#but!! i love him and this lots so perhaps that was it <333 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rose-tinted-kalopsia · 1 month ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 (𝑳𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑬) ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 14 (15… x_x)

tags : pwp (with plot), (it’s uhh kind of more on the plot side ish… i think? maybe? hfskj), praise, established but developing relationship, mild angst, hurt/comfort (ish), jealousy, possessiveness, slight spoilers for the lumiere myth, references to “midnight whispers”, kissing and making out, sliiight dry humping, wall sex, vaginal sex, desperate sex so it’s kind of rough ish, creampie, tl;dr both of you just can’t get enough of each other, use of pet names “angel” and “my star”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 3.7k

an : okay so i’m late queueing this but. COUNTDOWN TO XAVIER’S BIRTHDAY - ONE DAY TO GO !!! :D for my beloved darling boy here’s 1 out of 3 total fics prepared for him this month <333 (which may be off-schedule, BUT…) this was fun to write, so i hope you have just as much fun reading! sdkjfhsdk at this point i think i’ve barely ever written xavier fics without plot/feelings… loving this man will just do that to you i guess…

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @darlingdummycassandra @spotted-salamander @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @rafayelsgf @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @love-and-deepstrays @keioxo @theanbitchless (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 / KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

There’s a lot more to Xavier’s jealousy than you realize, and you’re adamant on setting it right.

This was how it was to be in love with you.

The sweet smell of roses, a walk under the cherry tree.... The calm breeze of morning and soft, fresh linen sheets. Sunlight peeking in through the window, pages of a book. Of words that could mean more to him than he could ever think to describe.

Xavier could call on all the possible analogies he could think of, pull from all the poems and stories that he'd read. And yet none could compare to you. It was in the same way that the stars were second to none—so too, then, were you.

You had always called him your star. But to him, the opposite was just as true.

And perhaps that was why this was so difficult.

The stars were different.

Sometimes changing in position, sometimes visible, sometimes not... From where the both of you stood, they were tiny specks of light in the vast domain of the sky—illuminating the night as much as they could, but part of a different world altogether. Unreachable. Untouchable. So bright, so radiant, that the single, slightest touch could burn him down to nothing.

They belonged to the skies; better admired from afar. It was torture to fall in love with something that, to anyone, felt utterly, unspeakably unattainable—

But that was how it was to be in love with you.

And it was a curse as much as a blessing.

"So then Tara mentioned this new place that opened up recently, and she swears by its service! She said we should totally go out and celebrate!" Your eyes gleamed with excitement as you spoke, taking in a spoonful of your ice cream to bring up to your lips. "So this does mean I have a little last-minute rendezvous later tonight... I'd have invited you, too, but—you know. Girl's night?"

His gaze remained transfixed.

The pace at which you both walked was matched, and relatively relaxed—yet he'd barely touched his ice cream. Instead, blue eyes focused on you as you spoke, tracing the movement of your lips and that sparkle in your eyes that he could never ever tire of.

"Okay," he murmured.

When you looked up at him, he glanced away, bringing a hand back to rub sheepishly at the bridge of his nose.

"...Really, really? Just okay? You usually, I dunno, ask me more about the people I'm with, or something..."

He shook his head, and there it was—the little smile on your face didn't go unnoticed. He knew you were trying not to tease, and your actions were so well-known by him that he'd memorized them all for himself. It was endearing to see you like this, knowing you probably knew his habits just as well as he did yours. And at the same time, he knew that you were right.

"Well, I mean... It's just Tara and the others," he said slowly. "You've... been spending a lot of your time with your hunter friends lately. I know who they are."

"I know who they are. You've a way with words, huh?" With a roll of your eyes, you took another bite of ice cream, before nudging him slightly with your elbow. "I've been trying to get to know more of the hunters in the Association lately. There's a lot of them, you know? I'm really glad that everyone's been so nice."

This time, he didn't say anything. Only a quiet hum, the soft crunch of autumn leaves on the concrete a sound that proved comforting to both of you.

The truth was, he was trying not to be so childish about it.

Something stirred in his chest when you spoke, that familiar discomfort that came with a feeling he knew to be jealousy.

It wasn’t a nice feeling.

But it was also easy to lose a star.

It was easy to lose you when, sometimes, he didn’t feel as if he had the right, really, to own you.

Because who was he to control your feelings?

There was no guarantee that, in this lifetime, you wouldn’t just up and leave.

And the more time you spent with others, the more he realized how true that could be.

There was no certainty that this was end game.

“Xavier?”

He heard your voice call out softly to him, and he looked down—

God. You were so cute.

Your head tilted to the side with a little air of concern, and he couldn’t help but smile. The moment a gentle breeze blew, he leaned down for a cheeky kiss on your forehead.

“X-Xavier—?!”

The incredulous expression on your face was one he wished he could preserve in his mind for eternity. He was sure that if that were possible, he really would.

“It’s nothing,” he assured. And he, himself, wanted to believe that to be true. “I like walking with you. It’s nice like this.”

It’s nice like this.

I hope it stays like this.

I hope that this time, we can just… stay together…

—

Oops.

That was the first thought in your head as you shot up from bed, eyes bleary with sleep.

Your phone was in your hand, and you stared aghast.

Package delivered.

You thought you’d been delusional when you could have sworn you heard nothing of a doorbell, until you looked at the address. And that was not your apartment number. That was Xavier’s.

You’d forgotten to change it—again.

Haphazardly throwing on a sweater and putting on your shoes, you raced out your door. The fact that you had yet to receive a text from him about it, nor have it delivered to you, likely meant one of two things: either he hadn’t received it and it was waiting outside his door, or he’d discovered what was in it.

His door absolutely did not have a package waiting outside it.

“Xavier? Xavier!” a little bit out of breath from the sheer shock of such a morning, you called out for him and hurriedly knocked on his door.

“Good morning,” came a voice from inside.

He wasn’t opening the door.

“Xavier…?”

“Is this about your package?”

“...Yes! Yes, it is! I forgot to change the address—”

“I have it.”

“Th-that’s great! Could you, maybe, open the door…”

A shuffling could be heard, and when the door did open, your jaw immediately dropped at the sighed before you.

He had opened it.

“Did you really order this? Were you planning to come here again and ask me to wear it?”

Xavier was frowning, his arms crossed in front of him—he wasn’t at all happy, that much you could tell. But you almost couldn’t focus on that. Not with the black tassel ear cuff hanging on his right ear, not with the suit he was currently wearing. And, those black gloves, the metal cuffs, the gold embellishments, the crimson dye, the blood-red collar… and everything.

It was a stark difference to how you usually saw him.

Xavier almost never wore black… But this looked phenomenal on him.

In retrospect, you supposed that there was nothing he could ever truly look bad in. But this? This was a whole other level of eye candy. There was absolutely no keeping that giddy smile from spreading across your face, even as you brought your hand up to cover your mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

The way his brows furrowed was near downright adorable, the corners of his mouth turning down into a little pout. You could have squealed.

Almost.

Instead, your hands reached out in a look of wonder as you slid your touch down the side of his arm, feeling the well-made fabric of the suit. It was just a cosplay, and yet, it nonetheless seemed so well-made, mearly comparable to the original…

“You opened the package? It’s mine, you know,” you murmured, and with a huff, he stepped aside to allow you into his apartment. You weren’t mad that he opened it, really—and the fact that he put it on? While you could tell he wasn’t happy about it, he was already being nice enough to indulge you with all this again.

“Is it really your package? You could have delivered it here on purpose. I saw Lumiere on the label. These are clothes in my size.”

For a moment the two of you stared at each other in silence, and you could very well remember how this played out the last time you were in this situation.

“Well,” you started, if only to fill the air around you that had grown a little tense. “I didn’t expect it to arrive this soon… We were talking about it last night. You know, with the girls? A few days ago at the office, apparently Nero was all busy because a new line of Lumiere merch came out—a whole alternate costume! We talked about it all night and I had to order a set, too, I just thought I wouldn’t get it for another week—”

You were cut off in a swift movement.

With wide eyes, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Xavier’s hands on either side of your head. The warmth of his presence so near you had you holding your breath, almost as if the air around you had turned from tense to suffocating. There was something about it that simply rendered you unable to breathe. It was easy to get all dizzy with him so close to you.

But when you looked at him, what you were met with was... not anger.

There wasn’t a trace of it on his features.

Instead, you were surprised to see a hint of something else.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Displeased, yes—but his gaze, while kept on yours, was desperate. Eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowed ever so slightly with the prospect of almost begging you for something that you couldn’t quite place... Something you felt as if you should.

“Xavier?” you murmured. Your hand raised, slowly, carefully, up to cup his face.

This was different from the last time you’d played around with Lumiere’s costumes. He wasn't just sulking over it.

“...But is that really who you want to be calling?” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. This was an emotion you couldn’t quite read, nor was it one that was familiar to you.

“Xavier? What’s going—”

“It’s always like this.”

Your mouth shut, and you frowned, trying desperately to understand the tone in his voice.

“It’s still always Lumiere, right?” he let out a slow breath. “Why do you care so much about Lumiere? You’d talk about him to your friends, too. You’d spend an entire night without me for him.”

“What? That’s not—I told you, we just wanted to—”

“But I’m right here.”

The calm, even tone with which he’d been speaking slipped in that moment. A crack in his voice—though barely audible right in the moment—wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by you.

Something was wrong.

He was rarely ever like this with you—this wasn’t even an argument, it was just… It was something.

His right hand, previously placed by your ear, shifted to take your hand from his cheek. Taking the other at the same time, he pinned both hands back against the wall, preventing you from moving. The lace of your fingers together had you hyper aware of the leather texture of his gloves, and your breath hitched.

He leaned in.

“I’m right here.”

A repeat of his words.

Yet he almost sounded as if he could break.

“I know you are,” you started, speaking carefully.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

This time you spoke firmly, meeting his gaze full-on with a certain sense of conviction that you were not going to let him try to doubt. “Please... what brought this on, Xavier?”

For a while, there was no answer.

His chest rose and fell, deep, calming breaths for himself almost as if trying to compose himself in front of you. You didn't like that. He did it so often; hiding things from you for your sake, putting on a braver face for you if only to keep you from worrying any more than you needed to.

But you needed to.

You wanted to.

Was that not what a relationship entailed? To worry about each other?

You could tell that this meant more to him than simple, petty jealousy—and you were determined to find out what that was.

“Don’t do that,” you mumbled. You frowned slightly, as if to make your point. “Don’t act in front of me. Don't put up a front. You’re upset, right? Something’s wrong. Xav… Are you still jealous? Is that what this is?”

“...I’m not.”

“But you are. Don’t do that.”

Like before, his eyes averted, but you didn’t miss the way he had to grit his teeth just to make sure he would keep a straight face.

“Xavier.”

You tugged at your wrists.

“Xavier.”

His eyes closed. While his grip on your hands loosened slightly, he didn’t let up—his forehead pressed against yours, and for the first time, you realized how shaky he felt.

His breath was warm. His hands were warm. You could barely notice the cold of the wall pressed against your back, the rest of his living room fading away into the background as if all that existed was you, and him, and this little corner you had to yourselves.

As if it were all that mattered.

In a way, it was.

He was all that ever mattered.

“I don’t want it to change,” he whispered. His voice was small; smaller than you had ever heard it before. “I don’t want us to change.”

“Huh? But we’re not changing…”

“No, we’re not. I hope we don’t. It’s enough like this, just to be with you…”

Something about his words stirred at the pit of your stomach.

I hope we don't.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps you'd been spending too much time without him, and perhaps he just wanted to feel... a little more wanted by you.

“Xavier…”

This time your hand slipped away from his hold, and it was back on his face, cupping his cheek. You watched him lean into it—a soft sigh of resignation, nuzzling into the palm of your hand like he wanted nothing more than your touch.

You swallowed thickly.

“Xavier, it’s not that I’m so fond of Lumiere…” you spoke softly. “I’m fond of you.”

His eyes opened, a slow blink of mild confusion.

“Lumiere is you. Is he not? He’s handsome, and gentle… just like you are.”

When his expression didn’t let up, you continued.

“Xavier, you saved me. I’ve always thought that Lumiere was amazing… But, now, knowing that he’s you—doesn’t that mean I get to love both you and him at the same time?” Your thumb rolled over his skin, and you leaned up slightly, teasing for a kiss. “I loved you first. So I like him because he’s you.”

The tips of your noses touched, and his lips brushed against yours. Your eyes locked this time, and he was all that you could see. All that you would ever see. Close. Impossibly close. Within reach… this time, because this was the Xavier that had come to love you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Maybe you felt a little sense of pride knowing this star was all yours. And maybe that was what he needed to feel, too.

“I… don’t like him,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be him… I just… want to be me. With you. Like this.”

"And you are you."

"But I'm not Lumiere. Lumiere is part of the past. I want… I… I'm here."

Ah.

Somehow, you understood.

Your gaze softened, and you let out a slow, quiet sigh. "Oh, Xavier…" you mumbled. “I like you no matter who you choose to be, Xavier. Ah—”

You smiled, and then shook your head. “Sorry," you corrected. "That’s wrong. I mean… I love you, no matter who you choose to be.”

You saw his eyes light up at that, breath hitching. Those blue, blue eyes—bluer than blue, the most beautiful shade of it that you’ve ever seen.

That was it.

That was what he needed to hear.

His lips trembled slightly, and then all you could feel were them.

He crashed against you, pinning you back against the wall just as he had done earlier, and you could feel everything. His knee between your legs, inching upwards, pressing you back with every ounce of his being as if the single, final thread of self-control had snapped.

“My star… my angel…”

He gasped between kisses, barely muttering out words before he would drag his lips plush against yours in a way that made you want. A way that made you need.

You moaned against him, his body melting, molding into yours.

My star.

Xavier was so unfair.

Even the nicknames you would reserve for him could be turned right back to you, snaking his way into your heart that he had, that he owned, because you had given it—everything—all to him.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Not when the heat of his presence wrapped enveloped you in a hazy mist of love and desire, the pull of his touch so strong that you couldn’t ever think of leaving. His fingers curled into yours, his grip straining. Bodies pressed together, the outline of his bulge grinding between your legs—his hips rutted into you with not much thought behind his movements, and your desperate pants fell into each and every kiss as if you simply couldn’t get enough.

You couldn’t get enough.

Your mind could only fill with thoughts of him, because he’d taken that for himself as much as everything else.

“X-Xavie—mmphf—”

It didn’t take long.

Clothes discarded in barely a moment before he was hoisting you up on his waist and fucking you, your back hitting the wall with every upward thrust of his hips.

“X-Xavier!” you cried. Your eyes rolled back as he dipped his head into your neck, muffling his moans into your skin. “Xavier… Xavier… So good for me… so, so good, nnh—haa—”

Every praise uttered from your lips caused his thrusts to jerk, a whine falling from his lips.

He liked it.

“Mmh… Mh—yes— j-just like that! Ngh, you fuck me so, so well—ha-ah!”

You clawed at his back as the tip of his cock edged against your sweet spot, and you could tell with the way he choked out a laugh into your skin that you were in for it. His hips continued to snap against yours until you could barely register any coherent thought in your head. He would plunge in and out of your wet, leaking cunt with reckless abandon—you almost couldn't breathe.

“Xavier! Hnng—so good! Good boy, good—ngh—! Th-there! Please!”

You were long gone.

He could only hold you up with his sheer strength—you felt weak as you cried out endless strings of praise, obscene sounds of sex filling the room in an instant.

“My star…” He leaned back to hold you properly against the wall, grunting and panting. With his hair stuck to his forehead, droplets of sweat sliding down his skin, your eyes glazed over. “My star. My star. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…”

With a mewl, your legs tightened around his waist, and he kissed you. Tongue, and teeth, and messy. Just as needy as earlier. Just as desperate as earlier. Your hands continued to claw at his back, fervent movements of his lips against yours in a foggy frenzy of pure want.

“Mine,” he gasped, pulling away just enough to speak. “My angel, my star—my pretty—pretty angel—my—good girl—”

His kisses, his thrusts, were punctuated with every word, driving you absolutely insane.

“Ngh—ah! Xavi—vie—Xavier—!”

You could barely get any more praise out as he easily turned the tables on you, lulling you into a headspace where all you could say was his name. His name, that, gladly, he would easily relinquish to you. A name that was yours as much as his. A name that you could call, this time, with the comfort of him being with you.

“Angel…” he groaned. “Feel'so good… Taking me so well…”

“G-gonna cum! Xavie—Xav—haa—!”

“Good girl… Good girl, good—girl—good—ngh—girl…!”

That was it.

One last thrust had you spasming around him, practically collapsing into his arms as he held you up, keeping you between the wall and his body as his own trembled with a release triggered by your own.

“So much… so much…” you buried your face into his neck, and he rubbed soft, soothing circles into your back. Hot, white ropes of cum filled your insides, enough to leak out of you, trailing down your legs.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, catching your breaths. There was comfort, in being held tightly in his embrace. And it wasn’t until a while later that either of you spoke.

“...The Lumiere plushie…” he breathed, quietly. “Do we have to keep it?”

You lifted your head, shooting him an incredulous look. “You’re still upset over it?!” Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark-themed Lumiere plushie resting neatly atop of the coffee table, and you let out a huff. “Xavier, really, I promise you that I—”

You stopped.

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling in what you noted was not quite amusement, but… happiness, nonetheless.

You huffed slightly, but it felt lighter knowing that he was happy.

That was all you ever wanted, after all.

His forehead pressed back against yours, and he spoke again.

“Do you mean it?” he murmured. “What you said earlier. That you love me… No matter what?”

You smiled.

“Of course I do, silly. Isn’t that what you say to me all the time, too? What’s to make you think that I can’t say it back to you?” you gave him a playful swat, rolling your eyes. “I agree with you, you know… I like it like this. I like being with you. I want it to stay this way, too. Because all I've ever wanted was to be with you. You, whoever you feel like being. Whether it's Lumiere, or the Xavier in front of me now. That's... what it's like to love a star. Right?"

Something flashed in his eyes, then, before he nuzzled against you in that way he so often did with you.

“...Mm. So this is what it’s like to love you."

He was whispering, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself.

But, he smiled:

“Ah, no… This is what it’s like to love you more.”

an : lumiere really is the best!!! 🥰✨

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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astraystayyh · 10 months ago

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please fall before i fall

jeongin x reader. best friends to lovers. they think it's unrequited love so a bit of angst. but they're just idiots. happy ending :))

summary : 3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours (and ended up confessing along the way). holidays themed.

winter falls masterlist.

a.n. : i am very happy to finally post my first fic for the winter falls collab with my author xi hehehehhe i hope you'll enjoy this one <333 it's very light and fluffy she's the cute one!! oh and my song rec is i bet on losing dogs by mitski

One.

Jeongin’s thumb hovers over your contact name, his rosy lip pulled tightly between his teeth. He hesitates for a few seconds before finally dialing your number.

“What do you want?” you start which makes an incredulous snort escape his lips, a gust of powdery air materializing before his mouth from the cold.

“How much do I have to pay you for you to come over?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Cash,” you precise as he mouths along to what you say, already guessing what your next words would be.

He's come to know you at an abhorrent speed these past few months; since you sat right next to him in your biology class, head buried in an oversized navy hoodie. Your perfume knocked into him like a gentle breeze— Sicilian lemon and white bouquet notes, nostalgic summer amid an unforgiven autumn. Memories of sticky fingers from molten ice cream and feet soles meeting the warm sand wafted in the air, alluring him to the kindness of a long-gone summer, you.

That is why he talked to you at first, because you smelled nice, incredibly so. He tells you it's because he liked the pair of shoes you were wearing.

“What if I brought you your favorite coffee?”

“Are you outside my dorm?” you squeal and he imagines you must be scrambling to get up, opening the curtains. He knows he's right as your figure materializes behind the window. “Hi,” you wave, a small giggle escaping your lips. He can't help the fond smile that draws upon his lips.

He thinks he likes you a little.

“Hey, please help me wrap my family’s gifts,” he pouts, waving the coffee in the air. Your order that he memorized by heart, not even meaning to, it was just natural for him to order you coffee every day, to remember your preferences as if they were his own.

“Why are you here if we're going to your dorm anyways?” you laugh, leaning against the window.

“Because I know I need to bribe you,” he sighs, angling his head to the side. “Are you not going to hang up and come downstairs? The coffee will grow cold.”

“I’m coming!”

An hour later, four gifts are resting beside Jeongin's figure, perfectly wrapped thanks to your skilled hands. He's lying on the warmed tiles, and you're right beside him, so close your knee brushes against his thigh now and then.

He is keeping count, well, more so his heart, constricting in his lungs each time you touch.

He's so aware of you, so much he's sure you’ve crawled into his skin, morphing him into nothing but a shell of you.

Perhaps he likes you a lot.

“You're an insane man. Who leaves gift wrapping to the last minute?”

“You're best friends with said insane man.”

“Remind me how did that happen again?” you ask, propping your head on your elbow, and turning to the side to look at him. Jeongin has to pretend that the sight of you hovering over him doesn't affect him. That his eyes aren't drawn to your lips, heart dissolving at your feet, hoping to brush against your own.

Please fall before I fall, he nearly pleads.

“Why are you so close,” he feigns disgust, pushing your face away with his pointer finger.

