don't understand the concept of "to much information", (Lara does though, but seeing you embarrassed in the morning after getting post sleep clarity is hilarious) so when Lara read out a comment asking you for dating advice for girls you happily obliged! "I believe that the most important thing with flirting with girls, is eye contact..." You happily answered, turning your head to Lara as she was holding back tears of laughter.

"Look for example" You chirped, fixing your gaze to the Indian as she batted her eyes up towards yours, your faces inches apart as she stared at you curiously. This lasted for a good 7 seconds before she broke it off with her laughing uncontrollably, despite everything she did find her face heating up under your gaze. You turn you eyes back to the camera with a gummy smile, "See look! If it was a few more seconds, we'd be happily married. That's the secret to flirting with a girl." You cheerfully answered as Lara was huddled off from the view of the screen laughing her ass off.

Megan is indifferent, because she knows your getting hella bag from this, she's honestly just impressed on how well you can keep your composure till you break. Doesn't mean she's any less weirded out by it, but she's also not judging, "get that bread" one may say, and yeah she's a little jealous from how much the fan's eat it up but that only gave her more of the incentive to see what she can do to get that persona to crack. Even if it means playing along, or playing dirty, she just wants to see whats your absolute limit before you call it quits.

One time during a fan event, everyone was handed a pair a fluffy animal ears and fluffy paws to match, of course if any other regular grown woman where to put this on, they'd hurl, but you weren't some regular woman. You where on a mission, so you swallowed the remnants of your pride and put it on, the others where only brave enough to put one accessory on (Manon refused to put any of it on), you put everything on, quite literally decked out. Almost instantly the girls where suppressing their laughter and second-hand embarrassment, but the flashing lights of the cameras made it worth while. You had just expected to stay in this half costume for a few pictures until you took it off to sign more albums until you heard Megan's voice on the microphone as you got ready to slide the paws off.

"Hey, Y/n! This fan told me you should do a cute pose" She snickered as the fan waved in your general direction, almost like a glass crack, your smile faltered, making Megan burst out laughing, but that didn't stop you. You lifted you hands up to your face and made a claw like gesture with the signature smile plastered on your lips, before moving into a pout. Yoonchae who sat between you a Megan just glared up at you in pure disgusted, before you embarrassingly sat down. You huffed, knowing that even your members where laughing at you, but you knew that it'd be that end of that, "no more pictures" you mumbled under your breath as Megan kept your eyes on you.

As you carefully tried to take off your paw-like gloves you heard the mic tune in again, with Megan's giggle on the other end. "Hey c'mon, she wants you pose again" Megan cackled as she motioned to the same fan, she watched as you shot her a killer glance before begrudgingly following her orders.

[hrtwayne]

Safe & Sound || Alexia Putellas

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Lionesses Wife!Reader

Summary: Where Alexia and her wife knew that adopting a child and a teenager would have its difficult moments.

Note: Chapter inspired by Taylor Swift's "Safe & Sound"! (English is not my first language)

Warning: Mention of Abandonment Trauma and Lots of Comfort!

Next Chapter| Women's Football Masterlist

Alexia left training at the Barcelona training center, exhausted but with a smile on her face. The day had been long, but the anticipation of returning home, where her wife and their two daughters were waiting, was what truly mattered. The past few weeks had been challenging since she and Y/n decided to adopt Claire, a fourteen-year-old teenager, and Mia, an energetic little girl. The adjustment phase was delicate and required a lot of patience and dedication from both of them.

Alexia picked up the girls from school and drove home, noticing that Claire was quieter than usual in the back seat. Mia, as always, chattered nonstop about the day's events, but Claire's lack of response left Alexia worried. When they arrived home, Claire went straight to her room, while Mia was excited about helping set the table for dinner.

A few minutes later, Y/n arrived home, bringing the pizzas and the burger that Claire loved so much. Seeing Alexia in the kitchen, she smiled and approached, placing the boxes on the table.

"Hey, love. I brought some pizzas and Claire's favorite food," Y/n said, kissing her wife on the cheek before noticing the worried look on Alexia's face. "Is something wrong?"

Alexia sighed, feeling the weight of the day on her shoulders.

"I think something's up with Claire," she replied, feeling Y/n's body tense against hers. "She seemed down today. She's usually pretty talkative with Mia, but she seemed distant."

Y/n frowned, concerned. Claire was a strong and resilient girl, but she also had her insecurities, especially after going through so many changes. Y/n knew she needed to be patient and sensitive at this moment.

"I'll talk to her, okay? Don't worry," Y/n assured, leaving a kiss on Alexia's forehead. Just then, Mia came running down the stairs, full of energy.

"Sweetie, don't run down the stairs, you could hurt yourself," Y/n warned, trying not to smile at her youngest daughter's enthusiasm.

"Sorry, Mom!" Mia replied, not losing any of her excitement, before turning to Alexia with a curious look.