“What? Does that fluster you?” you question, amused, bringing your face even closer to his. He scrambles away before a blush sprouts on his face, one he wouldn't be able to justify to your scrutinizing gaze.

“As if. You're ugly,” his eyes squint, lips thinning into that particular smile he knows annoys you. He moves to the side swiftly, anticipating the shoe you throw at him.

“You're literally— remind me to never help you again, asshole.”

“I'm kidding. Thank you for today, seriously. I didn't know wrapping gifts could be this hard.” He falls back to the floor dramatically, banging his head against the tiles in the process.

“Well deserved,” you whisper.

“I heard that.”

“Good,” you giggle, before gently massaging the spot where he has bumped his head. He purses his lips against one another, afraid of what words might escape the confines of his throat, vocal cords moving to the gentle rhythm of your touch.

“Will you keep on being this clumsy, Innie? mm?” you muse, tone quieter.

The nickname makes his insides churn, it is always so tender when it falls from your lips. No one has ever called him this softly before. No one has ever called his heart before you.

He shouldn't be this clumsy with it. It is a fragile organ, akin to glass, easily breakable, so translucent— it'd be easy for anyone to peer inside and find you in it.

“Yeah, I probably will.”

He'll stop liking you next year. He hopes. He'll try.

Two.

Next year has come, familiar frigid winds pulling you to Jeongin’s heart, perhaps even more so than before, cementing your being into the nooks and crannies of his soul, perfectly so, as if it was destined for you alone to fill the emptiness inside him.

Seasons have changed and yet summer remains, its essence stored safely within the notes of your perfume, it tickles his nose as you're seated on the countertop, legs swinging lazily while he scouts through his fridge.

“Remind me why we're doing this again?”

“Because I made a bet with Yoon.”

“Your sixteen years old brother?”

“Yes.”

“You are in college.”

“I know.”

“Why are you taking it to heart?”

“Because I have my pride,” he says solemnly, hand on his heart and you roll your eyes.

“You literally begged at my feet fifteen minutes ago to help you.”

A year later, Jeongin stood beneath your window once again, phone brought up to his ear, hand hidden behind his back. You pick up on the first ring.

“Look out the window,” he quickly says before you can even speak.

“Hello, Y/n, how are you, Y/n, are you surviving with the cold—” you say sarcastically as you pull the curtains, the words dissolving in your tongue as he brings a single flower before him— you recognize its pink petals easily, Camellia, the rose of winter.

“I did not have time for coffee, but I plucked this off the sidewalk,” he offers, an amused grin on his face. “Help me bake cookies, pretty please, I'll be forever indebted to you. Forever and ever and ever and ever—”

“This is such a poor rendition of Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid Shakespeare is suffering in his grave right now.”

“Do you think he knows of every theater play that was done to his story?” Jeongin muses.

“That's a good question actually. I hope he didn't see mine,” you shudder before your face pales.

“You did not tell me you ever did that!”

“I'll bake your cookies and you'll never bring this up again.”

“Deal. My Juliet,” he smirks and you throw a middle finger aggressively to his face before hanging up. He shouldn't find it as endearing as he does.

“Because, my dear Y/n, this is my holiday reputation at stake. I kind of raised the bar last year with my gift wrapping.”

“You did?” you raise an eyebrow promptly at his words and he sighs, taking out the butter before leaning against the fridge.

“We did. Which is exactly why I need your help again. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if Yoon wins,” he shudders and a giggle finally escapes your lips.

The kitchen warms up at the sight of your smile.

“It's cute when you need me once in a while,” you say nonchalantly, hopping off the counter and moving to wash your hands. Jeongin freezes in his place.

“I always need you though,” he confesses quickly, swallowing the words, hoping that this way you wouldn't be able to taste the sincerity coating them, sticky honey dripping from his tongue whenever it speaks of you.

“Good thing you'll always have me then,” you beam, your words hanging into the air, oxygen suddenly harder to inhale.

“Gross,” he fakes a shiver, as his heart drops in his chest, breaks, and twists at the weight your words carry.

He'll always have you, but not in the way he wants to, your eyes would never soften at the mere mention of his name, and you won't think that a season blooms into every room he is in. He has you, but just a fragment of you, not how you have him, as a whole, heart, body, and soul.

He's already fallen, a terrible, terrible fall.

“Will you help me or just stare off into the distance?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He smiles bashfully, rolling his sleeves and sidling by your side to mix in the eggs, one by one, per your instructions.

It smells nice in the kitchen, the caramelized fragrance of browned butter, sweetened by the sugar dissolving into the warm liquid. Tentative sunlight streams through the window, and it falls perfectly on Jeongin's face, highlighting his sharp features.

Not that jeongin needs any additional light, he reminds you of spring, a flower blooming on his face each time he smiles, his dimples two youthful fountains the roots strive from, brightening his face even more.

He tentatively glances at you as he adds the chocolate chips to the mix, only to find you staring forward. He misses the fond look on your face by a few seconds, the tinting of your features with soft hues of pink, of spring, of him. He always misses it, always misses you.

Three.

"I can't believe you have 37 pairs of shoes but not one nice shirt.”

“It's 36, please count correctly,” Jeongin retaliates and you snort, flopping around in bed till you land on your stomach, chin propped up by your hand. Jeongin is still rummaging through his closet, head almost disappearing into the dark void of his wardrobe.

“What do you need this for anyway?” you question, as you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Jeongin’s eerie silence causes you to look up.

“Um. I have a date tonight.”

“Oh.”

His words hang over the room like a heavy cloak soaked with rain, the oxygen sucked out of your lungs and ensnared within that singular gasp.

Jeongin swiftly turns around, before kneeling beside the bed, eyes brimming with a hopeless search— you are too focused on steadying your breathing to notice.

“Should I go?”

“I mean… Why are you asking me?”

“If you don't want me to, I won't,” he speaks in an overflowing sincerity, as though he'd willingly surrender the reins of his life for you to guide, should you only dare to ask.

A breath, a pause, and he adds, “In case you'll be lonely tonight.” Your hope deflates in an instant, akin to a birthday balloon tossed into the careless hands of children.

Pity, that's what he feels for someone who hasn't had a date in a year while he went on ones regularly. Although they never transcended beyond that first meeting, always a first date, never a second. He says none of the people he meets are his type.

“I have a date too.” It was the truth, Suhoo had told you to meet him at the ice rink. You said you'd think about it. You knew deep down that your answer would be no, solely because he isn't Jeongin.

Perhaps it is too late for him to fall for you.

“Really?”

“Yeah, with Suhoo, you know, the guy in our Economics class.”

“He's nice.”

“Mm.”

Could you lose something you never had in the first place?

“You should wear Seungmin’s white shirt.”

“Yeah. That's what I thought too.”

“And bring them flowers. The rose of winter, maybe.”

You had preserved the plucked flower he gave you in a vase. The pink of the petals liquefying and bleeding into the blush on Jeongin’s cheeks once he noticed.

“That one's just for you.”

Four.

You're alone on the ice rink, the frigid winds assail your form, fingers numb from winter's cruel grasp. Suhoo didn't come after all, perhaps he was offended by you calling him at the last minute to confirm your date.

The chill of disappointment is more biting than the frost— you want to melt off the ice, you want your spring. You want your Jeongin.

But he isn't yours, perhaps he will never be. He is too sought after, too captivated by the fleeting chase of someone new to spare a glance at you.

But in this instant, you need him. You need him to hold your hands in his larger, warmer ones and get you off the ice rink. You need the sight of his familiar dimples and blooming smile.

So, you call him. He picks up on the first ring.

“Are you that bored on your date?” He playfully taunts, and his voice becomes a gentle breeze that stirs the emotions you struggle to contain. Tears cascade down your cheeks in an achingly familiar path.

“I-Innie,” you hiccup, and you’re instantly met with the sound of scraping chairs against the floor, the hastening cadence of footsteps hurrying out into the street.

“Did he do something to you?” He speaks so coldly, a tone so foreign to the warmth of your Jeongin. He shouldn't be tainted with winter too.

“He didn't come. Can you p-please pick me up?”

“I will. I'm coming in a bit, okay?”

He finds you rather quickly on the ice rink, a sore thumb unmoving between the gliding bodies. He skates over to you, almost falling twice in the process.

“You're so clumsy,” you snort as he stands before you, sobs racking through your body once more at the sight of him.

You weren't mad at Suhoo. You were heartbroken over Jeongin.

“I'll beat him up for you. I'll tell Changbin to help me too,” he smiles, hands fidgeting as they land upon your cheeks, trying their best to wipe away your tears.

“Please don't cry. I hate seeing you cry, Y/n, I really can't bear it." The tears only fall harder at his words, as if he's stringing them forth with each touch of his.

“Did he do something to you?” an unknown voice startles you and you turn to your right to find a girl looking at you then at Jeongin, a frown etched on her eyebrows.

“No, I'm her friend I didn't-”

“I wasn't talking to you,” the girl cuts him off and you laugh despite you, as Jeongin’s jaw hangs open, before closing once more.

“It's not him, thank you so much though,” you smile gratefully and she nods, eyes wary as she glares at Jeongin one last time, before skating away.

“I can't believe that just happened,” He exhales, a breath tinged with bewilderment, before he delicately encircles a hand around your back. Gently, he guides your head to rest against the comforting refuge of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you mumble against his navy hoodie, the one he borrowed from you. You can still smell your perfume on him.

“I'm comforting you.”

“You don't like hugs.”

“It's different when it comes to you.”

You close your eyes, allowing the tide of his warmth to envelop you like a cascade of spring petals.

“Where is your date?”

“I didn't go.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I love you. I'm tired of looking for you in other people,” he quickly says and you peel yourself away from him, feeling as if his clothes were suddenly made of fire.

“What?” you whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he repeats, each word drawn out, much slower this time, his hands cradling your face, tenderly, as though holding the sun between his delicate fingers. “I'm tired of pretending you're not my summer.”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” your voice wavers.

“I mean it. I've always loved you. You complete me in ways I didn't know were possible, and I know you only see me as a friend but-”

Your lips press against his, a culmination of aching desires that have lingered for two years. Distant laughter echoes in the background, ice cream melting onto your fingers, a soft breeze ruffling your hair, flowers blooming under the soft caress of the sun— two seasons melting sweetly into the kiss.

“You're literally so blind,” you giggle against his lips, and his smile widens, your noses brushing against one another. “I love you too, idiot.”

“You love me?”

“You're my favorite season.”

“Don't steal my lines.”

“Hey—” he kisses you this time, the winter is long forgotten.

Was it ever a fall if you caught him in the end?

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supernovafics · 1 year ago

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•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ❞✧∘ ✭・.✫・゜·。.

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a bestfriend!steve harrington roommate au slightly inspired by the tv show “friends” ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy you’ve known since you were ten— although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far it’s been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where you’re running late to class or steve’s rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, it’s a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sand— and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him met— start getting blurrier and blurrier

warnings: bestfriend!steve, roommate!steve, childhood best friends to (eventual) lovers, two idiots in love (but neither wanna admit it), Big Big slow burn, besties being besties, minimal angst, mainly just a lot of fun vibes, eventual smut (minors dni!), many familiar faces (robin, eddie, sometimes the kids), no use of y/n, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

important note! this will be a very “low stakes” series (there’s not really a super specific storyline happening in this), and i’m really just gonna post for it whenever i’m in the mood/feel inspired for it. i already have a bunch of random ideas for this universe that i wanna eventually do, but requests are open for anything you wanna see with these roommates/besties<333 (also oneshots/blurbs will be posted non-chronologically but will be listed chronologically, so you can pretty much read in any order you want to!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

fall 1985

love is a game (the one where you and steve have a “housewarming party”)

let’s forget it (the one where steve sees you naked)

third street (the one at the diner in the middle of the night)

silly promises (the one at dairy queen)

take a picture (the one with batman & robin)

from the dining table (the one with the early thanksgiving dinner)

never talk about it (the one where you see steve naked)

just a feeling (the one with steve’s date)

winter 1985/1986

the first fall of snow (the one where the kids spend the night)

care for you (the one where you’re both sick)

maybe this year (the one with the bet)

closing time (the one at family video)

while you were sleeping (the one with steve’s epiphany)

only for you (the one where you and steve play basketball)

in the middle of the night (the one with the ski trip)

worth waiting for (the one after the ski trip) (18+)

spring 1986

between you and me (the one where you and steve are secretly dating)

tell me a secret (the one where everyone finds out)

take my hand (the one where you and steve are chaperones at a school dance)

stay with me (the one where you come home drunk and steve takes care of you)

much better (the one with the "celebratory dinner")

summer 1986

one more second (the one with the barbecue)

out for the night (the one with the party at the lake)

#steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things smut

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forlix · 1 year ago

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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

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amourcheol · 9 days ago

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ave, general (teaser)

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | approx. 15k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t s : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched (send an ask if you wish to be tagged <3)

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : can you tell i have a thing for generals…formally apologising to jay from enha LAWL but a big thank you for gladiator 2 coming out the movie has revived the urge to revamp this fic !! enjoy the teaser everyone <3

back to masterlist | READ FULL FIC HERE!

"WHAT IS THE LAUGH FOR?"

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe.

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #lee jihoon imagines #woozi imagines #woozi smut #lee jihoon smut #svt imagines #svt smut #jihoon imagines #jihoon smut #seventeen x reader #lee jihoon x reader #jihoon x reader #woozi x reader

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residenthughes · 9 months ago

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mad at me - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x afab reader

word count: 3.5k

tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, smut, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, praise, spitting & choking (nothing crazy, i promise!), use of pet names (my girl, sweetheart, baby, princess, sweetheart), slight degradation (if you squint?)

summary: jack's latest game has tensions running high and feelings left unresolved. lucky for him, you know just the solution.

notes: so...this is happening 😭 this is very much inspired by the devils latest game against the kings where jack got pretty heated 😵‍💫 who doesn't love a bit of angry! jack? 🫣 but yes, as i've mentioned before, i don't usually write smut, so this may not be the best so any tips or comments you guys have to share would be much appreciated! 💗this has been partially edited, so if you see any errors along the way, they'll be fixed soon! as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy! much love! <333

It takes a lot for Jack to get mad.

A sequence of events that all come to a boil, a mountain of incidents that snowball into an avalanche of his wrath. He’s so sweet, like sunny Sunday mornings that smell of fluffy pancakes and honey syrup - so, even now, so far into your relationship, you’re aware that moments like these occur. Of course, emotions wear thin like tired socks and you’re no stranger to your own and Jack’s that have seen all shades of the rainbow, but perhaps there’s something in the air, some electricity that changes the wiring of your brain because tonight is so different from the rest. Dissimilar from when you leave Jack be when his big emotions demand their place, unlike how you wrap each other in blankets of comfort when tensions have eased and everything is whole again. Because, again, this is not about you. It’s about Jack and how, as the universe has written it to be, gravity pulls straight towards him.

Things have been good - he’s come back from injury, back to his kingdom on the ice and the Devils have won back to back games - truly unheard of during their current season, beating their last opponent in regulation for the first time since 2009. It’s a big deal - the smile on Jack’s face says so, the satisfaction of his tone indicating so when he’s come back from his away games. So, you want this happiness to continue, because you love him and the happiness he illuminates but at the end of the day, his job is hockey. A coin toss of wins and losses that you’re trying to wrap your head around because you’re biassed and see all the commitment that him and his teammates put in everyday. As a result of this, Thursday happens; a dice roll of events that spiral into chaos.

You’re back home in Jersey, comfortably situated on the couch in the warmth of an ending winter that shows peaks of an upcoming spring. You’ve got popcorn in your lap because you’ve rediscovered how much you love the savoury snack, happily munching away as Jack’s game starts and the adrenaline kicks in. The first period is eventful with many saves that have you clawing at the couch, but then the second period starts and all hell breaks loose. Tensions run high and as level-headed as Jack is, he is not immune to agitation - subjected to a nasty hit into the boards, the opposing player purposely banging his elbow into Jack’s head. You’re about to start yelling at your TV screen like some drunken sailor because Jack’s been injured this season and doesn’t need more time away from what he loves, but Jack decides to get his lick back and you’re automatically silenced. Your jaw drags the length of the floor as you watch him crosscheck the hell out the guy, proceeding to rough the player up before referees interfere. Jack and the guy are arguing back and forth as they’re escorted into their teams’ penalty boxes and you’re just left bewildered, a mess of emotions with wide eyes as your stomach turns.

You watch astounded as Jack flushes in his temporary plastic home, eyes wide at he hurtles comments that leave the opposing player with a sour taste in his mouth. Jack’s shaking his head when he’s gotten what he needs off his chest, wiping away his sweat as his anger grinds to a simmer. Your eyes are glued to the TV, perched on the edge of your seat as your heart beats hard in your bruising chest. The power play continues on but you’re lost in a trance, awaiting Jack’s emergence from the penalty box that can’t come soon enough. Once he’s out, he’s sprinting for the puck and manages to get a breakaway that assures New Jersey a goal, but the loser in the penalty box with him is hot on his heels and Jack misses. He’s fuming once again, ranting to the referee that pays him no mind. Jack skates off, smashing his stick against the glass before he’s back on the bench and completely snaps it in half, a string of profanities leaving his lips.

You sit there in awe, your grinding teeth sinking into the flesh of your fingers as your brain becomes an all-consuming pile of filth. Your precious boy, who loves his three hour long naps and looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, the hopeless romantic who pulls out all the stops for you simply because you deserve it and who holds you as if you’re fine china - he’s almost unrecognisable now, wearing his emotions like the number of his jersey as his expression pinches and his azure eyes narrow. A rush of emotions you both experience that make a home in the chaos of your minds that long leave the remnants of their havoc.

The clatter of Jack’s hockey bag echoes from the doorway, bringing you out of the syrupy daze you’ve been submerged in far too long. You leap off the couch as your body carries you towards the front door, electricity rippling down the ridges of your spine as your skin tingles with the unknown. You keep your emotions at bay for the time being, unsure of what state Jack may be in as you creep around the corner and catch an eyeful of his demeanour - blinding annoyance. An exasperated sigh pushes from his chest as he slips off his trusted beanie, the ruffle of his wet curls bouncing as his fingers card through his hair. You gulp.

“Ro?” you test the waters - short and sweet just to gauge his reaction, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Hey.” he bites, not bothering with looking your way as he shimmies his coat off with more force than necessary.

You gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling helpless. “I saw the game…”

“The one I almost got fucking injured in?” he chirps, looking at you now with a pointed stare that burns with all the fire in his heart. No longer azure, his eyes singe with an almost midnight hue. “What a shitshow.”

“That was a dangerous hit, that guy’s got whatever’s coming to him,” you’re quick to reply, taking small steps towards Jack who hangs up his coat. “But that doesn’t change the fact that people pay to watch you play.”

Jack stills in his movements, figure unmoving momentarily before his eyes throw you a lasting glance, the beginnings of a smirk working amongst his roseate features. “So, you heard?”

You blush under the heat of his undivided attention, gaze averted as you fumble with the hem of the hockey jersey on you. “Not necessarily.”

“Then what did you hear, baby?” he queries immediately, shifting so that his body now faces yours, an arm resting against the coat hanger as he sizes you up, unabashed and assertive.

Your stomach flips, the race of your heart undeniable. “You’ve got a mouth on you, so it’s easy to read lips.”

You’re chirping, working under his skin in a way that maintains some form of respect but has all the intentions of riling him up, which manifests into the beast you wish to see. A cocked eyebrow and a ticked jaw, flashes of disbelief flickering on his face. Once more, your emotions bear the weight of an anchor as excitement conjures up the swirl in your stomach, your masquerade crumbling at the seams as your nostrils flare, biting back a shit-eating grin.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he questions with a hint of humour, because he knows you like the back of his hand. You give him no response, preoccupied with suppressing the misplaced giggle that threatens to leave your lips. “I can’t believe this.”

The seams fully come undone, a snicker or two bypassing your lips as you retreat from the situation, ending up with your back against the door leading to the basement with Jack hot on your heels. Mirth bathes you in delight and you let it, a plethora of chuckles falling into your hand as you avert your gaze whilst Jack forgets any concept of personal space. Perhaps you’re deserving of whatever damnation comes your way, a punishment you’ve fully brought upon yourself, but when your senses fill with the waft of Jack’s earthy musk cologne and the remnants of his apple shampoo, accompanied by the warmth of his body that leans towards yours, you can’t bring yourself to feel a shred of regret.

His arm, enveloped by his raven black dress shirt, raises as he cages you in, vulnerable and at his mercy. “What else did I say, since you can read lips and all?”

This is a circus of words, meaning riddled in optical illusions that would have someone think none the wiser. Except this is yours and Jack’s circus, an act tailored for two that entertains your minds that run wild. A wildness you feed off as you meet him with the same decisiveness.

“This number,” you start, pointing towards the digits printed on your sleeve belonging to him. “86 is what people go to see - sorry, pay to see.”

You’re not really sorry, the smirk on your face says otherwise. “I think I said a lot more than that, sweetheart.”

“Besides all the huffing and puffing,” his tongue pokes at his cheek, a playful smirk betraying his flaring emotions. “You asked if he was there to play or to hurt people - fair point to make.”

“And all the others weren’t?” Jack’s moved closer, his thigh situating itself between the gap of your legs.

You bite your tongue at the friction. “You know the answer to that.”

“Maybe,” his caging arm leaves the door, the web of his hand sat against your chin as he holds your face, maintaining the same fiery gaze that unravels you altogether. “But, it’d be better coming from you.”

“Jack,” he’s flexed his thigh, your hand reaching for the button on his dress shirt as you wane in defeat. “Please.”

“I don’t follow.”

Your bawled fist meets his stacked chest. “Don’t play dumb.”

Jack chuckles, holding all power in the palm of his hand. “I’m just confused as to why my pants are wet.”

To prove his point, he draws his thigh away because he’s a selfish bastard and shows you the damp spot you’ve left after his thigh made its way between your legs. The shame that washes over you is unbearable.

Jack’s cold hands find themselves underneath the material of his jersey, one hand dancing along the outline of your underwear with a finger hanging over the top of the seam. “Oh, what to do with you.”

He’s such a tease, his ego large and in charge as you’ve long forgotten any sense of game at hand as your eyes pool with only an anguish he can extinguish. “Fuck me, please.”

“Why?” his tone light and airy, his finger hooked around the seam of your underwear as the material leaves your skin

You shiver at the breeze, eyes closed as your weak fist manages to grapple onto some material of his shirt. “Because, I need you and I think that goes both ways.”

The band of your underwear snaps against your stomach as Jack retrieves his hand, head cocked to the side as he considers the weight of your words with a locked jaw. Your teeth are sinking into the plumpness of your bottom lip, nothing but pleading in your eyes as you gaze up at him with all you can muster.

His hand lays against your cheek, thumb automatically caressing the skin - a touch that you not only lean into, but shiver towards. “Get upstairs.”

This is a fairly new playing field for you two - a game of cat and mouse that brings out an unfamiliar side to you, so foreign in nature that you second guess your desires and where your lust leads you. Jack doesn’t allow for any hesitation though, hand in hand with you as he comes into himself too. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips that lift, a soft smile surfacing amongst his features before you’re headed upstairs in a flash, scurrying towards your bedroom with a trail of your clothes left in your wake.

Jack doesn’t take long to meet you upstairs, his pinstripe blazer removed as he unfastens his tie around his neck. He spares you a lingering glance as you lay sheepishly on the bed perched on your elbows, legs ajar as your folds glisten in the soft bedroom light. Jack quickly rids himself of his clothing, slipping his boxers off to reveal his hard on. A comfortable length with all the girth to fulfil you, tip flushed pink as it brims with precum. It takes everything in you not to sink to your knees and fill your mouth with his cock.

As he approaches the bed, he motions for you to turn around and you do so with no questions asked, back arched as you wait in anticipation as you feel the bed dip with his presence. Jack comes up behind you, body so incredibly close yet somehow so far away as his hands make contact with your burning skin, giving the flesh on your back a brief massage. A surprised hum vibrates in your chest as Jack drags a single finger along the dip of your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he adjusts himself behind you, to which you push your ass back against his hard on.

“Stop teasing.” you sound more desperate than intended, cheek squished into your cool silk pillow.

“Can’t admire my girl before I fuck her?” The nonchalance of his tone draws a mewl out of you, your hips jutting as they search for any more contact. “Besides,”

Hands resting against the mould of your hips, one shifts as you feel his cold index finger draw in between your folds, fingertips swirling around your clit. You moan brokenly, body curling into itself. “You’re just here to take it, aren’t you, princess?”

You’re nodding before your brain can even compute his words, humming along to accentuate your point as his fingertips continue to swirl along the shape of your clit. It’s too much and not enough - a tug of war of sorts that makes your hips rock into Jack, an action that at one point, has his tip catching against your wet entrance. A hiss from behind you sounds as you grapple onto the pillow beside you.

Jack’s hand leaves you high and dry, but alias, his patiences dissipates into the night sky as he glides into you in one smooth motion, robbing you of your breath and sanity as your mouth gapes open and eyes roll. Sinking into the mattress, your spread legs accommodate for the snap of Jack’s hips as he starts to fuck you from behind, your back curving as you gladly take everything he’s offering. Face mangled into your hoard of pillows, your fingers cling to the duvet for some kind of security, at the mercy of Jack who pleases you in all the way he knows how.

“How hard do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, maybe genuinely because his strength seems somehow restricted, but you’re keening high in your throat at how filthy his words fall from his rosy lips so easily.

“Harder,” you plead, losing yourself in the pleasure as your one hand shuffles to rub against your neglected clit. “Harder, please.”

And, he obliges, bullying his cock into you as you gasp at the impact. A smack lands against your ass, the supple surface sizzling as your hips retract, Jack’s ironclad grip holding you from escaping any further as his fingers make indents into your skin like notches in a bedpost.

“Hang on,” his pace slows, breath laboured as you feel him pull out of you reluctantly. “Turn around. I need to see you.”

You squirm against the sheets, easily complying with Jack’s wishes that suit you, your body turning as your sweaty-layered back sticks to the duvet. In the dimmed light of your bedroom, you catch a glimpse of Jack, whose wet curls fall in all the right places and how every outline of his well-built body drives you wild. You catch the shallow rises of his chest and the flush against his cheeks and as he tucks stray strands of hairs behind his ears, his hands find purchase at your thighs and draw you closer. It’s when he looks into your eyes, shameless in the pleasure written all over his face as he pushes into you again that you think you could never get tired of this view.

Your walls mould to the shape of his cock, sucking him in entirely as you both moan at the feeling. To add fuel to the fire, Jack decides to unfold your legs and hoist them over his shoulders, the new angle burying him even deeper and bringing you closer to the edge. A huff of amusement sounds from Jack as he peers down at your parted lips, wasting no time in fucking you into the mattress as the bed creaks underneath the pressure. His earlier annoyance rears its head in his movements, unsettled irritation laced in the impact of his thrusts, your cunt leaking all around him as he pounds into you relentlessly. So close in proximity, Jack takes the opportunity to caress your cheek, a sweet gesture as your breath hitches, all before his hand slowly drifts down towards your neck. An affirmative nod from you is he needs to tighten his grip, your brewing orgasm intensifying tenfold as he maintains all the eye contact to make you shudder.

He’s balls deep in you, each hard thrust punctuated by the smack of the wooden headboard against the bedroom wall. You feel him all around you like some wicked embrace: in your stomach, your lungs and around your throat, the snug clasp his calloused hand holds against your pressure points lolling your mouth open, gasping at the sheer intensity stewing within you.

Jack takes the opportunity, wet curls stuck to his forehead, leaning closer as he spits directly into your mouth, as he does onto the ice throughout his games. Something twists violently in you, back arching off the bed as your lips fall close to moan from the deepest parts within you, the taste of Jack on your tongue.

“Taking me like such a good girl,” he praises, your reflection plentiful in his eyes. “If I’d known you liked this, would have done it a long time ago.”

Everything begins to blur at the edges like an old photograph, bliss engulfing you in its heavenly fire as your skin shimmers with sweat and your nails scrape at Jack’s shoulder - a futile attempt to regain control that had been long lost, your bodies movement forgotten as you squirm and shiver all over.

Oxygen courses back into your deprived lungs as Jack releases his grip, burning hand against your cheek as his thumb brushes your cheekbone, catching your fluttering eyelashes. “I got you, baby. Got you, princess.”

“Never been fucked,” a whimper escapes when Jack notches that spongy spot that buries your nails into his skin, “like this. Feels-fuck, good.”

He laughs lightly, pace stuttering yet hitting all the right places. “Love giving my pretty girl what she wants,”

You clench around him, embedding your nails into the flesh of his back as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, gaze scattered. “And my pretty girl wants to come, don’t you?”

He poses the rhetorical question with a mean pinch at your clit before pushing a heavy hand down on your lower stomach, the pressure accelerating you towards your fast-approaching orgasm. The sounds pour out of you like a waterfall, eyebrows furrowed as you plead with begging eyes. “Kiss me?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” he breathes, almost whiny as his hand circles around your nape, your figure floating as your lips collide in a messy embrace, rhythm unmatched as your yearning seeps through your teeth.

Jack captures all your moans in his mouth, the new angle of his thrusts adding to the sloppiness of your wet kiss. The smack of his stuttering hips knocks against your clit in a way that has you seeing beyond, swallowed whole by his galaxy of stars as he gives you one last jerky thrust, teeth nipping at your bottom lip to undo you. Frayed at the seams, you come undone, unravelling in a mess that perfectly matches Jack as he quickly comes after you, coating your walls as your cunt spasms all around him as he rides out his high.

Once Jack’s shallow thrusts grind to a halt, he slowly pulls out a heavy sigh, locking eyes with you as he runs a finger down your sensitive cunt just to get a shiver out of you. Your eyebrows knit, a flare of annoyance mixed in with fatigue written across your face that draws a humoured snicker from your boyfriend. He collapses down next to you, a kiss pressed against your cheek before you both aimlessly stare up at the ceiling.

Amusement tugs at the corners of your lips. “You should get angry more often.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.” agrees Jack, laughter making its home between you two as nothing but sweetness lingers in the air.

“Come on,” he urges, his hand nudging yours, body prying itself off your bed as he goes to stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#jh86 #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #nhl smut #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #residenthughes

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bunji-enthusiast · 10 months ago

Note

Hope you're doing well!! Please take however long you need to get your creative juices flowing <333 may I order a Dogday recognizing Poppy's Angel is actually the former Playtime Co. employee he and many others came to love and cherish due to their kindness? The reader is THAT employee that others envy, many of the toys LOVES them and prefer to be taken care of by them.

Maybe the reader had found out the sinister nature of the company but is understandably afraid to speak up about it as they realized their old co-workers maybe weren't just fired or " quit " out of thin air after all... Perhaps something happened behind the scenes that made the reader " quits " ( Maybe they could be threatened but by a lot of pleading and bargaining, they're spared but has to keep their mouth shut and never come back, otherwise... )

The toys are devastated, angry and just lots of mixed emotions. The reader feeling more and more guilty as they venture through their once happy place and having to harm the ones they once swore to care for.

The rest is up to you! Please again, take care and take your time, all the best in everything <333

I'm So Sorry

Note || oh my hearttt the angstttt, lovely to write this as always. In the form of head canons if that is alright? ^^

WC || 1,035

Sypnosis || you knew otherwise, presumably what went on. You just didn’t mean to harm those around you.

Being aware of something most employees where not had dug you a thorough grave, you didn’t want to leave your beloved friends in the toy factory. A factory misconstrued on a basement of lies and futility you may as well be well over with, and bury it in the ground. Yet, bury in the ground they did.

Your superiors had learned of your knowledge of these things, and began sending letters. Bit by bit, they had only started off by threatening you; telling you to keep quiet. They didn’t want their precious reputation to be ruined by the likes of you. Still, you continued to stay, you didn’t want to leave your loved ones. All the friends you’ve come to love, eventually becoming like family for you.

You weren’t deaf nor blind to what the superiors at Playtime Co. do, quite literally you’d have to bandage your eyes or plug your ears to ignore all that was happening behind the scenes, you didn’t let it fall on deaf ears however. Eventually soon enough it was eating away at you to actually just quit, just straight up disappear from Playtime Co.’s eyes.

Among the many toys; Huggy, Kissy, Mommy, and Poppy, hell even CatNap began to wonder where you went. Why did you flat-out depart from working at the Factory so suddenly? One day you were visible and present, the next you had not shown up. Oddly enough they soon had gotten their answer when the Hour Of Joy had occurred, Huggy Wuggy had come across your paper of termination when he had taken upon himself in the act.

So long ago, that was a decade past you left that life behind. You really wished you would have granted them goodbyes before you had gone, yet it seemed you got that chance to do so when you received a paper in the mail that had appeared to be from your co-workers. Word for word you could remember reading, everyone thinks the staff disappeared ten years ago, we’re still here. Find the flower.

The only reason you even had to come back to the factory in the first place was because of the guilt easily overwhelming your logic, you needed answers. You needed to know what happened to your co-workers and all the toys you cared deeply for, yet you had an overwhelming suspicion you really knew what happened to all the staff in Playtime Co. you simply just weren’t present for it. Having technically already left.

Seeing Huggy Wuggy on the pedestal again brought back some memories for you, he was certainly a hoot. In a way, you really liked him along with the rest of the toys. He was certainly a unique one out of the few–especially along with Kissy Missy. You thought they were a cute pair together, Kissy always managed to calm his murderous tendencies and Huggy was always someone you can count on for a good hug if you ever had a bad day.

Killing is not something you would ever dare think of doing, it was simply not in your mind or blood to do so. So why did you have to resort to killing Huggy? You silently wept, having no time to grieve for him properly as you had to trudge on along to the flower.

Poppy was the last person (or toy, ahem) you expected to find in that case you came across. Now you find yourself in the game station, seeing her get pulled away like that right after she offered to give the code to you had you on the steels of your nerves, you were immediately very close to being in an angry mood.

Now you had to deal with Mommy’s antics, you felt for her, but you certainly wouldn’t want to go through the trouble of trying to get the code from Mommy. Least of all having to resort to killing her, as she would not listen to your words. Convincing her was impossible to do, trying to make her remember you was a whole different story.

Crap.

Why’d she have to go in a rage? Now she’s dead too, and what in the seven circles of hell did she mean by “HE’LL MAKE ME PART OF HIM! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” You shudder when a mechanical hand comes to pull away Mommy’s corpse, you mentally make a note that is the Prototype. As you’ve come to learn the name after you had scavenged Elliot’s office.

Soon you learn what Mommy had meant, arguably enough you were angry that Poppy had derailed your only train to get out of Playtime Co. but your heart had ached too much to not finish what you started. Now CatNap was hunting you while you ran around in Playcare, you just never expected to see such an untimely sight that nobody should be put in.

DogDay was hurt, real bad. His legs were severed, he wasn’t long and limber like you remember him to be. His life seemed to be completely drained and sucked away from him, you wince when he moved, movement appeared to be harsh to even put energy into. Your heart bleeds for him, yet you are surprised when he actually recognizes you from before, all those years ago.

“Angel, you! Y-You're the one that cared for so many of us.” You nod, parental instinct already kicking in to free him from his belts from which he hung from. DogDay doesn’t deserve a fate like this, not then and especially not now. “You don’t need to, leave me here.”

“Oh hell no, you need to live.” You refute, shushing him before DogDay begins to protest. You sigh in relief once he finally is free, as selfish as it may be, he hadn’t ever attempted to kill you. You wanted someone with you that actually remembers you and doesn’t try to gun for you the moment you even step into the vicinity.

Gosh, you really hoped to get this over with. Guilt weighing heavily in mind as you had to kill so many toys, so many that you cared for.

At Least it meant to be in the name of self defense.

Right?

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime angst?#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime huggy #poppy playtime x reader #all the stuff

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 3 months ago

Note

Hiiii!!!! Uuhh sorry I get a bit awkward to approach new people but oh my god I needed to say that I absolutely love your work!! Im truly a fan!! Your Fierce Deity fics bring me to life and I cant stop thinking about it <333

Not sure if this idea is interesting enough but I cant stop thinking about it and I thought you could maybe like it!!

I keep thinking about Reader talking with the Fierce Deity's mask (imagining he still sealed in the mask) like he was physically there, just rambling. We could show him the sky and the grass, mundane things, talk about our thoughts and ask questions to him, like what is it like to be a god and if he is happy with his life.

One question that also pops a lot in my mind is asking what gods thought of humans or maybe, what he thought of them, of us!! Ofc he doesnt respond bc he is inside the mask but then one day he is off of it and he remembers each and every question we ever asked, and is willing to answer them all NFKENFKWFKWKKFKWKDKW

Its just an idea, you dont really have to do it, but everytime I think about it or Fierce in general, I cant help but also think about you <333

Im really glad I found your work!! I hope we can be friends!! :DDD

I wish you a lovely day my little leaf!! Toodlessss 🍃🍃🍃

𖠰 Woods 𖠰

Okay first of all, this idea this absolutely amazing!! I'll have you know I was practically VIBRATING with excitement while reading this! You have no idea how stoked I am to receive asks like this, so do not feel bad at all for sharing! Also what we're literally already besties <3

Man In The Mask

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): N/A

Masterlist

What are you?

It was a question the Fierce Deity had heard a thousand times, often accompanied by blood and blaze: a question of those he protected... and those he did not, whispered on the heels crimson-dripped lips and frightful eyes. He was a god of war, and thus not one to engage in the folly of mortals. Orders were his foundation, and steel his soul, wrapped in a righteous evil that not even the goddesses could bear to gaze upon.

Which is why he felt nothing short of hedonistic when it fell from the lips of the paltry mortal's holding the wretched mask that trapped him centuries earlier. Voice soft and eyes softer, touch featherlight on the chipped edges of his prison. There were thumbs on the apples of his 'cheeks', and the deity was caught between rage and sorrow. Tumultuous emotions were not his strong suit, and neither was restraint, from the way things were looking.

He didn't need to stand before them to feel their weakness, as was typical of most humans, but there was an ember in your eyes that seemed to burn with a light he didn't dare remember, shining like a beacon in the night.

"I wonder who painted you," the human, you, mused, stroking again over the half-glossed finish of the mask. Gentle, comforting, and utterly indecipherable to the deity inside. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

Why... Why was that relevant? Never in his wildest thoughts had the Fierce Deity expected Time to intrust his 'care' to a human, much less you. His very existence was a burden; how could a so-called hero willingly place something so... so destructive in the hands of, well, he considered you quite innocent to the tribulations of war and bloodshed and sorrow.

But what could he do but wait, snug under your arm, as you prattled on about anything and everything. The notion that you were naive enough to talk to a mere mask, of all things. Had you no sense? No discretion? It was a question he often asked himself, though only because there was no one else to answer.

That didn't stop his dull wonderings on whether you would ask such questions if he stood before you in the flesh. Would you cower? Fight? Flee? Perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove himself right once again.

***

The Fierce Deity mask weighed heavy in your hands as you plodded down the small path towards home. A thick forest bordered you from the east, while a blooming prairie stretched as far as the eye could see from the west. There was no doubt in your mind that you were incredibly lucky to live where you did, a fact that was only exemplified by the nine heroes that had crashed into your life (and living room) through a portal that looked straight out of Coraline or some shit.

Never in a million years would you have expected Time, the distrustful forest child he was, to entrust anything to you, much less a mask that supposedly held the spirit of one of the greatest entities of his world, but you supposed it was only proof that miracles did still exist. Maybe.

Either way, you had taken up the mantle of caring for the mask, and there was no way in hell you were going to screw up. Not that Time would let you, the worrywart, and you were only just beginning to catch him not staring holes into your back.

Chronic mother hens aside, it didn't take a genius to figure out there was something terribly wrong with the item tucked under your arm. Whether it was the crimson and navy facial markings or innocuous radiation of something akin to evil, you had no doubt that Time's warnings were not in jest.

Despite this, you couldn't quite shake the idea of a soul being trapped inside, well, the mask was practically a prison at this point. And maybe, just maybe, you felt a modicum of guilt at the entity's fate. Had he deserved it? Perhaps. Was it cruel? Without a doubt.

Which is why you found yourself taking the Fierce Deity's mask with you when you went to the store, or the library, or simply for a walk in the forest, tucked in your satchel to protect from prying eyes, though you always adjusted the cover so at least one of the eyeholes was free to gaze upon the wonders of your world. It was a small mercy that you were willing to afford, one that quickly spiraled into conversation with the mask itself. You always had a habit of speaking out loud, and now you, presumably, had an ear to listen.

But it was all speculation at this point; Time had never outright confirmed whether a living creature resided within the painted oak, only that it was imbued with an evil so ancient it could challenge the goddesses. You had stopped listening at that point, muttering 'drugs' under your breath, but there was always hope in your tone when you reminisced about the world around you.

With a sigh, you stopped, bringing the mask to the forefront of your vision, thumbs instinctually tracing the crimson stripes on the cheeks. It was baffling that something so beautiful could feel so wrong in your hands. You desperately wished to uncover the truth, to breathe in the big reveal and revel in the known mysteries of life.

"What are you?" The words slipped off your tongue like silk, right enough that you could have chalked it up to fate. The mask felt warm, basked in the fading rays of the golden sun, and you had the distinct feeling of being watched. The pads of your thumbs stroked the raised cheeks of the mask, disturbing a thin layer of dust, as more words spilled forth. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

It felt strange, talking to the mask as if it was a person, but you were too intrigued to care. If an entity truly resided within, you wondered what he thought of you. Was he impressed? Disgusted? Resigned? You had grown up with the belief that if gods truly existed, their disappointment would be without bounds, but that assumption didn't feel accurate when you stared at the shadowed skin of your palms through the eyeholes.

What horrors had a deity of this caliber seen through eyes of oak... and why were you so desperate to find out?

***

The Fierce Deity was convinced you were either crazy or stupid.

Night had fallen some time ago, filling your small quarters with only the pale light of the moon. His prison sat propped against the contraption you called a 'lamp', facing the bed in which you slept. Your nighttime routine was... unusual, to say the least. In his time, maidens wore long shifts to sleep, while here, you had treated him to the ludicrous sight of what could only be described as the shortest britches he had the displeasure of viewing and a sleeveless rag of a tunic that looked as though you wore it to a scuffle with a large animal, not to mention the sheer audacity you had to undress before the mask without regard for decency. Had the Hero of Time not informed you of his status in this wretched prison, because it was as though you had forgotten or simply didn't care at all?