While Alexia and Mia started setting the table, Y/n calmly went upstairs, heading toward Claire's room. She gently knocked on the door.

"Claire? Can I come in?" Y/n asked, hearing a soft "yes" from the other side.

When she entered the room, she found Claire sitting on the bed, hugging her knees. The room was quiet, almost as if it reflected the girl's state of mind. Y/n approached and sat beside her, extending her hand.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" Y/n asked, keeping her voice soft.

Claire hesitated, her eyes avoiding Y/n's. After a few moments of silence, she finally gave in, resting her head on Y/n's lap. The athlete began stroking her hair, waiting for her daughter to feel comfortable enough to open up.

"It's just that..." Claire began, her voice trembling. "I never imagined I'd be getting all this attention, you know? I've been through so many families... I've always been afraid that something would happen to me or Mia, that we'd be separated. Even though you're so good to us, sometimes I feel like I won't last long here. That at some point, you'll change your mind about me.

"Y/n's heart ached as she heard those words. She knew Claire's past experiences still haunted her, but she was determined to make sure that would change.

"Oh, my love," Y/n began, her voice full of affection. "I know you've been through a lot, and I understand your fear. But you need to believe me when I say that nothing will separate you and Mia from us. You're our daughters now, and nothing, absolutely nothing, will change that."

Claire sniffled quietly, still fighting back tears. Y/n continued, her voice firm but gentle.

"There's no way we'd ever send you back, Claire. You're ours, and we're yours. Never, at any point, have we thought of anything other than taking care of and loving you both. We'll always be here for you."

Claire finally looked at Y/n, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sat up and hugged her mother tightly, nestling into her arms. Y/n held her in a protective embrace, feeling the tension slowly dissipate from her daughter's body.

After a few minutes, Claire finally relaxed, a small smile beginning to form on her face. Y/n wiped the tears from Claire's cheeks and smiled back.

"Now, how about you wash your face and come down for dinner? I brought your favorite burger," Y/n suggested, kissing Claire's forehead.

"Thank you, Mom," Claire said with a shy smile.

Y/n left Claire's room with a lighter heart. When she entered the kitchen, she found Alexia and Mia finishing setting the table. Alexia looked at Y/n, who nodded, indicating that things were better.

"Ready for dinner?" Y/n asked, as Mia hurried to sit at the table.

Claire came downstairs shortly after, still a little shy but visibly more at ease. She joined the family at the table, and the atmosphere in the house began to fill with warmth and comfort as dinner progressed. Laughter and light conversation filled the space, dispelling any remaining tension.

After dinner, Y/n and Alexia put the girls to bed. Mia was the first to fall asleep, curled up in her blanket, while Claire, now calmer, also drifted off with a grateful smile on her lips.

When the two finally retreated to their own room, Alexia snuggled into Y/n's arms, feeling the peace that only that moment of intimacy could provide. Y/n stroked Alexia's hair and sighed softly.

"We're doing the right thing, aren't we?" Alexia asked quietly, still with a hint of uncertainty.

"Yes, we are," Y/n replied firmly, holding Alexia closer. "We'll overcome any challenge, together. They're our daughters, love. Forever."

Alexia smiled against Y/n's chest, closing her eyes as she felt the love that connected them as a family.

[diz-eaze]

online friend kinich

; and how he's closer to you than you thought.

; yandere, modern au, creepnich agenda, invasion of personal space, stalking, kinich is on his freak game, not proofread.

other people fear spiders and the murky depths of the sea. but you fear something else.

you can count the number of friends you have with just one hand, the single digit a direct result from your vehement avoidance of social interactions and fear of the outside. the idea of speaking to another person in public causes your throat to seize, your hands to clam up, and your knees to buckle. being perceived beyond a characterization you deem acceptable is too much for you to bear.

as a child, you were told the dangers of strangers, along with tales your aunt told of kidnappings, murder, and accidents that happen on the road, all of which have kept you awake at night countless times.

but children grow up, they abandon these fears to progress in their life. unfortunately for you, the fear sticks like a second skin, even burrowing beneath the surface and penetrating deep into your soul.

instead, you retreat. you keep yourself locked inside the comfort of your room, too scared to take a single step.

while your education still begrudingly takes place on campus, your already few friends can only access you through discord messages and tiktok streaks since you're gone with the wind as soon as dismissal rings. within the bleak, dark walls of your abode, accompanied by shelves lined up with merchandise of your favorite media, you only feel safe here. in here, there are no white vans or judgmental eyes.

besides, anonymity online allows you to act in a way that your peers would never expect you to be; it allows you to be yourself for other strangers to accept without risking your safety.

really, this is the only world that you need.

today, you fought with one of your friends over your lifelong fears. she had insisted that the solution was for you to go out more, and you blatantly shut all of her ideas down with a repeated anxious shake of your head. she persisted, but you stood your ground, even if your voice was shaky.but you're weak, so it ended with you running out of the classroom in tears. her scathing remark leaves a burning sensation in your throat, trapping the sobs that wish to escape.