Whatever the case, it was with much dread that the Fierce Deity only found himself more attracted to the mortal cursed with his care. Your life was, at most, mundane, yet you spoke as though every day was a great adventure, in a tone that could have inspired countless scribes into a flurry of activity. More shocking, however, was how he could feel himself clinging to your every word, like a dog waiting for scraps. He had been alone for so long, and the reality that a mere mortal considered him, well, mortal enough to converse with was a reality he never imagined contesting with.

But, despite how thrown off he was, there was a certain comfort in the quiet nights you spent together, however inadvertently they came to be. After a life of isolation, he found a purpose in the steady rise and fall of your chest, in the snorting giggles of your laughter, and the way you flipped the edge of your pack to grant him sight, never mind that he was fully capable of viewing the world without it. It was for that reason that the rage in his battered soul waned a fraction, leaving a sliver of room for whatever this was, and the reason his mind refused to release thoughts of your whispered queries, always centered on him, whether it be his health, status as a deity, or happiness.

Farfetched as it was, the Fierce Deity, god of war and blood and death, waited hours for you to wake, unblinking because he would be damned to miss the very moment of your return to the land of the living, the languid stretch your body performed as you groaned softly, rubbing the creases of your eyes with the same gentleness you treated him to. He would study the outfits you wore, committing them all to memory so he could better understand the core of who he considered to be his savior. Maybe then, when he was free, he could begin to repay your kindness–bit by bit, word by word–until distance became more of a myth that him, and your tender warmth could be validated by more than just a paltry mask. Your very breath became his meaning, your soul his muse, and the Fierce Deity was sure he would never forget it.

But in the meantime, perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove you right once again.

I can't begin to express how beautiful this felt to write. The Fierce Deity truly is my muse.

ALSO there will be a part two, so keep your eyes peeled!

#fierce deity x reader #linked universe #introspective #loz fanfic #loz link #existential romance #fierce deity #fierce daddity contests with the reality of someone actually caring about him #linked universe x reader

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karasuno-planet · 6 months ago

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Ti amo, Tobio

Kageyama Tobio x fem!reader

genre: sooo fluffy, sfw

wc: 0.6k

summary: learning Italian to move to Italy with Kageyama!

a/n: my blog has been getting sm love <333 tysm!! Love you all and hmu with requests!! (gif not mine!)

It was nothing short of insane to decide to move across the world with your boyfriend. At least, that's what other people seemed to think. Japan had been a beautiful home with many memories, but your relationship with Kageyama took first priority in your life.

It was the most meaningful thing you could say when you asked you, the immediate yes to move across the globe for his passion served as the highest declaration of your love.

But now it was time to act on it. About a month out from your move, you were caught trying to learn as much Italian as possible as quickly as you could. The familiar chirp of duolingo had become all too familiar in your apartment, as you religiously practiced and watched Italian movies in preparation for the big move.

Language hadn't ever come easily to you or Kageyama, but not being able to communicate in a foreign country was a big worry of yours, despite how often you were reassured it would be okay. But, for once, the studying didn't really bother you. Perhaps it's just the ambition for his sport that had rubbed off on you, but at this point, you would seriously do anything for Tobio.

The familiar rustle of keys in the door sent a wave of relief upon you, as it always did. Soon enough, your boyfriend stood in the doorway, freshly showered after practicing. You smiled and greeted him, and he quickly gilled in the spot next to you on the couch.

"Another Italian movie, huh?" He examined the scene, seeing that you were clearly studying the language.

"Yeah! I've been learning a lot..."

"Really?" He gave you a sideways smirk, his way of communicating a smile despite his awful smiling ability.

"Yes, it's um.. a little exciting, in a way..." you explained, sliding closer to him on the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. You quickly noticed his shoulder being tighter than usual, though. And upon looking at his face, you could see unmistakable traces of nerves throughout his body.

"Tobio?"

He seemed to jolt back to reality, "Y/n?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just, thinking about our move...you know."

You rest your head on him again, sighing, "I know." The move had been weighing on both your minds equally, both with excitement and fear.

"I'm just happy I have you to come with me," Tobio expressed as he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"Me too...and learning a new language has been sorta fun."

"You think?" He turned to you, amazed at your enjoyment of learning Italian, which in his mind was such a tedious thing to do.

"Definitely. Especially when. I get all the enjoyment of showing you what I learned." You leaned into him, whispering, "Ti amo, Tobio..."

His cheeks flushed pink upon hearing it. "Ti amo, y/n. I love you so much."

To hear your voice utter such sincere love in the language you had learned just for him was exactly what he needed after a long day. Though he often felt like a burden for seemingly forcing his girlfriend to pack up and move with his untraditional career, there was something about your constant support that he knew would just scream home to him regardless of where life took you.

thank you so much for reading loves ♡ [masterlist]

#haikyuu #hq #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio x y/n #kageyama hq #kageyama haikyuu #haikyuu tobio #tobio kageyama #haikyuu!!#fluff #kageyama tobio fluff #karauno #ali roma

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ethereal-blossom · 7 months ago

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Dating Victor Headcanons

because the ellis brainrot took a break for victor & i need cybird to feed me more of this grim reaper thank you

MDNI

౨ৎ Victor loves it when you play with his hair, especially after a stressful day. The feeling of your fingers combing through his silky long hair, the times your nails slightly scratch the nape of his neck in the process, and the braiding attempts sure must be the bliss only Heaven brings.

౨ৎ He spoils you absolutely rotten with gifts. If you look at an expensive item for even half a second too long you'll find it in your possession the next day. You could randomly mention there's a book you've been wanting but it's so in demand you can't get your hands on it and this man will pull every single string to give it to you.

౨ৎ Victor admits quite a few times he is greedy sooo... your honor, I say he's easily jealous. You'd think it doesn't extend to your interactions with Crown but it does. Jewel-like eyes capture the moment you give Elbert a gift that the lord deemed beautiful. Of course, Victor loves that you take care of his boys... but now he really wants a gift from you, too, and it's the promise of one hell of a night.

౨ৎ Corruption kink. His pupils dilate when he sees how your pure and shy expression morph into one of filthy lust and desire. It's his mission to let every one of your moans fill the room.

౨ৎ Dom. Even when you're topping or in control you feel like it is because Victor allowed you to do so, leaving the sense that he is still in control. It's not that the Queen's Aide struggles with the vulnerability of the bottom or sub position, but he's very much someone who loves to spoil and take care of the people under his wings. Perhaps, he also enjoys a bit of the power that comes along with being a dom.

౨ৎ Still, he absolutely loves having you ride him! Especially when you're trying to dom him... Aaah, you're just so cute <333 It'll take a lot for this man to be completely submissive so good luck to you, I know you can do it🫡

౨ৎ Get used to tea time because you're going to experience it a lot! Most of them are very spontaneous. You both can be working and as Victor sees you, he instantly feels the incredible urge to spoil and spend time with you. What achieves that better than tea time?

౨ৎ You can walk into a room and Victor's face will immediately beam up. Wide-spread arms and a huge grin will welcome you into every room as long as he's into it.

౨ৎ Calls you "My dear" and "My darling."

౨ৎ Victor loves to give you praise. He's always complimenting you for the smallest things and he's always so soft and patient. This praise reaches the bedroom and if "good girl/boy/preferred pronoun" is your weakness then this man will fully abuse it.

౨ৎ A shameless moaner in the bedroom and encourages you to be the same, but he is especially loud when you're the one topping him <3

#Ikemen villains #Ikevil Victor #Victor x reader #Ikemen Victor #Ikemen villains Victor #Ikevil

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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hi! i love your writings and i love the way that you write sirius black :)

i had an idea for sirius x crybaby!reader smut. sirius has been teasing reader for a bit and he’s trying not to give into them but once they get upset and teary, he just caves and gives them what they want with lots of praise

i hope ur having a good day/night <3

thank you lovely !! i hope you're having a good day/night too <333

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Sirius is perhaps too fond of teasing. He loves you, and he loves watching you need him. He loves watching you squirm and beg and claw at his wrist as he circles his thumb tantalizingly over your clit, an arousing touch but not nearly enough to get you off.

"Please- please! Sirius," You exhale, practically a sob, "Please, Sirius, I- I need more! Please," There's a sniffle attached to the end of your words, and it breaks Sirius out of the half-smug, half-awestruck stupor that he's in as he watches your cunt clench around nothingness.

"Oh, darling," He croons, seeing fresh tears bead at your waterline, "Darling- sweetheart, okay. Okay, I'll stop teasing. Fingers or cock, baby?"

"Cock," You beg, voice thick with tears, "Please, Sirius, 'need your cock."

"Alright," He hums soothingly, crawling over you on the bed with no further hesitation. He presses sweet kisses against your cheeks and wastes no time in lining the head of his cock up with your drooling entrance, pushing into you slow and steady as you writhe beneath him.

"That's it," He hums, moving his lips to your own as you whimper at the mind-blowing feeling of penetration after being so achingly empty for so long, "That's'a good girl, m'sorry I teased you so much, sweetheart. Jus' take my cock now, yeah? I'll make it up to you darling, I promise."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one-shot #sirius black one shot #sirius black headcanon #sirius black headcanons #sirius black hc #sirius black hcs #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black dialogue #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader fanfiction #sirius black smut

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starlostseungmin · 2 years ago

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EMPYREAN PRINCE CASCADES, KSM.

✰ summary: “i am yours even if this is meant to be a loveless marriage between us. no feelings involved, just politics.” — it started with a diplomatic agreement between two kingdoms to stop a war but ended up cascading to a love-driven affinity.

✰ pairing: prince!seungmin x afab!reader (princess)

✰ genre: slow burn, strangers-to-lovers, fixed marriage, mediocre angst, romance.

✰ warnings: profanity, mentions of war, wounds, kissing, not proofread, let me know if i missed something.

✰ word count: 10.2k

✰ playlist — war of hearts (until kingdom come) masterlist collab. ♡

✰ notes: thank you so much @hyunverse for making this collab possible! i enjoyed writing for seungmo’s entry and i hope everyone will love reading each member’s endjng. as much as i want to write this longer than 10k, it is what it is for me tho T-T but i’m really happy that i am part of it! once again, thank you so much. and to the readers, i hope you’ll enjoy the rollercoaster ride! don’t forget to leave feedbacks and reblog! <333

✰ tags: @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

Seungmin stood at the altar, hands clasped below his waist as he watched you walk down the aisle. The Empyrean cathedral was packed with the elites and other royals from the neighboring kingdoms to witness the Princess of Noctifer betrothed to the Prince of Empyreanーeven the townsmen. A sigh escaped your lips as your hands tightened their grip on your bouquet. This marriage was too soon and both kingdoms wanted to rush the celebration. And for what? Treaties of peace, stronger alliance, preventing wars, and improving bilateral agreementsーjust for the sake of politics perhaps?

You were sick of it but at the same time, you were left with no choice but to stand for your kingdom’s well-being. And the smiles your parents are drawing on their faces hold the triumph and success while letting their daughter falls into the hands of someone they don’t know.

The wedding march just comes in and out of your ears. A traditional sound you always hear when you were invited to all the wedding events that happened in the past. They were all arranged marriages, nothing has done it out of love. Royals would say love is an inconvenience to your duties, yours even, but you’ve never been in love. You were just another bookworm who loved to bury their nose between the pages of romance novels hoping for those stories to become your reality. But now that you are stuck with Seungmin for life, your fate started to change the moment you took a step toward the altar.

You don’t know Seungmin, you don’t know a lot of things about him, you may have heard rumors that he is a snob and doesn’t-give-a-fuck type of prince but he is less or more than that. This marriage was made to strengthen the two kingdoms' alliances and fight together in matters of war. These reasons are not new anymore, they are always the excuse to gather wealth and a repulsive sense of power. But you were too independent to be the wife of someone you barely know. Two months wasn’t enough to get to know each other, but you know Seungmin isn’t as bad as what you heard from baseless rumors yet you could feel how cold he is.

“It takes time,” They said. “The Prince is kind,” They said. “The Queen wanted him to marry to have grandchildren,” It made no sense at all.

You don’t hate him, you don’t like him either and nothing is going on even if the priest asked him to kiss the bride. No spark and passion. That kiss you shared on the altar was just for show. A way to fool everyone that you were good and Seungmin felt the same. Nothing. Both of you admit that it was hard to pretend and force yourself to follow the things you were and weren’t supposed to do. He couldn’t even flash a smile or hold your hand unless necessary. It hurts your pride and ego to stand beside him, but who are you to complain? Both of you agreed to do this in the first place anyway.

The candles burned as the black smoke escalated in the air—quiet. Sounds of crickets from the open garden outside and the wind casually enter your shared bedroom. You sat quietly as Seungmin was reading a letter from the parliament. He should be paying attention to you as a husband and wife, but there he is, covered with focus and thoughts as the words echo inside his head from the paper. It was hard to pretend that you are not hurt when you are not heard. You believed that ignoring each other would be easy in the sense that you’ve got no romantic feelings involved, but the fact that he is supposed to be a loving husband who pays attention to his wife. At least getting to know each other more.

“It’s already bedtime, Your Highness,” You spoke as Seungmin sighed, rolling the paper.

“Let’s not do this,” He said, sitting beside you on your shared bed for the first night. “I know you are not comfortable,” He added.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” You said, looking at him but Seungmin couldn’t even spare you a look. “Can you at least lay with me?” You asked.

“No need,” He sighed. “We’ll get a divorce after 2 years anyway, you won’t have to pretend that you care.”

“Because we’re in this situation? I’m still your wife, I have the very right to care.” You retorted but your husband just shook his head in response.

“Good night Y/N,”

Seungmin left the room leaving you dumbfounded. It was supposed to be your honeymoon right after the wedding celebration. The royal servants have prepared a place of your privacy and expected a night full of passion and love, yet both of you loved to disappoint everyone else and listen to your feelings. But still, you were going to try, for the sake of this agreement. And there he disappeared. He doesn’t care and you just heard the doors of the room shut as his footsteps faded in the hallway. Only a sigh escaped from your lips and took the candlestick from the table, blowing the flame away.

Being distant from each other cascaded almost every day. You are often found in the library reading books, sometimes in the garden taking strolls with your maids tailing you, and rarely at the study. Seungmin doesn’t pay attention, maybe he trusts you a bit with intelligence and is dependent when it comes to politics. But who cares about politics when your husband wanted a divorce after 2 years? This marriage is also political from whatever angle you may want to look at.

Many people believe that falling in love in this type of situation is accurate but dealing with this is the opposite of being written in a fairytale. You believe that they only exist in books and are never written in real life. People consider themselves lucky when they get to experience what falling in love feels like in a genuine manner. But risking your freedom for a loveless and political marriage is a whole different story.

It holds the agreement: “I am yours even if this is meant to be a loveless marriage between us. No feelings involved, just politics.” You admit that it hurts your ego to jump into the well. The possibility of falling in love is crucial in this type of scenario especially when Seungmin doesn’t give a shit and you just try to be what you are supposed to be—the new Princess of the Empyrean kingdom and the wife of the only heir to the throne. But sometimes, you wish it was more than that.

It was the usual Thursday afternoon where you are sitting on the couch inside the library disregarding the fact that you have to study the negotiations of Seungmin’s kingdom. Reading novels is a force of habit and you are always entertained which is disregarding the fact that you need to study.

The big windows allowed the afternoon sunlight to touch the marble floor as they reflected on the glass making rainbows and shapes. It was pretty to look at and it added to the mood of your imagination. You know Seungmin loves to read, but his interest in books is highly different from yours, from the genre to the authors and use of vocabulary. He’s a little bit picky about it. But then again, why would you care about the smallest detail about him when you don’t even matter from his perspective?

Only a sigh escaped your lips as the thought of him crossed your mind. Living inside the Empyrean Chateau—where you decided to stay after the honeymoon—for the last couple of weeks seems heavy and dull. The routine keeps on repeating itself every day and you rarely see Seungmin around. He doesn’t share the same room with you anymore and at the same time, his duty is in the palace of the King and Queen. It’s peaceful, somehow but you would still feel the loneliness inside despite the presence of your maids and the other workers around. You weren’t supposed to think about Seungmin when he’s not around but as a wife, you need to mind your commitment.

Flipping a page on the book, you heard a knock outside of the library which had caught your attention. It doesn’t happen every day, but then you sensed a familiar presence that envelopes the Chateau.

“Come in!” You said, placing the bookmark in between the pages and standing up to place it back on its respective shelf.

“Your Highness,” Your maid greeted with a respectful bow. “The Prince has arrived,”

“He’s home?” You asked. “For what reason?”

“He wants to see you,” The maid answered. It is probably about business. You thought because that’s the only thing that runs this affinity.

Dismissing the maid with a polite thank you, you headed outside to meet your husband at the hall. His hair is disheveled from the strong wind, gushing outside but his outfit remains neat. You stood a few meters away from him as his eyes darted on the big portrait of you and him wearing your wedding attires being displayed at the center part of the wall—it would be the first one to see the moment you enter inside the Chateau. He is dashing and debonair, the type of Prince who is pristine and has a good reputation, minus the attitude or maybe that’s how he is treating you differently than anyone else.

“Your Highness,” You called and executed a bow as Seungmin turned to face you.

“Y/n,” He said, monotonously.

“How was your visit to town?” You asked, flashing the most patient smile you have.

“Good,” He started. “How is everything in the Chateau?” He asked out of nowhere which is not his manner when it comes to you.

“Good,” You answered vaguely as he gave a nod in response. But to be very honest, Seungmin doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe he decided to come home to inform you about the news he had heard this morning from the court or not. He probably wanted to see you out of nowhere, well, he doesn’t know.

“Would you spare me a minute? I have something to say,” He said.

“I am listening, Your Highness,” You said.

“Stop with the formalities, just call me Seungmin,” He answered as you smiled gently.

“If that is fine with you?” You asked as he shake his head.

“I insist,” He answered again. “It will be a little odd for a wife to call their husband so formally. This will stay for quite a while, Y/n,” It was weird.

“Alright,” You smiled as you go along with it. “What are you going to tell me?”

“Shall we take a stroll by the garden first?” It was new.

For the past two weeks of almost ignoring each other, Seungmin’s attitude today seems different. The next thing you knew, you were both walking on the aisle watching the flowers bloom in the middle of summer. Roses are red, the lavender swayed with the air, sunflowers are standing tall and others made it healthy and lively. Seungmin fell silent as his hands were placed behind his back as he walked with you. No words were exchanged as you waited for him to speak up.

You tried to observe him more as you indulge the silence you’d shared. His side profile is so beautiful, and how much more if you get to see the wholeness of his beautiful face? You don’t want to fall for his physical beauty yet you can’t help but admire him. It is dangerous to fall for looks but you admit you like the fact that he is a bookworm too. And as you had thought a while ago, getting to know Seungmin for the past two months wasn’t enough.

“There’s chaos happening at the Western border of Empyrean. Terrorists from the Seraphina Empire wanted to cross our borders and raided a part of the town.” He started. “My father wanted me to go with him to settle a negotiation but I think I will be fighting for the war.”

“Didn’t Noctifer deployed enough soldiers to assist?” You asked. You knew the chaos in the Western border but Seungmin coming with the King to fight for peace is should be not surprising but you felt the opposite. There is a part of you that you don’t want him to leave even if you barely see him around.

“Your kingdom has deployed enough,” He answered. “But I still need to go. I have to provide aid and temporary homes for the victims. Might as well learn something to expand my knowledge and combatting skills.” He sighs in between. “It’s a hustle,”

Your eyes didn’t leave his face. The expression he’s been giving is a serious one which made you hooked while listening.

“When are you leaving?” You asked, studying his features.

“In four days,” He sighed again. “I need to stay here to think. Will you be alright?” He asked, looking at you. It was your chance to look away and distract yourself from looking at the flowers. Yes, I will be fine, I am used to being alone in this place without your presence and why are you suddenly worried? You didn’t answer for a while, you don’t know what to say. Seungmin, leaving for a war? You don’t know when he will be back.

“I will,” You smiled.

“I mean, will you be fine having me around or when I’m gone?” He asked again, halting to look at you.

“I mean, you don’t even care about me so what’s with the question?” That was rude. It was a straightforward question, but you were just being honest. How on earth would Seungmin ask about it? He never cared in the first place. You could clearly remember what he said the night after your wedding. Getting a divorce in 2 years after everything is just stupid nonsense. But Seungmin stood there in silence.

“I just wanted to know,” He said after a few seconds.

“It doesn’t matter Seungmin,” You said as he nodded in agreement. It was awkward for both of you. Getting married without feelings is already hard enough to deal with. The context is empty but with one purpose, politics. “We just have to deal with this and convince everyone we’re in love,”

“It’s childish,” He smirked. “I’m not one for those,”

“Me too,” You said. “But there’s nothing wrong with putting in some effort, right?”

Seungmin looked at you as if you were a mad woman and you met his eyes. True he is not fond of the genre you love but he has a part to play for the sake of this marriage. But your husband shook his head at the statement and gave you a small smile, you didn’t know what for. He understands your point yet he doesn’t want to play pretend to fool everyone in the Kingdom, the fear of commitment is all he could think of. As a Prince, he has other commitments, but to you, it is different, the one that he is unsure of. Pretending to be in love.

“You’re reading too much of that genre,” He said, shaking his head again. “There will be a gathering at the palace the night before I leave,” He said. “Everyone is expecting you to come,”

“I will be there when you need me,” You smiled.

“I guess you will have to deal with me in four days,” He smiled as you gave him a bow.

“I wouldn’t mind,” You said. “So, what do you want to do?”

Seungmin stood in front of his desk reading the reports of the chaos happening inside the Western border of the Empyrean kingdom. He remembered that this situation is quite familiar after rebel groups had messed up with the Kingdom’s sovereignty rights. Noctifer, however, has a large military capacity that the Empyrean needs to solidify their protection. Unfortunately, they were not on good terms. The King offered to marry his only son to the princess to make a peace treaty. The Prince thought it was unnecessary to build such a relationship when they only want an ally when war broke out. But it was basic tradition. Noctifer’s Princess needed a groom, as the higher-ups would say.

It was confusing and hard at the same time. The plan flows for a year after several negotiations and proposals. The two newlyweds were given a couple of months to know each other, but as has been mentioned, it wasn’t enough. You denied it when they said you needed a groom to run Noctifer in the future but the parliament would always make questionable decisions for the sake of power and sovereign rights. It shouldn’t end up this way, but Seungmin agreed with no hesitation even if it was against his will. He didn’t think of any bad things about you. After having to choose Princesses from other Kingdoms to consider as the future queen of Empyrean, none of them tackled his interest. Maybe the thought of ‘need’ have made him impulsive to say ‘yes’ to you.

Everything was awkward as he remembered your promise of loyalty; “I am yours even if this is meant to be a loveless marriage between us. No feelings involved, just politics.” There it goes again. He was amused at the same time, he doesn’t know you and he was curious as to why would you act as if you care about this marriage during the first night. Seungmin didn’t want to think about it but you keep on messing with his head. He learned that women are a distraction to his duties when he was young, he thought love doesn’t matter when it comes to politics, and he thought this marriage would be a waste of time just to preserve sovereign rights but you made an impact.

“Your Highness, are you even listening?” Asked Jisung who happened to be inside his office, talking about the casualties that the invaders have made.

“Pardon me,” He sighed.

“You seemed distracted today,” Jisung added as Seungmin sat down behind his desk, frustrated about the King’s orders. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Seungmin denied. “You are lucky you are not married,” Jisung smirked at the statement and chuckled.

“Your Highness, if this is about the Princess, you two should talk it through,” He suggested as the Prince looked at him in disappointment.

“Do you even know what I’m thinking about?” Seungmin said. “My father ordered me to stay here to spend some time with Y/n and asked if I could bring them to the gathering in three days. They also asked me what I wanted to do,”

“So what did you do?” Jisung asked, intrigued.

“I didn’t have something in mind yet,” Seungmin sighed. “But at the same time, I want to return the favor for saving my Kingdom’s demise,”

“Love,” Jisung suggested as Seungmin gave him that look again.

“Shut up,” Seungmin defended.

“Oh please, it will eventually come your way,” Jisung smirked. “The Princess is brave enough to settle disagreements by marrying you,”

“Y/n is your wife,” “You should spend some time with the Princess before you leave,” “Who knows when will the war ends,” It’s like a chore to follow orders, it has always been since the beginning. Maybe he is too distracted with his chores to forget about you, or maybe you were too busy to give him a chance to know you more. You don’t even treat him like a friend, both of you were just committed to doing your chores. “And who knows if you are going to come back alive?” Seungmin doesn’t want that.

“It feels like I owe Y/n if we put it at that,” Seungmin said vaguely.

“It’s actually you two owe each other for the sake of diplomacy,” Jisung answered.

“You sound smart,” Seungmin said rolling his eyes as Jisung scoffed in disagreement. “Anyway, you are dismissed, say my regards to Hyunjin,”

“Very well your Highness,” Jisung smiled as he stood up from his seat and executed a bow before leaving his office. After a few minutes, you saw Jisung walk past the hallway as you were seeing Seungmin to visit him. You as well received a report about the Noctiferian soldiers who deployed the other day to accommodate the inefficiency of Empyrean defenders. The war between Seraphinian terrorists and the Empyrean Kingdom has extended to the southwest border. Casualties expanded, lives were taken, and the scarcity of basic needsーit was getting worse by every minute. Victims of war have already fled to the South.

You knocked at his door twice before you could hear a faint voice coming from inside. The door opened gently as you enter with grace. Seungmin seemed frustrated the moment you came in, probably because of the war going on or the thought that Jisung left.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” You greeted.

“Good morning, Y/n,” He greeted back. “Now what did I tell you about the formalities?”

“I apologize,” You giggled. “But I’m here for the report,”

“Jisung already told me,” Seungmin said. “Have a seat,”

Nodding at him, you took the seat Jisung used earlier and examined his office as well as his condition. Worry is painted in his eyes and the troubled expression he carries made you wonder.

“You seemed distressed,” You said as Seungmin ran his fingers through his hair.

“You can tell?” He smirked. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t seem to me,” You answered. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Seungmin said firmly.

“Alright,” You smiled. “Anyway, I was about to give you information about the situation at the Southwest border but I think Jisung beat me into it. Do you need some time alone? I happened to drop by quickly because I’m still preparing for the gathering in three days,” You continued as Seungmin looked at you.

“You can ditch it today, enjoy yourself at least,” Seungmin said which made you tilt your head.

“For someone who stands firm in his duty is giving me free time?” You smirked.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” He said. “Forget about it for a while,”

“Seungmin, you need some time outside rather than staying in your office ever since yesterday and thinking about the casualties. I know it’s your duty but you’re leaving in three days, so you won’t be able to take a break starting from that,” You said as he sighs.

“Why do you care so much?” Seungmin asked which made you stop in your tracks. But he does have a point. Why do you care so much to make this marriage valid?

“I don’t know,” You answered. “Maybe I just care about you? I mean, you’re not home every day. You’re always thinking about business and politics and I feel so lonely in the study. You know why I’m here, I know why we’re doing this but I just can’t help it. You’re my husband, even if this is a loveless marriage, I’m loyal, and I don’t care about the divorce you were talking about the night after our wedding, just let me do my part. You just told me to ditch this topic so why can’t you? Go out with me.” If you ever did have feelings for Seungmin, it would be assumed that you were confessing your love for him. It will be weird and at the same time, you are trying to avoid the fact of falling for him.

“Do you like me that much?” He asked as you scoffed in response.

“How dare you say that?” You said rolling your eyes. “I just care okay? Do I need to fall for you just to care?” You defended. But fuck, I already did and I don’t know why or maybe I was just lovesick?

“Whatever Y/n,” He said shaking his head, and grabbed the scattered papers on his desk.

“Is that a no?” You asked.

“Yes, and you may leave,” He retorted as he sat on his chair, pretending to read the papers in his hand.

“Fine,” You sighed in defeat. “But just tell the maids if you want my presence or whatever the fuck you want me,” You added rolling your eyes.

“Words,” Seungmin warned.

“Attitude,” You backfired and left his office making Seungmin smile to himself while shaking his head.

The next day, you found yourself playing the harp in the middle of the hall. Seungmin is still hanging around his office while holding a meeting and you were out of the frame. But if you were being honest, you don’t want to mess up the small gathering even if you wanted to play a very important role in resolving this conflict. You already sent Jisung in to raise your concerns and suggestions, afraid of being disregarded. The parliament doesn’t usually listen but you were thankful that Jisung is always ready to take part in it.

The sounds of the instrument traveled through the halls of the Chateau but remained inaudible in your husband’s office. But it was faint and gentle. The maids and other workers stopped by to listen. You were bored in this big household anyway and Seungmin doesn’t want to give any of his time to you even if you already said your purpose. Unsure about the conversation you had yesterday, it was true that you were lovesick and he’s leaving in two days. It would make you feel more lonely. You admit you’re not used to his presence for the past two days but it made the Chateau a little bit lively and made your heart pound for a bit.

A sigh escaped your lips as you stopped playing and headed toward the garden. Seeing the flowers and the fountain in the middle made you feel relaxed other than thinking of your busy husband. You admit you were disappointed that he didn’t go out with you yesterday but you had to understand his situation. Seungmin has a priority and you are just hoping he won’t ruin your night at the gathering tomorrow.

You sat on the flat surface surrounding the fountain as you indulge in the fresh breeze of the wind, admiring the view of the garden. It was wide enough for your brain to relax but the thought of Seungmin is locked inside. It’s not like he did something to make you fall for him, maybe caring about him too much has carried the feelings. You are not wrong basically or probably it’s because of his looks and how he portrays his expression and attitude to the point that you don’t even understand what you were thinking.

Seungmin dismissed his company and asked the maids where have you gone. He just missed your musical performance. It was a hectic afternoon anyway and he needed the time to breathe. He had to fix his looks before taking a stroll to the wide garden and looking for you. Seungmin knew he have to be formal with the meeting, a white blazer, white polo inside, black pants, and belt around his waist, his bangs parted, and he looked dashing. But you didn’t see it after he was out looking for you.

“Why is my wife alone?” You heard his voice.

“Haha, funny,” You said rolling your eyes and turning around to face him. Dashing as always that it made your jaw drop. You didn’t want to be noticeable but that’s how Seungmin’s visuals affect you, other than his other qualities. He is smart you admit, yet the attitude is kind of snob and cold just like how he had treated you in his office yesterday.

“What?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” You retorted. “You don’t have to be so formal in this household,”

“I had a meeting with the parliament, Y/n,” He said as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Why are you out here?” You asked.

“To know if you were here, I asked the maids where you’ve been,” He said, taking a few steps and sitting beside you. “You should be inside the meeting instead of Jisung, your ideas would’ve been elaborated properly,”

“I don’t like those gatherings and I already told Jisung what to do,” You defended. “How did you like them?” You asked, looking at him. Damn it, why is he so overwhelming?

“Well since it’s about resolving the conflict, you suggested bilateral agreements and military support. I agree with the military support Y/n, but are you sure about the bilateral agreements? These are rebelsー”

“Seungmin, you can always talk to the Seraphina Empire about that,” You said. “The rebels came from that kingdom and I’m sure they’re playing their part too, but for the sake of peace, you need diplomats to talk to them and make negotiations right?” Seungmin suddenly smiled as you gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

“I told you, you should have gone inside instead of Jisung. I get your point, I’ll send diplomats tomorrow morning to Seraphina,”

“You didn’t think of that earlier did you?” You smirked at him as Seungmin laughed.

“I did. I’m not stupid,” He said.

“I didn’t say you are,” You retorted.

“Of course, you didn’t,” He answered. “Do you want to go somewhere? I don’t have schedules for the rest of the day so I thought we could spend some time together?”

You looked at him once again smiling at the statement, “I thought you will never ask,”

Seungmin smiled at you in return, “I gave it a thought of what you have said to me yesー” But before he could say something, you pulled right out of the garden and dragged him out of the Chateau.

“I have something to show you,” You said. “It’s not much but it’s beautiful as if you are inside a book. It’s so calm in there,” Seungmin stayed quiet but he is amused by how adventurous this was even if it was just inside the kingdom. It was a bit far from the town and you, holding his hand felt so special. He admits it was the very first time you agreed on something, the time where he gets to spend with you that it’s not about politics and marriage. It felt easier to breathe this time and maybe all you need is to get close to disregard the tension caused by this arrangement.

Walking with you away from the crowd and headed towards the hills had him thinking. Seungmin knows every place around the kingdom but never the secluded ones. He may have missed the beauty of what’s beyond the mountains. You stopped walking when you reached the grass field with small purple and yellow flowers growing in wide spaces. Tall trees cascaded to the slope. The view of the mountains is visible from afar and he could identify the north and eastern borders. It was beautiful scenery and the sun setting adds to its beauty. Seungmin was fascinated.

“How did you find a place like this?” He asked. “I thought you like to stay inside the Chateau,”

“Just because I don’t go out that much I have a limited knowledge of these kinds of places,” You retorted. “Besides, I found it even before our wedding, I just didn’t get the time to come back,”

“It’s beautiful,” He smiled.

“You haven’t been here before?” You asked, looking at him not realizing you were still holding his hand.

“Maybe I did, I just don’t remember,” He said. “And now that you showed it to me, I guess I have a reason to come back here often,”

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” You scoffed. “You’re welcome by the way. Do you want to take a walk?”

“Yes, but please let go of my hand now,” Seungmin smirked as you panicked, quickly shoving his hand back to him and leaving to a blushing mess.

“I’m sorry!” You said, turning away because of the embarrassment but Seungmin just giggled in return. How on earth did this cold and snob prince become warm? He wasn’t the prince you were talking to about the divorce. Maybe he’s slowly opening up to become friends? He doesn’t have the choice to be mean to you because of this marriage but that doesn’t mean he’s forced when he likes you. And as what has been mentioned, it is easier to breathe now.

“It’s okay,” He said as he sat down on the grass. “Sit with me Y/n,”

You took a deep breath before facing him again and smiled, taking the space beside him. It was warm and bright, the fresh breeze of the wind came gushing around as they played with your hair and swayed with the light materials of your clothes. Both of you sat in silence and admire the beauty of nature. Seungmin must’ve fallen into his deep thoughts while you wonder about him. You shouldn’t think about him too much but his presence and connection with you have pushed it in.

“You’re leaving the day after tomorrow,” You said without looking at him.

“What, are you going to miss me?” He smirked as you snorted in response.

“Of course not,” You defended. “Well, maybe? I don’t know,” Seungmin just smiled and didn’t say anything after that. “I don’t want to decide selfishly but yes, I’ll probably miss you. I mean, we don’t see each other that much around the Kingdom because you are always busy, how much more if you are not here,”

“Are you confessing to me?” Seungmin asked as you smacked his arm lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” But the prince just laughed as you jolted away, leaving the field.

“Cute,” He smiled and stayed there for a while thinking about his fate. You took a stroll down, leaving him but the thought of what you just said to him made an impact. It was stupid, no, maybe it was or maybe not, what the actual fuckー. Shaking your head, you just went back to where he was and sat in silence, letting him have his moment. You know Seungmin has already a lot on his plate, you don’t want to mess him up more.

“I thought you left?” He asked.

“It was an impulsive reaction,” You answered. “Just don’t mind me here, I know you need some time to breathe,”

“Thanks,” He smiled. “Thank you for caring,” You didn’t know what to say after that but it made your heart warm.

The night of the gathering arrived, and only the elites and royals were invited for the send-off. Seungmin was already there, waiting for his wife to arrive. They were enjoying the buffet and champagne, the music was played by an orchestra and the place has an elegant decorations for the occasion. You decided to wear a beige ball puffy gown that shows your bare shoulders, the hems of the silk cloth fall gently on the floor as the person enveloped with it carries grace. It had flowers and spiral patterns designed on it and gems that glow when it captures the light from the chandelier. Everyone was left in awe and mesmerized the moment you arrived at the entrance.

Seungmin's jaw dropped.

He never felt this way during the wedding and never appreciated anything from you except that your efforts of marrying him are relevant to the purpose of why. The Queen had to push his son to approach you after being stunned and wasn’t able to function for a minute. You have welcomed with warm greetings as a waiter offered a glass of champagne.

“Y/n, my dear, good evening!” The Queen greeted you as you bowed at her.

“Good evening Your Highness,” You smiled and looked at Seungmin who was behind her.

“Beautiful as always, my Dear,” Seungmin said, taking your hand before kissing it. It was new to both of you, but it was heart-fluttering and painted blush on your cheeks. You wanted to drink every glass of champagne to lower the panic. He’s been giving mixed signals or maybe it is part of the act of pretending to be in love.

“Dashing as always, Your Highness,” You greeted back.

“Let me steal your wife for a while, I missed their presence in the palace,” The Queen said hooking her arm around yours as she take you away. Seungmin was hesitating but his mother and you already emerged through the crowd. The King is even busier with his allies at the moment and the Prince is left with no one but Jisung, his assistant who also became your close friend.

“Stop staring at Y/n, they’re going to melt in no time,” Jisung scoffed as he took a sip of his glass of champagne.

“I am not staring,” Seungmin defended.

“Liar,” Jisung retorted as Seungmin glared at him.

“Words,” The Prince said as the latter raised his hands in surrender. But it was a fact, he is indeed staring at you. Any Prince will stare at you at how you showed up this evening. Seungmin already acknowledged your beauty but never paid attention to the details until now. You are beautiful.

“Attitude,” Jisung said rolling his eyes.

“What’s with my attitude?” Seungmin scoffed as Jisung sighed in response.

“An asshole,”

“Get out of my sight, stupid,” Seungmin said as Jisung just shrugged his shoulders.

“I bet my position that you are falling in love, but if not, you can fire me,”

“You need to convince me first,” Seungmin deadpanned as Jisung shake his head.

“Whatever, Your Highness,” This was his cue to leave and Seungmin stood there with a glass of champagne in one hand.

You were distracted with his mother and didn’t realize how many glasses of that strong drink you had taken. Maybe five or six? You are willing to have another one or more for sure even if you are already starting to get dizzy at the moment. The conversation is all about Seungmin and how she is going to miss him when he leaves tomorrow, not knowing when he will be back. You wanted to say that you would feel the same with his absence but you hesitated. Even learned that he is having a hard time expressing himself so you had to deal with it for a while. Maybe everyone assumed that this is a love-driven affinity but you two are still trying to build something. Maybe friendship first?

You stood there with the seventh empty glass of champagne and placed it gently on the tray to the waiter who walk passed. “Seungmin is a responsible kid, he is smart, kind, and loving,” “Sometimes you can’t read him and he doesn’t know how to express himself,” “Understand him more,” But you are, he knows that you care and now look at him staring at you from across the hall. His black suit shines with the silver epaulettes adorning his broad shoulders and a white sash that adds to the elegance. He stood tall and firm with that gorgeous face of his. You want to blame the champagne for having weird thoughts and dizziness ーyou shouldn’t have drank too much.

“I’m going to check on my husband first,” The Queen said excusing herself as you smiled in response.

The busy crowd of royals and elites was filled with conversation about politics and relationships. Even the occurring war in the South and Western borders of Empyrean. It is quite weird to impose a gathering about sending off when his men are struggling to fight for the kingdom’s sovereignty. But of course, that is none of your business to mess up with this party. This is for a cause anyway.

You stare at him as you slowly walk in his direction. He couldn’t stop looking at you either and he didn’t know why. Maybe because of how you look or was it the glass of champagne he had or was it Jisung’s words that struck him? He must’ve been drunk, no, he wasn’t, it was just you. You didn’t know what came all over you that you suddenly wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer by the waist in response as your lips met his. It was impulsive but eventually, he kissed you back. A lot has happened, over two months and the past three days, maybe he will miss you.

Yes, he will. His lips tasted the same as yours. The champagne took all over your mouths as you deepened the kiss. It doesn’t matter who saw it, you didn’t care but Seungmin suddenly pulled away as he grabbed your hand, took you out from the hall, and headed upstairs to the balcony where no one could see you. He closed the curtains and the door before turning back and kissing you again. It felt so exclusive when everyone knew about the affair. You pulled him closer as he hugged you tightly to kiss you properly. His head is tilted to the side, indulging the gentleness of your soft lips while tasting the lingering flavor of champagne. Seungmin bit your lower lip, slowly sucking it. A soft sound escaped your lips as he smirked in between taking your lips as a whole. Of course, it is different from the kiss you shared at the altar and this is on another level.

“You had too much champagne, my Love,” Seungmin said, giving you a peck on the lips before pulling away.

“No,” You smiled sheepishly, feeling the dizziness that causes you to lose balance. “I don’t know but—” You paused, almost fainting in Seungmin’s arms but he was quick to catch you. “I think I’m going to miss you,” The prince smiled, pulling you for a hug and burying his face in the crook of your neck. It’s probably because of the champagne. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Yes,” He said, looking at you before placing a kiss on your forehead.

It’s probably because of the champagne…

“You should be careful with your alcohol intake,” You heard him say as he assisted you on his bed, carrying you in bridal style.

“For your information, Your Highness, champagne has only 12% alcohol—”

“How many glasses did you have?” He asked, placing you gently on his bed.

“I forgot,” You answered, feeling drowsy. “The bubbles had me drunk,” But Seungmin couldn’t stop smiling. “You look so cute, I’m going to miss that pretty face of yours,” He just sat beside you as he continued to listen to your babbling. It was cute, he admits. Your hands cupped his cheeks and smiled cheekily as he felt the redness of his face. “I’m starting to feel sleepy,”

“You should go to sleep,” Seungmin said. “You have to send me off tomorrow morning,”

“I don’t want to,” You pouted.

“You’re drunk, Y/n,” Seungmin insisted as you chuckled in response. “Get some sleep,”

“Give me a kiss first,” You said. He did not hesitate to lean closer and gave you a long kiss, making you play with his hair, but it didn’t last long.