she doesn't - couldn't - understand.

it's a mantra that envelops your mind when you harshly shut the door to your room, unalthletic lungs desperately heaving in oxygen to regain your bearings. tears stain your face, but you don't even bother to wipe them off when your legs maneuver you infront of your monitor.

it's practically muscle memory now; you turn on your computer, type in your password, open up discord, and your fingers dance around the keyboard as you type up a message to the only person who can truly understand you.

almightydragonlord1111.

a silly username, one that still manages to invoke a laugh to bubble out your throat even if cracked at the edges. he had explained to you once that he created his account back in middle school, hence the cringe-inducing title.

you never bothered to ask for his real name. he had offered once in the past, but you refused. you like the split between knowing all his vulnerable thoughts, yet not even knowing what his real name is or what he looks like. perhaps it makes it easier for you to hypothetically leave behind this stranger who knows everything about you, should a day like that come.

kal3idoscope: hi, almightydragonlord1111 can i vent for a min? only if ur not busy ofc. sorry lol idk anyone else to approach. haha.

leaning back into the cushion of your gaming chair, you release an exhausted sigh.

a second only passed when his reply came.

almightydragonlord1111: hey, of course it is.

almightydragonlord1111: you can even call me if you want :) i'm here for you, always.

kal3idoscope: i'll stay with venting thru dms haha

kal3idoscope: but thank u, seriously ☹️💘

and you do, you tell him of your deep-rooted frustrations, your fight with your friend, and being torn between staying in the comforts of your room or finally taking that first step to face the world. you tell him of how terrified you are to be viewed through the lenses of another person. you tell him everything, your feelings spilling over each sentence and letter typed.

when you finish sending it all, it takes him a couple of minutes to process the sheer amount of text you've made him read through, and you watch with abated breath, staring at his icon.

almightydragonlord1111: ... wow

almightydragonlord1111: honestly, i can see both sides of the argument

almightydragonlord1111: it's not like you asked to be afraid of these things. i get it. but at the same time, not everyone is out to get you?

almightydragonlord1111: and i don't mean that in a demeaning way, i promise

almightydragonlord1111: still... ultimately, she's right, you know. maybe you don't need to enjoy going outside after just one trip... but just take it step by step, yeah?

you know deep down that your friend was right to an extent, but being told of the reality by someone you deeply trusted stung your heart. you don't even know why you're hurt by it - maybe deep down, you wanted him to agree with you and take your side. but you suck in a deep breath, trying your best to not let your hurt shine through.

kal3idoscope: orfkrerbrnfvmkr

kal3idoscope: AHHHHHHHHHHHH

kal3idoscope: ok ok maybe im a bitttt too paranoid, thats fair 😭😭

kal3idoscope: but idk really know where to start eekkkkkk

almightydragonlord1111: hmm

almightydragonlord1111: maybe somewhere local for now?

almightydragonlord1111: you can even bring a friend with you if you feel too unsafe

kal3idoscope: oh

kal3idoscope: no need :')

kal3idoscope: i dont think i can talk to them rn

kal3idoscope: but yeah! ill try some cafes around my area :D maybe tomorrow or next week idk fkvvmkrni

kal3idoscope: thnx almightydragonlord1111, srsly

almightydragonlord1111: no prob :)

almightydragonlord1111: anyways, you up for valo?

kal3idoscope: always 🤓💯

you push the issue to the back of your mind, for now enjoying your time spent with him.

a week later, as you promised to almightydragonlord1111, you find yourself in a secluded corner of a cafe not far from your house. for once, you're outside for a reason other than school. sinking into the plush cushions, you obsessively eye anyone passing by, checking for any dangerous object they may carry on their person.

you probably look crazy to some of them, and the idea makes you wince.

you force yourself to stop looking like some creep once you realize that there are fewer people inside the cafe than you previously thought. soon, your body begins to relax after your mind has been on overdrive since you entered the establishment.

your order arrives, bid with a wobbly "thank you" from your lips, and you plug your earphones in. several minutes come to pass while you idly mess around on your laptop, trying to see how long you can last out in public.

30 minutes in, a hooded figure opens the glass door to the cafe, causing the chime to ring: a newcomer, it signals to the workers. you hadn't cared, eyes too preoccupied and with the music blasting in your ears as you tried to get used to the new environment.

but then the sound of a metal chair scraping against the floor as it's pulled back is heard through your earphones. you snap your eyes over to check, only to visibly flinch back upon seeing that the hooded figure chose to sit right next to you out of all the other available tables.

your body tenses up once again, spine set in a perfect vertical line as you try to rationalize the situation in your head. you survey the hooded figure from the corner of your eyes, noting the neon highlights in the outfit and that their face can't be seen at all, covered up by a black face mask and sunglasses. still, a silver dangling earring peeks out every now and then from his occasional movements. and his body figure isn't the burly type, though you know better than to underestimate a complete stranger.

who's to say they don't have sharp objects hidden beneath the layers of clothing? you shudder in terror, body unconsciously inching away from them.

unpredictably, they inch closer.

you suck in a sharp breath, extremely alarmed. the hooded figure must have heard it because you hear an amused huff shortly after. it only serves to turn your blood ice-cold.

as if to egg you on, they advance once more, leaving you with no room to exit as you're already pressed up by the corner.

shaking, you now know that you're not being paranoid - this person is really out to get you. your shaking fingers grip onto the cotton material of your graphic t-shirt, already feeling tears welling up in your eyes. you really shouldn't have gone outside today.

they shuffle closer, and you whimper out in trepidity.

on the table, you spy your laptop and phone on standby but too far away for you to grab. if you could, you would've opened up discord and frantically messaged almightydragonlord1111 your local area to call the authorities. sadly, there's no one here to help you.

you close your eyes, begging for an employee to glance over the corner of the cafe and see that you're in clear distress. but zero prayers are answered as their body soon comes into contact with yours.

they chuckle, a boyish tone that leads you to believe that this person is a man. he breathes down on your neck, chest heaving in a repeated up and down motion. the hot air of his breath hits your nape, and you shudder in disgust.

the world feels as if it's closing in, limiting the space until it can only hold you and this terrifying stranger. every second that ticks by only adds to your increasing anxiety, furthering your fear of the outside world once this situation comes to pass.

you should tell him to stop - to leave you alone. you should be angry, snarling out profanities and berating this guy for having the audacity to even come close to you.

but all that trickles out of your lips is a whisper, a plea: "please... leave me alone. please."

the hooded figure pauses, and you feel his stare bore into you, piercing through your clothes in order to truly peer in. a few deafening seconds cruise through, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple.

finally, his body departs from yours, allowing you to finally exhale in relief. you watch with rapt attention as he languidly stands up, stretching his limbs and his silver earring even glinting against the overhead light. soon, he walks out of the cafe, leaving your heart wrapped in dread, not even ordering once.

your hands quickly grab hold of your phone and laptop, frantically shoving everything into your bag as you hastily exit the cafe with shaky knees. you hail a taxi, wanting to be in the comfort of your house as soon as possible.

once inside your abode, you bolt straight for your room, ignoring the inquiries of your older sibling. you shut the door with a loud bang, locking it for safe measure. you feel your legs give up on you, and you fall to the floor in a graceless manner. you try to inhale as much oxygen as your lungs would allow.

breathe in, breathe out. breathe in, breathe out.

the sound of your notifications going off breaks through your spiraling mental health.

you move to sit up. fishing for your phone, your quivering breath turns labored when you see the message isn't coming from any of your social media, but from your phone's text messages itself.

someone found your phone number.

unknown number: it was nice to finally see you in person :) my real name is kinich, by the way.

unknown number: i hope we can share a conversation face-to-face next time.

unknown number: i'm glad you didn't bring a friend with you, it was just the two of us :)

you were right.

there really is something to fear about the world beyond your room.

[docdudo]

Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader (Part 5)

"Grandpapa!"

Nothing. Not even a sound.

"Grandpapa!! Grandpa!!!"

"Atch, what's all this noise??" The old man yelled from inside the house, clearly annoyed.

"Grandpapa! It's me, open the damn door!!" You yelled back, just as annoyed as him as you hit your small fist against the wood.

The door was opened quickly with a heavy tud against the opposite wall as both you and your grandfather glared slightly at eachother's face. That is, until your grandpa properly fixed his glasses on his face to see your face.

"Ahh!! You decided to finally come home! I was about to call the cops to look for a 7-year-old lost little girl!" He said ironically, though clearly worried as he crossed his arms with a grumpy look on his face.

"Not 7, grandpapa." You huff, a little offended as you walk past him to enter the house.

"Eh, could've fooled me!"

"Besides, if you actually checked your phone, you would see that I did send you a message saying that I was sleeping in a friend's house."

"Oh no, I did see that. I just thought it was suspicious, didn't know you had any friends."

Both you and your grandfather stared at each other with squinted eyes and displeased expressions until you conceded with a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry, Grandpapa. I'll tell you sooner next time. Yesterday was just... a special occasion." You mumbled, frowning slightly as the memory of the day before surfaced.

"Back in my time, a 'special occasion' with a 'friend' at their house meant loosing our virginity." Grandfather deadpanned, slamming the front door shut with a bang.

"Goddammit, not what I meant." You retorted, not amused.

"No, no, that's fine. I remember I lost my virginity when I was thirteen years old! Back then, we weren't as slow as you young lot—"

"Oh my god—"

"She was a beauty too! Three years older than me at the time! I made all the boys at the Academy jealous when I told— God, what is that annoying tap-tap sound??" He suddenly stopped, frowning as he looked around the house, confused.