“Good night,” He said, pulling away and that’s when you fell asleep. Seungmin stayed awake for a while. The thought of leaving you tomorrow will make him miss you even if your bond only lasted for a few days. It is impulsive, everything happened in a rush, did you happen to fall in love already? Or you were just under the influence of that drink? Seungmin doesn’t know.

He kissed your forehead for the last time before laying on the other side of the bed, anticipating what will happen tomorrow.

You woke up with a headache the next morning and were curious as to why you are in an unfamiliar bedroom. Maybe you have been here before but a hangover struck you like lightning. Seungmin is nowhere to be found, he probably just left and flashbacks started to flood from last night the moment you sat up. You forgot the sunlight that peeks through the thin curtains that drape the tall windows to the floor. All you could think about was the thing that happened last night. I shouldn’t have several glasses of champagne, I don’t have a high tolerance, fuck!

“Your Highness?” You heard a maid knock as she enters the room.

“Good morning?” You greeted.

“Good morning,” She bowed. “The Prince is expecting you in an hour, we need to get you ready,” Then it suddenly sinks in… Seungmin’s leaving this morning.

“Fuck,” You murmured.

“Shall we fix you up?” She asked as you stood up.

“Do what you must,” You said.

An hour passed, and you rushed outside the room and headed towards the hall where the gathering was being held last night. Carrying your dress, you saw Seungmin talking with the Queen as the King stood beside him. All eyes turned to you as they heard your footsteps tapping the steps of the stairs and a smile formed on the Prince’s lips. He remembered what happened last night and probably it was nothing to you. But the impact it left made him feel weird.

“You’re awake,” Seungmin beamed.

“Am I late?” You asked.

“I was about to leave,” He said taking a few steps and offering his hand to assist you.

“Did you sleep together?” The Queen asked.

“Mother, don’t,” Seungmin defended.

“Just slept?” The King smirked. “My son doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,”

“Father,” Seungmin called as the King shrugged his shoulders.

“I must go to the carriage first,” The King said as he excused himself and bowed before exiting the hall, followed by the Queen.

“Excuse my parents,” Seungmin sighed. “Were you in a rush?”

“I was afraid you’d leave without seeing me,” You smiled.

“Was this because of last night?” Seungmin chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” He smiled. “Will you be okay?”

“I guess,” You frowned. “But I will wait for your return,”

“As you should,” He smiled again and kissed your forehead. “I will be back in no time,”

The sounds of the horses from the carriage whine at the sight of the King and Queen made Seungmin look outside as you stared at the floor. A sign of hurry and immediate time. The King already settled inside as the Queen talked to him about a few reminders and the royal guards on standby on their horses both front and back of the carriage for security. Meanwhile, Seungmin examined the scenery outside as you took a deep breath before earning his attention again. You shouldn’t be feeling this way. But then again, the scenarios from last night have changed the shared feelings among each other. From loveless to a slow burn. You may have fallen first for your impulsiveness and the lack of thinking about your actions first. And yet Seungmin can’t blame you. Even if this was a loveless marriage, you had to agree about Jisung’s opinions about falling in love in between. Eventually.

Everyone was waiting for the Prince to hop inside the carriage. He smiled at you and bowed. Neither said a word as he left the hall. You followed him to his vehicle and stood a few meters behind the Queen, unknown of how you should feel on his departure. Seungmin smiled one last time and greeted his mother goodbye but you couldn’t just stand there and watch him leave without giving affection. You ran towards him and gave the most endearing hug, a sign that you would miss his presence around the palace and the Chateau. His promise to come back immediately will remain and you promised to wait for him even if it would take months. The war already reached its worse. Murder and arson, invasion of the town in the West and South, it is dangerous. May God protect your people and the King and most especially the Prince.

“Don’t miss me too much, Y/n,” Seungmin said.

“I already do,” You smiled bitterly as he let out a small chuckle.

“I will write to you, I promise,” He said. “And please handle the parliament for me?”

You could only give him a nod in response before giving a peck on his lips. This is not about a loveless marriage anymore. It may have changed over a few days and you are willing to help him go through this war and wait for him to come back, no matter how long.

“Keep safe,” You smiled and that was the last time you saw him before he disappeared from your sight.

And for the first week, you never heard of him and never stayed in the Chateau often as you used to. You learned to ride a horse during his absence and raise to the field alone, studying more about diplomacy and war. The Queen ruled in her husband’s place and has gotten busier by his efforts. Novels and other fairytales were forgotten in your interest but the thoughts of your husband remained when you arrive home. The emptiness of your place is the same as you walk inside their palace. Distraction never helps, archery doesn’t do either, and studying makes it worse.

You heard from a messenger that Seungmin is doing well in his duty. His intelligent mind is used efficiently on how to stop this chaos, unarmed or with the presence of weapons. He took your advice diligently and sent diplomats to Seraphina to further discuss the matter. The second week has been the same, no letter arrived that conceived your sadness. You miss him. You think of him. The bond that you created just then is enough to feel this way but you don’t know about Seungmin. Does he ever feel the same? Or has he forgotten everything about you?

It’s every afternoon you visit the field with your horse to think about him, despite the responsibilities he left to you alongside Jisung. The latter seems to be more annoying than usual. But the comfort of his words that are devoted to the love of His Royal Highness to you gives you hope. You wanted to hear more than an expected letter to arrive. Yet you still miss him, dearly. Especially when he sent some poppies to your Chateau’s garden as a symbol of remembrance and hope. How could you not fall for such a man? His letter arrived three weeks later and it painted a smile on your face. It made you feel alive for once in the past few weeks, and time flies fast ever since he left for war. A month and a week and counting.

You sat on the flat surface of the fountain in the middle of the garden as you opened the very first letter he sent. Hyunjin arrived just this afternoon, fresh from the five-hour horse ride from the Western border of Empyrean. The man was exhausted as he rested in your chamber and the maids left you alone. Jisung was nowhere to be found since this morning but you are thankful not to listen to his babbling and gossip from town. But it doesn’t matter for now.

My beloved Princess,

It’s been a while since I left home and I miss you dearly. I think about you every day and never miss taking at least an hour to think about what to write. I apologize for taking my time to compose myself and send you a message of my love. A lot has happened in the borders of war but I guarantee my safe return home.

How are the poppies that I have sent? I am sure they bloomed beautifully just like you. The garden probably looks more pleasing with you around. And I cannot wait to see them grow and take care of them with you.

The sunset is lovely today but it will be much better to see it in the field that you showed me the last time and I wish to not worry you as I am doing fine. The Seraphinian rebels have made huge casualties in the Empyrean borders and my men and I are doing our best to protect our home. The war has taken many lives of our people including our man and has abused the sovereignty of our state. It might take a while before I can go home and hug you. I hope you are doing much better than me, my Love and I cannot wait to see you.

Please wait for me.

Sincerely yours, Prince Seungmin

Tears left your eyes upon closing the stationary on your hands. The envelope smells like him and it made you miss him even more and how much more on his side when you are the only one he could think of. Your husband made efforts and fought with his men and his father. He thought that you will be furious when you finds out he brought bruises and cuts to his beautiful face as well as the injuries for being brave. But he knows you are proud. And you always are.

The second letter arrived after almost a month and your hair got longer, got busier and wiser. But the habit of coming to the field every afternoon still remains as well as the war. You worry about Seungmin every day and you wish him to come home. The letters he sent are the only ones who kept your faith stronger than ever. This loveless marriage has already climbed to a love-driven affinity and you wanted to feel more about it once the war is over. Hyunjin has been your messenger and he is always delighted to bring good news that the terrorists from Seraphina are slowly raising the white flag. The Prince might come home soon.

The third letter came two weeks after the second one. You thought he is finally coming home but an ambush happened when they finally invaded the camping site of the terrorists on the Seraphinian border. It will hold him there for a little while. Jisung must’ve sensed your disappointment that he stopped sending a few reports for you to settle with the parliament for a few days. Instead, you went back to reading the novels of your interest in the library but Seungmin keeps messing with your head. You tossed the book on your desk and went out to the stables to fetch your horse. A little afternoon stroll would help you calm down.

It has been days since you read the letter that brought your disappointment and you miss your husband dearly. Nothing beats this feeling of worry when he decided to stay back for another while. And to count the time he’s not around, it has already reached months. The full moon has passed, some of the flowers in the garden have wilted, the sunset that you witness in the field has changed, and the skies suddenly turned gloomy than those days that you are with him. The two months of pre-marriage weren’t enough and even the few weeks after that, the few days before he left and the night when you got drunk and kissed him for the sake of your impulsive feelings.

You sat on the grass as your horse stood a few meters away to feed himself. It made you fall into your deep thoughts and how you miss him so much. The cold breeze of the afternoon had added to the solemn feeling that you felt at the moment. And just like every other afternoon you had spent in the field, Seungmin’s presence never came. You stared at the horizon and admired the mountains as the sun started to set slowly but it is still bright to go back to the Chateau and drown yourself in the study again. Never in a day do you miss him.

A sigh escaped your lips as you straighten the lower part of your sage green gown on the cool grass to sit properly as your hair swayed with the moderate gushing of wind. The flowers that grew around bowed and some of the petals flew south. It was beautiful that you wish that Seungmin could see this. The view had stopped you from reading between the pages of a thick book that tells a story about a widowed queen who lost her husband in a war. You didn’t want that to happen to you too. The angsty vibe it gave made you sullen and hopeless. You know Seungmin will come home any day now and you hope that the war will end at dawn. Patience and prayers are all you have now. It was his promise. The Queen has been as restless as you but she encourages you to be strong. It happened once before you came to be his son’s wife and she is firm that her husband and the Prince will come home safe and sound.

You closed the book and placed it gently on the side as your eyes focused on the view again. It didn’t matter how beautiful it was and all you did is lay on the grass in boredom. You looked at the blue sky as the clouds passed by in a rush. It is probably because of the wind. You grew tired of blaming other things for what is happening in everything and wish to the heavens for your husband to come home. Tired of studying, tired of reading, tired of archery and fencing, tired of expecting his presence, tired of showing fake smiles, tired of being alone, one more bit of this will make you go crazy and stuff.

I will be home soon.

That’s what he said in the last letter you got from Hyunjin.

“Fuck, when will the war ends?” You asked the heavens.

“It just did,” You flinched at the familiar voice coming from behind that made you sit up immediately and look. “Empyrean and Noctifer won the war Sweetheart, I’m home,”

“Seungmin!” You cried as you stood up and dragged your gown, running towards him. His hair grew longer and his wounds are already healed but it didn’t downgrade his beauty. He was wearing his white satin polo and black pants with his belt that carries his sword. Seungmin is breathtaking as always. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled you by the waist to press on his body. His scent is built with fresh flowers and cinnamon. Tears formed in your eyes as they cascaded to your cheeks, the same with Seungmin who missed you so much. His lips captured yours to show how eager he is to be with you again and he couldn’t wait to spend his days with you. The war finally ended. He’s home now and you are happy. “I was worried that it will take you a while to go home,” You cried, pulling away.

“I had dealt with Seraphina to execute the terrorists, we took over the ambush and captured themー” But Seungmin didn’t get to finish his sentence when you kissed him again. Your lips molded together as he deepened the kiss, desperate for more until you were out of breath. “Fuck, I missed you so much,”

“Me too,” You answered in between your sobs. Seungmin’s hands reached your cheeks and wiped your tears away, with his forehead connected with yours. “Don’t leave me again,”

“No, no, I won’t,” He said, kissing your forehead before holding your hands as he intertwined your fingers together. “I’m here now,”

“How did you know I was here?” You asked.

“Jisung told me but I always knew you come here,” He smirked. “You always think of me don’t you?” He asked, fixing your hair.

“I always do. Every day, every morning until I sleep,” You confessed. “I don’t know, I think I have fallen in love with you, even before the night we kissed, Iー” He didn’t let you finish that now and captured your lips again, desperate, again, after the longingness he felt when he was at war.

“I love you,” He said in between the kiss.

“I love you too,” You smiled as he gave you a peck on the lips before pulling away and coming for an embrace, caressing your hair.

“I can’t wait to spend my time with you, Y/n,” Hugging him felt so comforting as you close your eyes, hugging him tightly not wanting to let him go again. Seungmin felt the same. Maybe it is time to make another start where two people fall in love. The end of the war has sent them to their homes and find comfort. Desperate and excited to spend the rest of their lives together is something to look forward to. The Princess has fallen first, but the Prince has fallen more deeply.

Seungmin placed a poppy in your hair before giving you another peck on the lips and smiled. “You’re so beautiful,” He said.

“You’re beautiful too, so breathtaking,” You answered.

“You’re only mine, right?” Seungmin asked before hugging you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and smiled.

“I’m yours,” You said and kissed him again.

Maybe it was because of a drunken kiss that happened the night before left or the way he loves your attitude toward him. There are a lot of reasons to fall in love. Some may happen impulsively but they take time to form into something serious just like how your situation is with Seungmin. But sometimes there are unknown reasons. Maybe you two belong there. It may be confusing, but one thing’s for sure with Seungmin; the Empyrean prince cascades.

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zealofchronos · 2 years ago

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PLEASE dilf!childe or dilf!diluc im starving for them <333

poor anon here is starving for dilf content— and honestly, same.

the lack of older men to take care of sweet things like us is almost criminal, and i think i can fix that :) you have NO idea how long i've been waiting for an ask abt dilfs. i hope this is up to your expectations! feel free to drop another request with more detail. ♡

the older, the wiser ;; dilf!childe , dilf!diluc x gn!reader headcanons

content ;- service doms , size kink , breeding kink , morning sex , slight somno , oral ( chara and reader receiving ) , aftercare

nsfw beneath the cut, minors dni.

have you ever thought about a dilf!childe that likes it a little too much when you say his name? he wants it to come off your tongue like a mantra, repeating and endless as he gives you pleasure just like that. he's whipped for you— and he melts when you call out for him like that. so why can't he just want to hear it all the time? don't worry, nobody else will hear it but him.

what about a tired dilf!childe that simply falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow? he's been doing a lot for you— all so he can keep you here with him. the work, the chores, the cooking even. so, surely, he of all people deserves a nice reward. and the proper reward is a nice wake up call with your lips around his tip. he won't wake up straight away, but with a little effort, he'll be up and pleased by you so easily.

but really, what takes the cake is our family man dilf!childe. one, two, three siblings younger, perhaps some older too? he's been part of a large family his whole life, and the idea of you with his kids is so... enticing. regardless of whether or not you can carry his children, he'll want to spill himself in your deepest parts. he wants to fill you over and over, making sure that nothing spills out. and if it does? then that's another load in you.

or...

let's change it up a little... with dilf!diluc who dotes over you and spoils you rotten. he will see to it that every wish of yours is fulfilled, and he'll keep you fulfilled. he loves to see your face melt as your lips let out breathy noises— all from his own lips pleasing you. the light scruff of his unshaven jaw only adds to the feelings of pleasure that he can't wait to squeeze out of you.

as he comes back from nightly duties into your arms early in the morn, dilf!diluc finds you a beautiful sight to see especially after a night's worth of trouble. oh, how his heart swells to see you there beside him, in his bed, happy and content. but, surely, you miss him, no? his touch, his kisses, his praises. he will make sure that you wake up to his love, his hands between your thighs as he spreads them apart and tries to wake you with his kiss. and yet despite your sweet sounds as you awaken, he apologizes for being hasty, wanting nothing more than you.

it's expected. the ragnvindr clan should have an heir, no? dilf!diluc definitely thinks so. but he won't impose his own ideals into you— his sweet darling. he wants nothing more than you to want it as much as him— even if you may not be able to birth the next heir. what he loves most is the feeling— the feeling of breeding you full. your warmth enveloping him and milking him for all he's worth. he can see it in his mind. you're begging for his cum, wanting him to spill load after load in you as he thrusts in a slow pace. and just how can he refuse when you're asking him so nicely?

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arent-i-the-fairest · 1 year ago

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I can't live like this any longer. PLEASE I NEED YOU TO WRITE NEIGE CONTENT OF ANYTHING PLEASEEEEE

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝟐)

he takes care of you while you’re sick. (romantic)

author’s note : in addition to neige, i wrote hcs for che’nya and rollo! i love these three so much <333

crowley, crewel, and sam ver. of this prompt here!

neige leblanche

“you really called off a photoshoot just to come take care of me? you know you didn’t have to,” you said, smiling softly. neige shook his head.

“oh, i know, i know. but i just couldn’t help myself. the thought of you being all alone while sick just makes me so sad!” he pouts, taking your hands in his. “so i had to come! now, come on and lay down. take it easy and just leave everything to me! i’ll take good care of you.”

he babies you so hard, it’s to the point you almost feel embarrassed. like, he spoons feed you and everything. but he seems no shame in it!

he also decides to take it upon himself to do all ramshackle’s housekeeping and chores for you. (househusband material, honestly.)

no matter how many times you warn him that your sickness is contagious, he can’t resist giving you little kisses throughout the day. so it was no surprise when he called saying he was sick the next day…

“don’t say you didn’t expect this to happen, neige.”

neige only let out a whine and hid his face in the fluffy pile of blankets you brought him. as much as you wanted to scold him for not listening to your warnings, seeing him in such a pitiful state made it impossible.

you’ll save the lecture for later. for now, you’ll be gentle with him, just like he was with you while you were sick.

che’nya

“oh my, you’re not looking too well!” che’nya chuckles, quirking his head to the side as he looks at you. “well, don’t worry. nurse artemiy artemiyevich pinker is here to help you recover!”

you didn’t have the highest expectations when it came to his caregiving skills, but he actually does really well at taking care of you. he’s very attentive when it comes to your needs. be warned though, he will ask you if you’re feeling better like every 20 minutes just to annoy you.

he’ll exaggerate his cat behaviors to entertain you— and maybe to get you to coo over him being cute. he’ll knead blankets (or perhaps your lap if he wants to rest there instead), bump his head against you, and the like. if you had a cat toy, he’d probably play with it. all without feeling the slightest bit of embarrassment too.

“i’ve gotta ask… did you really come here to take care of me, or was this just an elaborate plan to get me to pet you?” you joked as you scratched behind che’nya’s ears.

“oh no, you’ve caught on! i just came for some pets,” he teased back, purring and leaning into your touch. “— just kidding, of course. hehe.”

you chuckle and lay your head against his chest, listening to the calming sound of his purring as you drift off to sleep.

rollo flamme

you got sick from getting hit by several spells. the perpetrators were none other than ace and deuce, whose fight you accidentally got caught in the crossfire of. (they’ve apologized to you over ten times for this..)

with all the chaos that’s been thrown your way so far, you hardly cared. this is just another tuesday at nrc for you. but you know who did care? rollo.

needless to say, he was not happy to hear of this situation. it’s only served to support his resolve of wanting to eradicate magic.

he tries to hide his anger about the context of how you got sick… and he doesn’t do a good job at it. you’ll look at him once in a while and his face will be twisted up in a scowl. or sometimes you’ll hear him muttering under his breath about “vile reckless mages…” and the like.

knowing how no-nonsense he is, you were a bit nervous about being in his care. but he ended up being a lot more gentle with you than you expected! (… he still made you study though. no falling behind in school on his watch.)

just like neige, he took it upon himself to do all the housekeeping for you. and you swear, you’ve never seen ramshackle so spotless. rollo does not play when it comes to cleanliness.

you watch in amusement as ace and deuce desperately try to convince rollo to let them enter your dorm. rollo is not even slightly swayed by their pleas, standing his ground on not letting them step foot in ramshackle.

“you two are the reason the prefect is ill in the first place. you’ve proven yourselves to be dangerous. i will not take the risk of letting you miscreants in and causing any more trouble for them.” rollo glares down at the pair, getting ready to shut the door on them. you quietly laugh at how protective he’s being.

you walk over to rollo, gently pulling him away from the door to let ace and deuce in. “come on, rollo. let them in. i’m sure they’ll be on their best behavior, especially with you here watching them like a hawk.”

rollo sighs and finally relaxes. “hmph… fine.”

#gn reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #neige x reader #che’nya x reader #rollo x reader

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hwajin · 5 months ago

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✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 𝐇 𝐈 — 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 !! : a series

☆ — chapter three; Touch Me, I'm Sick :

✞ 「 .✶۪ : see series masterlist and general warnings here

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter word count: 16.3k

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter warnings: lots of angst, smut (nothing crazy, protected sex and making out, etc.), cheating!!!

author's note: losing motivation for this AS WE SPEAK but this is my fav chapter i've written so far!!!! i hope you enjoy <333

It was the middle of August, but Han felt almost cold when he awoke – his blanket had fallen to the floor throughout the night, leaving him with a lack of protection and a vulnerability so sudden he shivered, despite the warm morning. It could have been the tiredness, causing his bones to feel like icicles – he hadn’t slept well at night. He had barely slept at all, if he was brutally honest. He had come home the previous evening, ashamed and torn apart, in two, to a house dark and quiet. Initially, he had wondered if you’d come home at all after storming out of rehearsals, or if you were staying over at a friend’s house – he wouldn’t have been able to blame you. But then he had caught a glimpse of your keys in the little bowl by the kitchen counter, bought by you at a flea market for less than it had been worth, and your old, dirty shoes carelessly discarded on the way to your room – closed, shut off from him. He hadn’t dared to knock, hadn’t even come close to the door. Instead, he had locked himself in his own room, had left the lights off. He had sat on his bed, soft cushions beneath him granting comfort he hadn’t believed to deserve – and he had felt a tear running down his cheek, then another. He hadn’t dared sob, had cried silently. He had been missing something, last night, something crucial, and he had felt it in every fibre of his body. The house too dark, too quiet. Your absence, your silence – it had been nagging on him, still was, the next morning. Your coldness, albeit an understood one, and the pain his own foolishness had caused had been horrible company for him, two guests he hadn’t welcomed yet couldn’t seem to get rid of. So he had sat with them, had entertained them – had let them entertain him.

Han hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his words during practice ever since he had uttered them – all of them. Everything he had said the previous day had been painful, directed to hurt you, stemming from a place of hate, or jealousy, or pure and immature confusion. Like a kid, saying something it doesn’t mean, merely because it doesn’t have any other words yet, because it doesn’t understand. Han didn’t feel too different from that – a kid, naïve, dumb. Lacking knowledge, about everything, it seemed. About himself, about friendship, emotion. About love, perhaps; he felt as though he knew nothing. And in his inanity, he had hurt you. You and himself, both – because both of you bled the same, both of you suffered if one of you did.

He had thought about it the entire night. What if it was irreversible? What if he had screwed up for good, with no chance of reparation? What if that was it – what if the two of you would never be the same anymore? He had remembered, last night, your sudden beauty – or his sudden realization of it. It still estranged him, the next morning. And it angered him, too – he had greater problems to think about, why was your face, detailed and pretty in the way it looked, a constant, reoccurring memory? He’d had all the hours in the night to understand and make sense of it, and still it hadn’t been enough – he was as clueless about it as he had been the previous day, in the studio. You had been beautiful – you were beautiful. Nothing strange, per se; of course you were. He had always known, really, if he thought about it. You had always been pretty, and while he couldn’t deny it, he couldn’t remember ever caring for it; not truly. You were pretty, had always been – but there had been something potent, something charged when he had noticed it yesterday, in particular. When he had looked at you, and had felt as though your beauty had had the ability to knock him over; and you hadn’t looked much different than usually, in the first place. A tad more dressed up, maybe – but Han, over the hours of the night, had started to doubt that it had been your exterior which had caught him so very off guard, altogether. Ironic, he was aware, and maybe he was wrong. Maybe the very and only reason for his enlightenment was the fact that you had been, simply, dressed up – or maybe it had been your eyes, the air all around you, an aura you carried. An aura he had only then noticed, something about you suddenly so palpable he hadn’t been sure what to do with it, had been scared of it. Maybe that was the reason he had been so mean – because he hadn’t known what else to do with himself.

Had Han only noticed now, though? This apparent aura, this beauty? What if he had felt this way before, just never had had a reason to act on it – then again, what was it exactly he was feeling? It couldn’t be a crush – he’s had crushes before, and he’d argue they felt different to whatever it was that made his heart expand to measures so uncomfortable in his chest he feared to pop on the inside, like a balloon blown up too eagerly.

What was it then, if not a crush – if not love? He didn’t quite feel like the people they made films about and wrote songs for. He didn’t feel butterflies in the pit of his stomach; it was something purer, something scarier. A feeling deep and tremendous – like hot embers, daring to turn into fire if ignited, with no water in proximity to extinguish it. That’s what he felt when he thought about you – danger waiting to come, hiding yet but deadly if lured out of its’ den.

Han realized that you were gone when he started to get ready. On his way to the bathroom, he noticed your missing shoes which he hadn’t picked up last night, had left them laying where they did. Your keys were gone, too – he wasn’t used to quiet mornings, and the missing piece within him gaped open anew. He ate his breakfast beaten, miserable, left it unfinished. He dressed carelessly, tried to tidy his mess of hair – his roots were grown out black, he needed a touch up, he was starting to look ridiculous. Questioning if he should simply dye his hair black altogether, to save himself – and you, his designated hair stylist – the time and effort he left the house, a little too late for his first period, but in time for the first rehearsal. To say he dreaded it wasn’t only an understatement; it bordered on absurdity.

When Han stood before the studio door, he didn’t open it for what felt an eternity. Cigarette in hand, he pulled on it again and again, inhaling the husky smoke to calm his nerves before facing you. For a second, he hurt, sharply – the very thought alone that speaking to you, looking you in the eye would be burdensome was like a dagger through him, and he shook off the feeling momentarily. Then a greater pain shot through his veins – the very reason he dreaded seeing you was himself. Han was long past the point of trying to blame you for any jealousy or frustration he was feeling; he could be as little a fan of Chris as he was, he hadn’t had the right to talk to you the way he had yesterday. There was no shifting the blame, no perspectives; he alone was at fault for the icy atmosphere which he felt from outside the studio. You were iced up, cold, and he didn’t have to see you to know it, to feel it through the soundproof walls.

Han pulled on his cigarette one last time, letting the smoke infiltrate his lungs long and deep, sharply making its’ way through his blood, before he threw it on the ground to grind it under his heel. He took another, clean breath; and opened the heavy door to the college studio. The soft sound of your guitar welcomed him, though it didn’t relax him this time around, not the way it normally did. His body tensed up, and he faltered in his movements before he found his step again. You must have heard the click of the door and his heavy boots against the carpeted floor, the jingles of the pins and chains on his bag when he entered, because you looked up even before he said a word – and your eyes instantly lost his again, before he even had the chance to greet you. And though your eyes lasted on his ones only for a second, he saw the pain in them. Short-lived, before your exterior seemed to emanate anger. Your ears painted red, your body visibly tensed, and an uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. Han couldn’t blame you for the discomfort he felt, and shivered in his place.

“Hi.”

His attempt was miserable, his voice more so – flimsy and thin, raspy from the smoke he’s had. He fell into a coughing fit right after; the embarrassment drowned his face in red, the fact you didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t look his direction let alone return his shy greeting made him want to dig his own grave and lie in it. It would be a longer hour than he had anticipated.

Thankfully, the room emitted in noise in no time, after Han had disposed his bag and busied himself with tuning his guitar, on his spot behind you. He could tell that you were purposefully avoiding his figure behind you – your body was turned to face away from him completely, mic-stand more to the left than it usually was, and your gaze fixed upon the strings of your instrument. Focused, determined to let Han shiver until you’ve warmed up to him again. If you ever would, that is.

The others came in, though there was something palpably lacking about the usual mood they brought to the place. Changbin and Jeongin were noisy, though the looks they shared upon seeing your back facing Han and neither of your reaction to their arrival spoke more than their conversation, and the mutual decision of skipping the pre-rehearsal smoke to get the hour over with spoke for itself. The coldness danced on their skin, covering them in ice and freezing showers, in vast contradict of the temperatures outside. It wasn’t in the law of physics for Jeongin to cover in geese flesh when he caught a glimpse of the way Han was staring holes into the back of your head, with an expression so miserable even the youngest felt bad for his friend. The distance between the two of you was as little the law of any sciences as the freezing feeling in the warmest month of summer – it went beyond logic that the two of you weren’t talking, weren’t even facing each other, went beyond all sense of the human mind that the other three felt true discomfort only looking at you two.

And the one-hour long rehearsal couldn’t have felt any longer, and couldn’t have been over any faster. No one spoke much unless it was necessary, talking music and songwriting, talking chords and harmonies above all else – strictly professional, as though your band of five was only that, a profession, lacking personal friendships within. Everyone felt the tension bubble on their skin, heavier on your bodies than the suffocating heat outside the studio, yet no one sacrificed themselves to mention it, to initiate a conversation to dissipate it all. Not because no one wanted to, but because no one was brave enough – and you scoffed when the rest of the band, left for you and Han, scurried to leave the two of you alone by the end of practice, packing their belongings so fast one might think their live depended on it. Even Lino felt the need to flee the scene as quick as possible; though less because he couldn’t take the uneasiness, more so because he hoped leaving you two in solitude would animate you to fix whatever seemed to be broken. Or attempt to, at the very least.

“Great friends.”, you mumbled under your breath, feeling betrayed none of them had had the balls enough to even talk to you, or Han, or to each other for that matter. You couldn’t blame them though, either – hell, you likely felt the most uncomfortable, so you understood why no one had uttered a single word throughout the hour before leaving silently.

You felt Han’s presence behind you as you undid your mic and unplugged your guitar. It felt unfamiliar, dreadful to not be talking to him, to not turn around and tell him about class and which parts of the new song you should be working on and about, admittedly, nothing all together. It was strange that you didn’t urge to visit the vending machine by the weeping willow, that you weren’t much craving a Coke; it was stranger, even, that you could barely recall the last time you had spent time with Han by said vending machine. It had been ages; or, longer than you normally went without the ritualic habit. The absence of it, of time spent together and words exchanged, shot a sudden pain through you – you almost wanted to forget the pain you had felt initially, yesterday after Han’s outburst, and pretend like nothing had happened at all. You almost wanted to forgive him without having heard an apology.

You turned around, guitar in hand, facing Han. He looked miserable. He looked like he regretted the entirety of yesterday – it made you feel better, if only little. There was no hint of remaining malice in his eyes, no contentiousness. You were glad of it. You had barely slept last night, had lain with tear-stained cheeks against your wettened pillow. You’d had enough time to think – and though your anger, your pain hadn’t dissipated magically, they had made place for tiredness. It had been too long since you’ve last felt truly careless in Han’s presence, the way you used to. It had been too long the two of you held grudges – you missed him. He had surely hurt you, though it hadn’t been the first time, nor were you an angel yourself. You would prefer an apology – though you would, after the anger dissolved only a little further, forgive him without one. Because it was easier than losing him altogether, over words, over a fight. That seemed foolish to you, and you cherished him too much for such immaturity.

“Hey…”, Han’s voice interrupted your train of thought, and you looked at him. His eyes were glassy, almost on the verge of tears but not quite. The bags under his eyes were deep, dark – he hadn’t slept much better either, you figured. He nibbled on his silver lip ring, visibly nervous, looking for words to say, or how to say them. He could barely look you in the eyes, and upon noticing that another sudden pain shot through you.

“You have lessons now? With… Chris?”

The name rolled over his lips only reluctantly – you wondered, quickly, if maybe there were remnants of malice in him, wondered how exactly the question was intended. He didn’t look like he meant to attack, but your brows furrowed, and your head cocked to the side, only a little. Han read you, suspected his question might reignite danger, and his eyes shot open, face writing worry.

“Uh, I don’t mean it like that. Like, in an asshole way. I’m really curious, I’m…”, his voice shaking, and his gaze was fixed on the dusty carpet beneath his shoes. The weight of his guitar pulled him down, made him heavy – he yet hadn’t put it away, feeling frozen in his place. “I’m really sorry, for yesterday. I was an ass.”

You barely heard him. He mumbled, embarrassment and a wave of shame overcoming him, but you heard him, nonetheless. And your heart beat against your rib cage in excitement, in relief. He apologized. He felt remorse, regret, and had been ready to make the first step, to hopefully repair what was temporarily broken.

“Yeah, you were.”

Your voice was weaker than you had expected. You stood face to face with your friend, waiting for him to look at you. You felt remnants of your own shame and anger still bubbling in the pit of your stomach, though you chose to ignore it. You chose to make space for Han instead, and it filled you with everything that was positive.

He looked at you, and you gave him a smile. A little sad, maybe, but kinder than Han had expected it – and he smiled back. Relief filled his eyes, too. Relief and hope; everything could be again as it once was. It wasn’t irreversible; your bond went deeper than that.

Finally, Han felt like he could move again. He threw the flimsy band over his head, relieving himself off the weight of his instrument. You made your way over to the sofa, where your discarded belongings lay. It took you a while to find your words – you would answer his question honestly, though not without nervousness. The subject had led to fights previously, after all – you didn’t want to lose everything the moment you’ve won it back.

“Uh, yeah… I am meeting Chris now.” The words came quiet, almost creeping. They seeped into the room and stayed there, a puddle of gasoline, and you were the lighters. You didn’t say any more, packed your stuff and threw your bag over your shoulder, looked at Han. His eyes didn’t find yours, though – he pretended to be busy, though you sensed that he was fleeing from your gaze purposefully. That he was dancing around the puddle of gasoline, careful not to cause fire.

“Ah… that’s nice. I hope you, uh, have fun with him today.”

He looked at you, eventually, smiling a tortured smile, packing his things without awaiting an answer. Not that you had one – you were glad your admission about the teacher hadn’t caused another outburst, but the unexplainable misery in Han’s eyes was almost harder to bare. The misery, and his decision to remain silent about it. You watched your friend throw his chained-up bag over his shoulder, watched him fish for the half-empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket, take out one. He put it between his lips, gave you another smile; you weren’t sure he meant it.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

☆.☆.☆

When Han opened the door to your shared apartment, he was overwhelmed by the scent of food, onions and meat, the sound of sizzling oil in a pan. There was faint music playing in the kitchen, and utensils clinking together to create a cacophony of one busying themselves with lunch. Han disposed his shoes in the hallway, lost his bag along the way, and was met with Lino, apron on and a mess around him, humming to the song he had put on. Han wasn’t surprised, per se – Lino was officially living on campus, having moved here specifically for Uni, but in reality he was living wherever he just wanted. He was in possession of the keys to both your and Han’s, and Changbin’s and Jeongin’s shared apartments, and since both weren’t necessarily meant for two people only and could fit more, it wasn’t a rarity that Lino was living for weeks at a time in either of your places. There were phases, though, where neither you or Han, nor the other two knew his current place of accommodation – if he settled on campus or slept over at one-night stands none of you were sure, nor had had the privilege of knowing, even after asking.

When the older heard shuffling behind him he turned around, facing Han and giving him a quick, welcoming smile.

“Set the table, I’m almost done.”

It wasn’t five minutes later when the two sat across from each other by the kitchen table, steaming dish before them and a hungry roaring in their stomachs. Han thanked Lino before digging in, stuffing his mouth – there was something lingering in his eyes that spoke of melancholy, something incredibly sad. Something Lino could read, and had been long aware of.

“So,”, the older started, taking a bite from the food he’s prepared, inspecting his friend. He watched him find his eyes, expectantly questioning.

“You’re in love with Y/N.”

Not a question, a statement – and the younger fell into a fit of coughing, a piece of rice stuck in his throat causing his face to run red, a hand on his chest to calm himself. He succeeded only after a minute or two; Lino had only watched him all the while, eating away at his own portion, the very calmness in person. Han cleared his throat, once, two times, collecting enough composure to lock eyes with his friend again. Somehow, it was far harder telling a lie than he’d expected it to be.

“I’m… I’m not.”

He didn’t even convince himself with the three words, and he knew Lino was too smart to believe him. Yet he didn’t reconcile his confession, dumbly waited for an answer, hoped that, if he lied well enough, truth would be changed, and Lino would believe it.

Lino looked at him, an expression so unreadable it sent a shiver down Han’s back. The younger’s cutlery laid next to his plate on the table, few pieces of rice marring the furniture though Han didn’t care about the mess while his whole body was ready to defend himself, or to deny any accusation thrown towards him. Yet Lino only looked at him, poked away in his food – he either knew more than Han could hope, or he was in the midst of figuring him out. Han, in the damning silence, almost spilled his guts, then and there, animated only by Lino’s knowing eyes, his unwavering gaze; if the older hadn’t started speaking, after all.

“You know, you don’t have to lie. I’ve suspected it for a while. But I’m about a hundred percent sure since the whole… situation yesterday.”

There is no embarrassment when Han finds the other’s eyes, no shame in his silent confession. There is anguish, hurt. Spent liberation. As though he had waited for someone to get behind his sinful secret, as though the exhaustion of carrying it around had been weighing on his shoulders. As though only through speaking out the words they became true, to Lino as much as to himself – he might have known it was love before, though had never dared to accept it. Only now that the word was out, materialized and palpable, was it real.

You both had been seven years old, you and Han. You had only moved into his neighbourhood a week ago, and he had been curious about the new girl next door – though cowardly. He had only ever inspected you, questioning eyes lurking over when you were playing in your garden, or riding your bike around the streets in front of your house. He had never said a word though. He had been a shy kid, not quiet but timid around new people – and then you had come up to him. One summer day, he had sat on the sidewalk in front of his house, colouring the asphalt absentmindedly with chalk his parents had bought him that day. Most of his friends had left with their families for vacation, though his had stayed at home; and so had yours.

He had heard you before he had seen you. Your bell-like laughter had broken through the pleasant silence Han had found himself in, and the sound intensified in volume when the front door to your house had been opened. He had heard your mom call after you, something about being careful, though you hadn’t been listening anymore. Han had watched you get your bike – it hadn’t been pink, blue instead, a bike for boys; for some reason he had remembered that fact. Maybe because you had been the only girl he’d known not riding a pink bike, or maybe back then, already, every little detail about you had been fascinating, worthy to keep in his memories forever.

Han had neglected the yellow butterfly he had been painting onto the pavement, had watched you ride up and down the neighbourhood – until your eyes had fallen upon him. He had felt caught, and had looked away quickly; but you had stood before him in a matter of seconds, sure and confident.

“What’s your name?”

You had always been direct, and back then it had irritated him, almost. He had looked up at you, still sitting on the border of the sidewalk, your figure shielding him from the sun. Your dress had been a bright red with scarlet hearts all over, and it had blinded him.

“Uh… Jisung.”

“I’m Y/N.”

You had held out a greeting hand – something you had picked up from your parents, the way adults greeted each other, and Han had been irritated by that, too. But he had shook your little hand, surprised at your firm hold – and ever since then the both of you had been inseparable. One summer had turned into a second and to a third, had turned into a lifetime – what had started only because your respective friends had been gone over the break had developed into a friendship dearer than anything, for the both of you.

It had been that same summer, when both of you were seven, that Han had fallen in love with you, for the very first time. Back then he hadn’t been sure about his feelings, hadn’t been sure what it was that had been brewing in the pit of his stomach, what it was that had been making him nervous whenever he had thought of you.

The sun had been daring to set, though neither you nor Han had wanted to go home yet. You had been on your blue bike for boys, he had been on his own one. You had raced each other – he had never won back then, though it had always hurt his pride enough to never give up on taking home first place. The finishing post had been a big tree a little down your block, and you had been a little before him – your hair in a loosened ponytail and blowing in the air behind you, your dress – the same, bright red one with the scarlet hearts, your favourite one back then – flowing in the wind hectically, your shoes almost losing home on your feet with every fast kick of the pedal you did. Maybe Han had fallen because he had been watching you – no matter the reason, though, he had found himself on the ground faster than he had been able to realize, than he had been able to even understand his situation. And the shock had made him cry. Not loudly, but thick tears had been running down his chubby cheeks as he sat beside his bike, kneecap red and bloody, hands dirty, hair dishevelled.

It had taken you a while to notice Han hadn’t been behind you anymore – it had taken you to reach the big tree and yell out that you won, when you had realized there had been no one to celebrate with you. You had snickered and teased Han about it when you had caught up with him again, though worry had been written all over your face when you had noticed the tears down his face. And though Han had been embarrassed, to cry in front of you, or to cry in general, or about the very fact that he had fallen from a bike at the age of seven, you hadn’t given him a chance to be ashamed for too long.

“Does it hurt?”

You had sat down next to him, had inspected the wound like a doctor. Serious and careful. Han had sniffed miserably, and nodded.

You had given him a smile, and had showed him your own knee. Very sure, very confident. You were determined to make him feel better. There had been a faint wound on your skin, almost a scar.

“Look, when yours is healed, we’re going to have the same one. It won’t hurt for much longer.”

You had hugged him, and his little heart had beaten faster in his little chest.

“Whenever I get hurt my mom gives me chocolate.”

Han had looked at you, not understanding the connotation. You had laughed at his questioning face, getting up, motioning him to follow you.

“If I tell her you got hurt you will get chocolate too, dummy.”

Lino had listened, had long finished the food on his plate. There was compassion in his eyes, pain for his friend. Han had been in love with you forever, and you weren’t in the slightest aware of it – or maybe you were, only didn’t want to quite accept the reality of it. Either way, both men understood, sitting across from each other, the sun burning into the apartment and lacing them in faint sheens of sweat, the scent of food still in the air, that you couldn’t be blamed for Han’s cracking heart, nor for the chilly atmosphere between you and your best friend. No one, quite frankly, could be blamed. Han’s heart had found home somewhere it shouldn’t have had, yours belonged nowhere. Maybe if it did, your crush on Chris would be easier to bare. Maybe if you loved another, Han could accept that you couldn’t love him – but there wasn’t another, and your heart yet wasn’t set on him. It hurt. The pain was stinging, the realization, sudden albeit expected, even more so. If Han could choose, he would stop loving you – even if Chris hadn’t been in the picture, his passionate heart would cause for problems that would risk your friendship. If he could choose, he’d choose not to love you – but he couldn’t, and his heart, heavy and weak and hurting, was beating for you.

Blissfully unaware of Han’s feelings, you felt yourself being pushed against the solid wood of Chris’s desk, the man’s hands firm on your hips. Your lips clashed against his anew and anew, and you found yourself floating at the feeling – to have him lick your bottom lip before he nibbled on it, to feel his wet tongue and his spit on your mouth, his quiet gasps which you swallowed whole; it felt a mere dream, and you basked in it.