You were thankful for the distraction, quickly schooling your expression to hide the disgust brought on by hearing your grandfather talk about his love life as the old man walked up to the living room's large window.

"Oh, would you look at that! Nature has truly blessed us today!"

"Huh? What do you mea—?"

You freeze slightly as your eyes catch the sight of a giant eagle sitting on your windowsill, looking all majestic and proud, just as you knew his human form was.

You were slightly less grateful for the distraction now.

"Look at this majestic guy! Ohoho... truly amazing! He was tapping the window with his beak—smart, right? This is a Golden Eagle! Did you know, kid, that this species is much more aggressive than the Bald Eagle??" Grandfather commented excitedly, his explorer side coming out in full force while you just stared in horror at the bird sitting there.

"If they’re more aggressive, shouldn’t we just... make it go away?" You hissed in slightly annoyance, squinting your eyes at the animal.

Price almost seemed to send you a smug look back. How could a bird even look smug anyway...?

"And lose an opportunity like this? Never! You don't have to worry; they rarely attack humans anyway! And if he came here, he must be hungry! One second, I'll grab something from the fridge! Don’t scare him away, kid!"

You could only watch in shock as your grandfather ran to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the eagle sitting on your window, still looking as smug as ever.

"Is this—w-what—Price?" You mumbled, eyes wide with confusion and a hint of despair as you stepped closer, a little shaky.

"What is it, doll? I did tell you we'd meet this grandfather of yours, did I not?" he replied, amused. His voice almost seemed to come directly through your head, rather than from his mouth—or... beak, you guessed.

"W-Woah, what...?"

"Don't be scared, witchling. This is just how familiars communicate with their witches when they're in animal form." Gaz explained with an amused tone, his black cat form leaping onto the windowsill beside the eagle.

"H-Hey... I-I though that... that you would just watch from afar..." You mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, growing even more anxious as you heard the old man’s footsteps coming back.

"You see, baby witch, we familiars aren’t too comfortable leaving our newly bonded witchlings alone," Gaz drawled, his voice and behaviour very lazy and cat-like.

He sauntered into the house as if he owned the place, brushing his head against your leg as you just stood there, looking down at the animal in almost shock.

"Here we go, I knew it we still had some of that jerky...!" Grandfather came back, excitedly holding on some beef jerky on his aged hands. "And he's still here! That's— a cat?!"

You didn’t even know what to do, staring between your grandfather and the two familiars. Your shoulders tensed as you tried to make sense of the situation. How could you possibly explain this to him? He wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t know much about witches either….

"It just… j-jumped in through the window...." You look away, trying to hold in your anxiety.

"This is… certainly getting weirder." Your grandfather muttered, his brows furrowing as he stepped closer. "I guess he’s not that hungry if he didn’t attack the cat..."

"Heard that, Price? Gonna eat me up?" Gaz quipped smugly, his voice dripping with amusement as he leapt onto the old couch without a care in the world.

"If I could, would've already done it." Price laughs back, all of this in your head, as you watch your grandfather try to coo at the animals, offering the jerky he brought.

Truly, this must be what going insane feels like.

You were momentarily distracted from your thoughts as you felt cat Gaz rub against your torso, standing on his back paws to stretch as if he was trying to climb you. Instinctively, you reached out to his lean body and lifted him into your arms, noticing that he was much smaller than the last time you saw him transformed like this.

You watched, almost stunned, as Price devoured the piece of beef jerky like it was prey. Your grandfather turned back to you after successfully feeding the eagle, his gaze shifting to the cat lying contentedly in your arms, and then....

...to the gold bands encircling your arms.

"What's that, kid?" He asks, a frown coming to his aged face as he walked closer, a hand reaching out for the bands. "Since when do you wear jewelry—?"

You gasped in shock as, in a slip second, the cat in your arms was gone—replaced by a tall man standing between you and your grandfather. Gaz was gripping your grandfather's wrist with just a bit too much force for someone dealing with an old man.

"Don't touch that, yeah?" He smiles gently, his eyes half-lidded and voice soft, tone and actions contradicting each other in a way that only made your eyes widen further.

"W-Wha...?" The old man's voice barely came out as he looked up at the intimidating man in front of him, his hands shaking in Gaz's grip.

"G-Gaz—Kyle, n-no!" You protested quickly, clutching the familiar's shirt and tugging hard, desperately trying to make him release your grandfather's wrist.

When the familiar didn’t react to your tug, your expression immediately darkened with anger. How dare he touch your grandfather—practically hurting him—and ignore you??

Fine. So be it.

This time, your tug worked. Your magic surged through his entire body in an instant, yanking him back harshly and slamming him against the opposite wall with a loud thud.

You huffed and puffed from the exertion, your body feeling tired and heavy from the amount of magic you had used in such a short span of time.