You weren’t sure how it happened. You had entered the classroom, a little late and Chris had been waiting for you. He had looked impatient, and it had made you giddy. You had started the lesson – and then his lips had been on yours. Or yours had been on his; you recalled having initiated, but your memory could as well be fooling you. Though besides his growing erection against your thigh and his sweaty neck beneath your palms there were no thoughts playing in your mind, in general. You were focused on Chris fully – recalling when you had first seen him, when current reality had only been a fools’ fantasy. You smirked against his lips, and he felt it – his grip on your body tightened, his fingers dug further into your skin. You wondered if there’d be any marks of his touch the next day; you hoped so.

You smirked against Chris’s lips, your ass pressed against his table, his hot palms on your burning hips – he was a good kisser. A little too desperate, maybe, searching for your mouth with his eyes closed and sighing softly, as though kissing you was salvation itself. You didn’t mind it; you liked it. You liked feeling him wanting you, you liked his grip on your body, the way he pressed his own against you. Flush, chest to chest, so close it surprised you for a moment, even – was he searching for something in you? Was his marriage making him so unhappy that his only hope was a student who had crushed on him since her teenage years? You felt compassionate for a moment, leaned into his body, into the kiss which felt so potent with fervour that you, too, sighed into his mouth, let him eat up your sounds, eat them up with a hunger which had fermented for eternities.

And then all compassion was gone again – every further thought vanished again, when Chris groaned against you, pressed you a little further into the table, almost drawing pain. You leaned against it, back arching into him – and his hands snuck around your figure, to pick you up by your ass and seat you on the table behind you. It didn’t require him much strength, and you had practically been sitting on the furniture already, though the ease with which he had handled you knocked out any coherence of you. And it had all happened without the kiss breaking – his puffy lips still moved against your wet ones, both red and bloodshot, bitten and bruised up. You wondered, while you sat there with his body pressed against yours, if his wife would notice that – his lips, the bruises on them.

Your legs were spread open, and Chris possessed the ability now to move even closer to you. He found home between your thighs, and his erection – almost fully hard now, and the feeling mouth-watering – pressed against your core. The man emitted another groan, rolled his hips into yours, against your sex, the pressure so delicious you moaned out quietly – and suddenly it was all gone. His touch on your body, the heat on your skin he had caused, the wetness of his lips – all gone. There was no friction against your arousal anymore, and you almost let out a sound of protest when you saw Chris’s face. Blown out in lust and flushed, red by the cheeks and his neck, but worried, almost scared – regretful. He blinked excessively, as though assessing the last five minutes – and he breathed out in defeat, eyes losing yours and a hand of his found his hair, messed it up more than it was a mess already. You stayed sitting on the table, expecting – you knew what was coming, and you hoped you only imagined it. You hoped that in reality he was still kissing you, that in reality he wasn’t married and could give into you fully, that in reality there was no reason of parting ways after he’s realized his mistake.

“Fuck…”, his voice was hoarse, raspy in his throat. Your eyes fell onto where his pants had tightened over his middle – it looked uncomfortable, and he didn’t feel bad for having kissed you; he felt bad for having liked it. For having given into it, into you, and for having found pleasure in it.

He looked at you again, guilt written all over him. Brows furrowed, body tense.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t…”

He couldn’t say any more. His voice fiddled out, at a loss for words, or unable to convey them. He had apologized to you, hadn’t damned you – to you it felt the same. He packed his stuff, suddenly – you still sat on the table, but he pretended as though you didn’t exist. He didn’t even give you a last look before he threw his bag over his shoulder, and left the classroom with a weak “I have to go.” – leaving you to sit on his table by yourself, heated up and suddenly forgotten, egged on and eventually neglected, and you couldn’t decide which felt more uncomfortable; the pool of unresolved wetness between your legs, or the feeling of quiet emptiness which slowly set in the depths of your heart.

☆.☆.☆

You had sunk into the deep cushions of the brown leather sofa, the material making you sweat more than you normally would, an empty can of Coke on the table in front of you. You had been nipping on Han’s root beer from time to time, so he had snatched it away from you and had placed it behind the armrest of the sofa he was leaning on, next to you. You both had consoles in your hands, a tiny Mario and a just revived Luigi jumping up and down on the tinier TV screen. The familiar video game music filled the air, the sounds of acquired items and Han’s protesting at another murder on his character making the studio feel homely, comfortable. You had missed this. You had missed spending time with Han, careless and genuine time. It had been far too long, and you basked in the heat and stuffiness of the room.

“You can’t just fucking throw me off the cliff?! That was my last life you asshole!”

You laughed while Han complained with a voice so whiny it only made you laugh harder, and he threw his console onto the space on the sofa in between you, defeated and angry. You would have felt bad for him, if your gameplay hadn’t been mere revenge – Han had been ruthless on you only ten minutes earlier, and it was time to get back at him.

“If you hadn’t fucked me over before we could’ve been a team now.”, you said with a shrug, purposefully avoiding the coins in the game to prevent Luigi to revive again, and Han complained about it, loudly, letting you know just how unfair you were.

He scoffed, just the pissed friend, reaching for his root beer and taking a good sip from it. He watched you skilfully mastering the level, passing the middle flag. He snickered whenever you let Mario almost die, ready to make fun of you, only for you to save yourself and make him fall silent in his seat again, pouty and mumbling protests.

He eyed you, from the side where he was sitting. You had come back from a private lesson, as you had said, when Han had already lounged in the studio. You hadn’t looked too cheerful, and Han hadn’t asked – he had almost wanted to hear how you had failed, how Chris had maybe rejected you, or similar such things. He had almost been spiteful, though he hadn’t dared, after all – not when the both of you only seemed to find each other again, when being around you wasn’t as painful anymore as it had been for the past week. When you, too, looked careless around him, as though truly enjoying yourself. And why shouldn’t you – Han had stopped being an ass, because he had finally figured out his feelings. It turned out if was far easier dealing with them if they were only understood.

You looked peaceful now, though there was something in your demeanour which Han couldn’t quite pinpoint. You seemed almost giddy, unable to really sit still. Constantly moving in your seat, leaning back or leaning forth, sighing frequently. Something must have happened when you had met Chris, and though Han wasn’t too keen on finding out, he felt as though needing to ask, after all.

“So…”, his voice quite secure, and he hoped he’d find the right words, the right tone to start a totally and truly laid-back conversation about a man you very badly wanted to fuck, and who he was so deeply jealous of. No risk in that, was it?

You eyed him quickly out of your peripheral, not distracting too much from your game – you were at 87 coins now, so you were careful not to collect anymore just to not give Han the chance to finish the level with you.

“How was it today? With… Chris.” The name always sounded strange out of Han’s mouth, like something that wasn’t supposed to be spoken aloud. You eyed him again, and Mario almost died on the screen – the sound of the console clicking turned more aggressive, more persistent, and Han hoped he hadn’t fucked up the peacefulness, now that you had restored it.

You let him wait with your answer. You stayed silent, seemed to be thinking about your words, or maybe about what to tell him exactly, in the first place. You finished the level, waited for the screen to go black before the overview appeared again.

“Eh, it was whatever.”, was all you said, then. The break you had taken to answer a simple question had been far too long for an answer so vast, and Han wondered if there’d be something more. He looked at you, the sound of Luigi reviving the only sound filling the room. You weren’t looking at him, focused on the screen, walking your characters over to the next level.

You were still wet. You sat in the cushions of the brown leather sofa, and you were wet, soaking your flimsy underwear – you had worn a pretty pair in case Chris had taken it further, and now it felt like a waste, and utterly stupid, on top of that. The pressure between your legs hadn’t subsided ever since Chris had ignited it there, and it was bothering you, deeply. You were frustrated. And not only due to the situation prior – you had been tethering on sexual frustration for the past year or so, you thought. Or for longer; it surely felt like a lifetime. It has, in fact, been ages since you’ve last experienced an orgasm that hasn’t been induced by your own eager fingers or a vibrating toy you acquired for far more money than you could really afford. And it, too, has been ages since you had been as worked up as you had been an hour back, engulfed entirely in Chris. In the fantasy of him, the same one you had been brewing on ever since he had made his sudden appearance a week ago.

Really, he had been unfair, had left you hot and bothered – your body was still aching for touch. For another body pressing up against your own. His, Chris’s, preferably. You recalled his callused hands – from working out, maybe – on your body, on your hips, pushing your top up until his skin teased your own. Until you were starting to get bare for him. He had wanted more, and he had wanted it fast – maybe to lose himself in it, maybe to not overthink it. But he had, eventually, and the result was a wet you, embarrassed as you sat next to your friend and watched his character die on the screen for the umpteenth time. As you thought about it, about the warmth between your legs, the way your jeans rubbed against your clit only subtly but far more than enough to remind you of your undying need, that any man would do to still your hunger. For a quick second, the thought shot through your head that maybe that was the only and single reason you were so keen on Chris – simply because he was a man you could fuck. The fact you had borne a crush for him and the fact you found him deadly attractive were maybe only bonus points, barely worth mentioning. You weren’t convinced by that thought yourself – you wouldn’t have gone the lengths you did in pursuing him, but then again, you had always been ambitious, set on the things you wanted.

You peeked at Han by your side – the bleach in his hair was dirty and long grown out, though he hadn’t yet asked you to dye it for him again. He played with his lip ring, concentrated, focused on the little TV screen – would he be down to fuck you? The thought had nestled in your head faster than you could react to it, and it surprised you how little you were turned off by the idea. Maybe you were ovulating – you didn’t have another reasonable explanation as to why the thought of fucking your best friend of years suddenly seemed like the best idea you had ever had.

You peeked at him again, silent in your secret thoughts, contemplating. He was complaining about his console, how the batteries must be running low because there was no way in hell his game was suddenly so bad. You knew that he acquired the sex drive of a teenage boy. You also knew that he didn’t scare away from casualties; and if anything, he was as sexually frustrated as you were. You couldn’t remember the last time he had brought someone over to your place, or had spent a night out without you being aware of his location. Maybe you should give it a try. Proposing wouldn’t hurt after all, would it?

You looked back at the TV screen. You played absentmindedly, tuning off the sounds of Han’s whining, startled at yourself. You weren’t scared of proposing casual sex. You weren’t even nervous – you ought to be far giddier about this. Deals like such made history in destroying friendships, at the very best complicating them – so why weren’t you nervous at all? Were you so sure he would agree? Or had the dread of the past years clouded your common sense so much that you couldn’t care, even if you wanted to?

“We should fuck.”

The words had left you faster than you had expected them to, and calmer, too. As though you had proposed to eat dinner together later – as though there wasn’t anything absurd about the three words whatsoever.

Han burst out in a fit of coughs, Luigi dying on the screen and the familiar jingle following sounded in your ears – a far more dramatic reaction than necessary, surely. It wasn’t like you had announced news of life and death. Simply casual sex – it wasn’t that absurd. That’s what you told yourself as you looked at him. Not expectantly. Almost as if you didn’t care at all.

“What??” He looked at you from the side, eyes big, unbelieving, mouth agape – he resembled a frightened animal.

“You heard me. We should fuck.”

In that moment, you should have regretted your words. When you look back at these three words you’ve uttered on a casual hot, summer day, they sound entirely wrong, and in retrospect, you shouldn’t have uttered them at all – you should have dealt with your frustration yourself, without dragging your best friend into it. You should have stayed quiet, or should have laughed it off as joke. Should have disregarded it, the moment you’d seen Han’s face, the expression laying in it – hopeful, frightened if maybe he heard wrong. Hopeful that he hadn’t; too hopeful for a best friend.

Though in this moment, as you looked him in the eyes, as you sat across from him with your console in hand and building up sweat in your neck, you didn’t. You didn’t retract your words, you didn’t even regret them. You let them sit and marinate in the room between you, and gave Han time to think them over – to hopefully answer them.

He looked at you, mouth open, then closed, then open again. He looked like a fish, wishful to speak though unable to. And he seemed to be unable to even several moments later. You almost urged to speak again, only to kill the heaving silence between you – and then his voice filled the room again.

“You mean like… now?”

It took you a couple seconds to grasp his question, and another five to start laughing, bell-like and loud. Han flinched in his seat at the unforeseen sound leaving your throat. He blushed, turned a crimson red. He felt uneasy, shy, nervous – anticipating. He had never dared to wish for you to speak those words, let alone mean them, and one could call him pathetic at the way his pants tightened around his middle at the sheer indication. At mere three words dripping like honey from your lips. Maybe he’d be better off to decline your offer – he wouldn’t last a second with your hands on him and end up embarrassing himself.

“No, you dumbass.”, you said after you collected yourself, still a giggle in your throat, and Han turned redder.

“Like, in general. Whenever we both feel like it.”

You eyed him from the side, and Han reached for his root beer clumsily, just to be doing something. Just to not look you in the eyes – they suddenly seemed too deep, too dangerous. The can was almost empty, though he pretended to take a bigger sip than he did.

He knew he’d say yes. And he knew that you knew as well – after all, it wasn’t a question you had asked him, it was a statement. You hadn’t asked if he wanted to fuck – you had simply said that you should. And Han wasn’t so sure about that. He knew he’d say yes, but he wasn’t convinced that fucking was anything the both of you should be doing. Not only had he been left in the dark about your motives with the preposition, he also wasn’t stupid; blinded, yes, but he knew exactly how friendships which got physical developed, and it was never a good outcome. And not only that – you had just found each other again, just came back to the way your friendship used to be, though far more sensitive, and changed after all. Han wasn’t so sure the both of you should be fucking, just after he’d realized the love he bore for you – and yet it was the very thing that made him say; “Uh, yeah. I guess… I guess we should.” Because in that moment, it was his only chance. In that moment you didn’t propose love, you proposed sex – and if that’s what it took to get closer to you, in any way possible, he couldn’t say no, despite knowing the depravity of it.

Han put his empty root beer onto the table in front of him, next to your Coke. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look at you – he took hold of his console again, watched you select the next level in your game. Casualty; the very thing you had proposed, so the very thing Han needed to master to not cause suspicion. Suspicion of his very not so causal heart which was daring to jump out his chest, suspicion of the profuse sweat which had started to build on his palms, causing the console to slip in his hands – suspicion of the very apparent, pathetic boner in his pants at the mere thought of the two of you getting physical. He was a lost cause.

You gave him a quick look, huffed out amusement through your nose. It was funny, how flustered he was. You clicked on the next level, waited for the game to start.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but like…”, the level started, and the two characters rushed to finish it; you were looking for the right words. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you bring anyone home in ages, I haven’t been laid in ages, either. And us two being physical is way easier than me fucking…”, you thought about it a second, and visibly cringed at the thought, “I can’t even imagine fucking Innie casually.”, you said, and Han chuckled at that. You were relieved to hear the sound; he warmed up again. “Or the other two, for that matter.”, you continued. Han peeked at you, shortly, to read your expression – you were calm. You weren’t distraught by the possible negative consequences of a friends-with-benefits-arrangement at all; was it because you believed your friendship to be stronger than to break over sex? Or was it because you were aware, even if subconsciously, of Han’s crush on you, and knew he’d let you hurt him, knew he’d never decline, knew he’d always come back if it ended badly?

“So that’s that.”

The other members arrived just as Han and you were finishing up the last level – he had seemed incredibly distracted, though you couldn’t blame him. He seemed, nevertheless, still incredibly distracted when everyone had set up their instruments and stood ready to practice. He forgot his count in, he played the wrong notes, he messed up the rhythm. Han was too good in his craft to disregard his mistakes to simple tiredness, and no one believed him when he said so – friendly bickering followed, only for Han to shut everyone up, and continue rehearsing the set of songs.

He knew none of them were stupid. He also knew all of them had eyes in their skulls – though none of these factors could quite make him stop staring at you from his spot just behind you. The words you had said whirred as thoughts in his head. ‘We should fuck.’ ‘Us two being physical is way easier.’ ‘We. Should. Fuck.’ You wanted to fuck him. Han was aware it wasn’t much more to you than just that, casual sex, but you wanted to fuck him. Han was aware – or, he thought to be – that Mr. Bahng – Chris – wasn’t as easy a prey as you had hoped he would be, and only due to his unavailability you had chosen Han; chosen for the ease of your personal frustration, for your own search for fun, for something new, for pure risk. What Han didn’t know – would you drop him the moment Chris bit on? Would you forget about wanting to fuck your best friend if the man you had originally hunted for would finally give in? Would Han have even been in the picture altogether, if Chris hadn’t been?

Doubts upon doubts, and rightful ones, too – and yet Han couldn’t help but feel anticipation coursing his veins. His blood pumped faster in his body when he looked at you, when he let his eyes travel up and down your body, from the skin of your strong, bare shoulders, down to your exposed ankles, peeking through beneath the flared pants and the open leather plateaus you so adored. Your toenails were painted a dark red – it was a mystery to him why his heart started beating faster at that, at the view of your red toenails.

And he was embarrassed of it. Embarrassed that he couldn’t stop staring at the way your shirt hugged your waist so tight he could see the straps of your bra, embarrassed that he was the opposite from being casual about the entire affair – an affair which hasn’t even started. An affair which, as of now, was only an idea, mere words. An affair which embodied casualty – and Han was so very embarrassed that he was the furthest from it. Embarrassed that his face ran hot when he inspected the way your fingers worked on your guitar, with ease, thoughtlessly, your nails a matching red, how his pants tightened further the more he replayed your voice in his head – ‘We should fuck. We should fuck. We should –’

“Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

Changbin’s voice tore Han out of his thoughts, and as everyone stopped playing their instruments, the studio erupted in high-pitched feedback. Everyone’s head turned to the guitarist, eyeing him questioningly – he fled your eyes, deep and mischievous, and looked at Changbin instead.

“What… what do you mean, nothing- nothing’s wrong.”

Han wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was far too distracted, that none of his concentration went into the current rehearsal. He understood Changbin’s furrowing brows and startled expression at his words, at his pretending to be dumb – how, after all, was he supposed to explain that the reason his fingers weren’t confident on the guitar today was because you, standing only two meters away from him, proposed to fuck him, the girl he found out to love only hours ago?

“’Nothing’s wrong’? Don’t bullshit me, why are you playing so bad today?”, Changbin replied, and Han cleared his throat at the words, hoping to hide the pang at his pride. “We have to prepare for the gig, so get your shit together.”, Changbin ended, agitated, though not angry, not really. And the older man was right – you had something to prepare for, and your routine was far from clean; if you wanted to make it anywhere as musicians outside your shabby college studio, Han couldn’t allow himself to be as distracted as he was. And not by you, on top of that – not only his best friend, but his band mate. Two reasons alone he should decline your offer to get physical; though he’d never dare.

“I’m not sure what the problem is exactly…”, Jeongin’s voice travelled the room, and heads turned his direction. The youngest sported an amused grin, and nodded towards Han – the man started blushing without knowing the reason he had caught attention, though he sensed it couldn’t be anything in his favour. “…but I can imagine it has something to do with the massive boner in his pants.”

Han couldn’t react fast enough before a round of snickering and teasing filled the room. Comments from Changbin and Jeongin filling his ears, quiet scoffs of amusement from Lino somewhere behind him – and worst of all, your knowing eyes. He couldn’t escape them any longer, nor did he want to; right now, they revealed themselves to be the safest haven in this room, against snarky comments and dirty smirks. Though your eyes, the expression in them, seductiveness or mocking he wasn’t sure, wasn’t any easier to handle. If anything, they made his heart beat faster in his chest, made his blood pump quicker – which wasn’t at all to his advantage this very moment.

Han shifted his guitar, making it cover the area everyone suddenly chose to focus on, making it cover his crotch with a face so crimson you giggled in your place. His brows furrowed, his movements grew clumsy – it was endearing to see him embarrassed, more endearing, even, watching him trying to cover it up.

“I don’t… stop looking at my dick, you fucking weirdos.”, he mumbled, making the rest erupt in more laughter than before. Han’s eyes caught onto yours again; you were laughing, too, and for a reason he couldn’t make up, Han wasn’t hurt by your amusement; he only grew hotter, shakier, giddier than before. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, in fact – he wanted to see your face while his misery made you giggle, while your gaze wandered him up and down, secretly knowing. Changbin’s and Jeongin’s stupid comments met his ears dull and soundless, he filtered them off before they met him; and then you winked at him. Secretly, only at him, without a word. You turned back to your instrument again, left him dumbfounded and staring; if he lost himself any more in you, he would have started drooling.

“C’mon boys, let’s continue practicing.”, you announced, making the rest quiet down in their snickering. Did you want to save Han from his embarrassment? He couldn’t tell; you weren’t granting him as much as a look now, turning your head to Jeongin instead. The man had a dirty grin on his face, his long, delicate fingers grazing the electric piano. Han remembered your words again, from before, while you were looking at the man – ‘I can’t even imagine fucking Jeongin casually.’. He was attractive, always in dark attire and with piercing eyes, tall and carrying himself with an ease few people had. He was confident, he was bringing girls home more nights than he wasn’t – fucking him would be easier, Han thought. He was easier, in the sense of causality. He didn’t have years and years of friendship with you to look back upon. He was noisy, yes, and loud, but Han doubted you’d mind that; and yet, you hadn’t chosen Jeongin. You had chosen him