"Playtime's over." Ghost announced neutrally, appearing out of nowhere as he gently lifted you into his arms like this was just a small chore, nothing serious for him to worry about.

You struggled against his hold, trying to summon your magic to free yourself, but it was useless—his own magic blocking yours easily. You could literally feel it deep in your core—one of the drops of ancient magic paralyzing everything, leaving you numb.

"Let go...!" You growled weakly, your breath still coming in ragged gasps.

"Shh. You're okay, breathe." Ghost conforted you, resting your body against his chest and shoulder, his heavy hands giving you light pats on your back to try and calm you down.

Your body felt so heavy—so, so heavy. You could barely see your grandfather over the familiar's shoulder, his wide eyes locked on you, you and them, full of horror. His body was frozen in place, but he still trembled, clearly in shock.

"Wow, Kyle, nice one. She send you flying." Soap snickered, helping Gaz on his feet with an amused smile on his face.

"Can't say I was expecting it, but I deserved it." Gaz sighed softly, shaking his head slightly as he adjusted his clothes with a calm demeanor, clearly not even a little bit hurt.

Bastard.

"Come on, boys. We're going back home. We've seen what we came here to see." Price drawled gruffly, now back in his human form, sending a small sidelong glance at the frozen old man in the middle of the modest house.

"W-Wait—!" You tried to protest, desperation creeping into your voice.

"And put her to nap. Witchling like that can't possibily not be tired after her tantrum."

You wished you still had the strength to argue, to say or do anything, but soon, Ghost’s hand was over your eyes—almost covering your entire face and blocking your vision from your grandfather's shocked face—and you lost consciousness.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Tis The Damn Season

♥ masterlist | request rules | 12 days of ficmas

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!driver!reader

♥ synopsis: lando’s certainly feeling the pressure of gift giving this holiday season. he wanted to give you something to show you he truly cares and turns to the grid for help.

♥ wc: 1.1k - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and fluffy fluff fluff !!!

♥ a/n: first day of ficmas with some platonic norstappen <3

Grill the Grid Secret Santa was a video all the fans looked forward to. It was a cute tradition—but everyone always ended up with a bunch of random crap they didn’t know what to do with. But after pulling your name this year, Lando had to make sure the gift was perfect

“I don’t see why you’re taking this so seriously,” Max laughed. “Charles cut out pictures of his own face for me a few years ago.”

“How romantic,” Lando replied, drawing an eye roll from Max. “I just don’t know what to get her.”

Max took a swig of beer, “And you think I do?”

Lando sighed, “I don’t know… I just—I don’t want to get her some random shit object that she’s gonna throw away. I want it to be important.”

“And when I asked you if you were into this girl you said no,” Max smirked.

“Shut up,” Lando said with a playful eye roll.

-

Lando

what the fuck do i actually get y/n for secret santa

Charles

You’re not supposed to tell us who you got :(

Carlos

Get her a jumper

Lando

I’m not getting her a lame ass jumper

Pierre

…i got carlos a jumper one year

Lando

I’m aware

-

Lando sighed and clicked off his phone, the only light source in his room. He switched on his bedside lamp and wandered around his bedroom looking for ideas.

He stepped towards a shelf, a few helmets and tchotchkes on display along with a framed picture of the two of you from your karting days. Sitting beside it was a few broken shards of china.

-2023 Hungarian Grand Prix-

Despite the cheering in the grand stands, you could hear the cracking of your first trophy as clear as day. The beautiful hand painted porcelain hit the ground hard, breaking in three different places after Lando popped the champagne.

It wasn't his fault of course. Accidents happen all the time. It was still a shame though. The first woman to win an F1 Grand Prix and her trophy breaks?

"This is misogyny, actually," your PR manager Morgan said, eliciting a laugh from you and a few drivers.

"I'm so sorry Y/n, I had no idea that would happen," Lando apologized profusely, a look of sincerity in his eyes.

"No, no, don't be sorry. It's okay," you promised.

"Congratulations, seriously. You had an amazing drive," Max praised you while wiping the sweat off the back of his neck.

You adjusted your cap, pulling your ponytail through the space between the clasp and fabric.

"'Thank you," you say breathlessly, gulping down a cold bottle of water.

"Alright, post race interviews for everyone and I'll find out about your new trophy Y/n," Morgan said, setting the broken pieces of porcelain on a table.

Your head spun with ideas what was going to happen to the broken ceramic. Whatever you had in mind never came close to what actually did happen with it.

Lando thought, "Maybe I could try finding the rest of the pieces and rebuild it?"

Absolutely not. Give her own fucking trophy to her as a gift? How lame.

He played with the jewelry on his veiny hands anxiously, caring way too much about the impression his future gift would give you.

Within seconds of this he was struck with the most perfect idea. He tucked the pieces of your trophy into his pocket and quickly made it out the front door, ready to begin a perfect Secret Santa.

-

“Alright,” an interviewer handed you a small box that was wrapped with colorful paper and a bow. “We need you to guess who this is from.”

You shook it carefully, noticing some rounded ridges that stuck out. You gently slipped the ribbon off with a single pull, used the tip of your nail to slice through some clear tape, and unwrapped the gift.

From the moment you pulled it out, everyone knew it was a ring box. The black velvet encapsulating it said everything.

“Wow am I getting proposed to on grill the grid?” you joked, stirring a laugh from the filming crew.

You opened the case to reveal a ring front and center. It wasn’t just any kind of ring though. There was gold rimming around the band and the purple-ish pink design that stood out perfectly on the white porcelain.

Along with that was a folded up picture of you and Lando. The one from karting. The same one he had in his bedroom.

Your heart completely melted, remembering the days where you two were so close.

“Well, this is clearly from Lando,” you smiled with a soft laugh, putting a hand over your heart.

“May I see the ring?” the woman interviewing you asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded, handing her over the glossy object.

She squinted to get a good look at the design.

“This looks like the hungary trophies you know,” she said, looking back up to you.

“It does,” a crew member agreed.

You held your hand out for the small object back and inspected it yourself. It couldn't possibly be...?

It was.

You placed the folded picture back into the box and kept the ring in your palm.

“Hang on,” you pulled out your phone and called Lando as the cameras kept rolling.

“Can you come over here? We’re by Ferrari hospitality.”

Within minutes Lando made his way to you alongside Max.

“Is this from my trophy in Hungary?” you held up the ring with two fingers.

“Yeah,” Lando nodded.

“Did you fucking steal my trophy?” you laughed.

“Only like a few pieces,” he held his hands up in surrender with a playful smile. “There were some on the floor that I stashed in my pocket to figure out what to do with later. Maybe ask an FIA person but we all know I didn't get around to that. What do you know? They were in my pockets at the end of the day and i just kept them on a shelf.”

“Well good thing you did,” you looked at the ring and slipped it on your finger. You walked over to him slowly and threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“It was one of the most, if not the most important moment in F1 history,” he mumbled against your shoulder. “I want you to always have a piece of that podium with you.”

You pulled away and wiped a tear from your eye with a laugh. With the memory of that day, the ring, and the picture of you and Lando as kids, all the emotions were starting to flood back.

“Fuck you for making me cry,” you laughed, using the sleeve on your sweater to wipe your face. You softly kissed his cheek and squeezed Lando’s hand before they cut the clip.

You’ll never live down that video. It’s mentioned probably a thousand times a day by fans alone shipping the two of you. But eventually, that first ring Lando ever gave you will sit on your finger right next to the wedding band he proposed to you with.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

taglist; @sainzzreputaticn @theseerbetweenus @yawn-zi

[livwritessometimes]

Where's the Trophy? He Just Comes Running Over to Me (Part 1)

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, and Lewis Hamilton

: Part 2

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - Let me know if you guys want a part 2 with other drivers.

...

Lando Norris

Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads

(Miami Grand Prix, 2024)

He did it! Lando finally got his first win. 

Years of doubt, years of criticism it didn't matter now. He finally was able to win for him and McLaren. As soon as he got out of the car, he was greeted by loud cheers from everyone there. On his way back to the team, he saw almost every single driver in the grid waiting there to congratulate him. 

"I'm so happy for you, Lando," said Carlos as he pulled in Lando for a hug. 

"Bout time, huh," said Max bumping into Lando as soon as he was done getting his weight measured. 

"I am so happy for you, mate," said Charles as he passed by Lando.

"You did great, man," said Oscar, who saw Lando enter the area where the team was eagerly waiting for him behind the barricade. 

Upon seeing the entire team waiting for him, Lando could not help it; he immediately took off to where they were standing. As soon as he reached them, Lando dove right in. 

The entire area was filled with the team cheering and chanting 'Let's Go, Lando' while carrying him over their shoulders. During that time, Lando's eyes landed on Y/n.

He immediately started to wiggle out of the team's grip. Everyone was confused as to what he was doing, but as they put him down, they got their answer. Lando sprinted towards Y/n and lifted her off the ground. 

"What are you doing?" Y/n shrieked as she felt Lando's body slam against her.

"Celebrating what else," Lando said as he pulled her even closer. 

"What about the team?" Y/n asked as she let her hands run through his hair.

"They can wait! I wanna celebrate it with you first," Lando said.

"You've been there through all my podiums, all my losses; you bet your ass you'll be there right front and centre through my wins too," he finished as he set her down on the ground.

"You truly are amazing; you know that, Mr. Norris, Grand Prix Winner," Y/n said, smiling up at Lando.

...

Max Verstappen

Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me

(Dutch Grand Prix, 2024)

Y/n was nervously waiting as she watched the race.

4 more laps. 3 more laps. 2 more laps.

That's what she kept telling herself as she watched the bull maintain the lead.

*flashback*

Max and Y/n had spent the majority of their day lying on the couch with Jimmy and Sassy. It was the last day before the race season began for the year.

"I love this," Max stated.

"Love what?" Y/n asked.

"These days," he said. "Where we spend all our time together," he continued.

"And why is that?" Y/n asked as she looked at Max from her spot, careful not to disturb the cat sleeping on her chest.

"It's nice; we are together, and I don't have to worry about anything," Max said. He continued, "I always feel like when I am away for so long, you'll realize that I'm just a loser who is not worth being with, and you'd break up with me."

The sincerity with which Max had said that made her feel bad. Reaching out to caress his cheek, Y/n said, "I'll never leave you, Maxie. No matter what." She added, "Even if we break up, I'd never leave your side. I'll always be the one that cheers the loudest for all your wins."

*present*

True to her words, Y/n was there at every race. Even though Max and her had broken up, Y/n just couldn't break the promise she had made.

The distance this time had really tested their relationship. All the stupid fights finally built up to something that the both of them could no longer ignore.

The past few races had not been good for Max. No matter what he did, he was not winning, and Y/n knew it was getting to him.

Despite the breakup, the two still remained friends; she constantly checked up on him, and she knew that he needed that win. He needed to win.

Finally, as the final lap began, everyone in the Red Bull garage was holding each other's hands for support. It was Max and Lando battling for first place. With each corner they passed, the team grew more and more anxious. Nearing the final corner, Max gave all that he had left to cover the few meters that were left. The car had not been the best; the team knew that; Y/n knew that; Max knew that. So it truly was Max that was making the car special, and he wanted to prove that he still could do it.

With a final push, Max crossed the finish line. Everyone in the garage went crazy. They all started running towards the barricade, waiting for Max.

The moment the car stopped, Max ran. He ran like he had never before. He didn't even bother taking off his helmet. All he could think of was one thing and one thing only.

As soon as the team saw Max running towards them, they started to cheer even louder. Ignoring them, Max ran straight towards Y/n, who was standing amongst the team, and pulled her in for a hug.

"I hate it," he said.

"I hate not being able to spend my time with you. I hate that we fought. And what I hate the most is the fact that no matter what happened, you're still here, and I can't call you mine," he finished.

"Max," Y/n said as she felt her eyes tearing up.

"It was a stupid decision to break up. I want you. Please give me a chance to make things right again," Max said as he pulled away.

"I hated the way things ended, and I want nothing more than getting back together, Maxie," Y/n said, smiling as she kissed Max's helmet.

...

Lewis Hamilton

I haven't come around in so long But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

(British Grand Prix, 2024)

Lewis could not contain his happiness. It was his first win of the season. It was his home race, and man did it feel amazing.

Looking at the crowd gathered around, he could not help but get emotional. Ever since 2021, Lewis has not been the same. He no longer was leading every race, he no longer won, and he no longer was the world champion. He was happy for Max, but it still burdened him. 

These few years had been a tough journey for Lewis. Everywhere he looked, he felt like it was a reminder to him that maybe it's time he quit racing. And usually he doesn't let this get to him; he has Y/n there to always pull him out of his thoughts. But as of late, no matter what she did or what his friends did, Lewis couldn't help but think that his age has finally caught up to him.

This seed of self-doubt had blossomed into a full-grown tree of trust issues and self-criticism. Lewis kept on thinking about how if he can't even keep winning, something he has known for almost half his life, then how can he even be called a husband to Y/n? 

At night when the two would be cuddling, Lewis' mind often drifted to a world where he was still winning, where he could have won his 10th championship by now. Where he and Y/n would have a really happy life—not that it isn't now, but somehow it is better. Where he was a better father to his son.

All those doubts were now forgotten, for a while at least.

"OH MY GOD! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!" Y/n screamed as she ran up to Lewis and tackled him. 

The two fell over laughing as Y/n peppered Lewis' face with kisses. "I am so glad you were here to witness this," Lewis said as he wrapped his hand around Y/n.

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I am so happy for you, Lew," Y/n said. "I know, no matter how much you try and hide it, I can see this has been troubling you. My love, promise me no matter what, you never let these doubts consume you," Y/n continued.

Lewis nodded at her, smiling softly. Of course she noticed; she always knew what he was thinking about.

"I mean it. I am always, ALWAYS here for you. So don't you dare lock yourself up in there every again," she said while pointing towards Lewis' temple.

Suddenly a new weight was added on top of them, and as the two turned, they saw their son had decided to join them on the ground. He wrapped his arms around Lewis and Y/n, "I'm so proud of you, dad," your little 6-year-old said as he pulled you both closer.

It was finally time for the national anthem. Lewis was standing at the top of the podium, looking down at his team and loved ones. He made eye contact with Y/n and his son and sent a flying kiss towards them. He smiled when he saw his son trying to catch the kiss. 

It felt right; standing at the top felt good, and Lewis swore to himself that this wouldn't be the last time.

...

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp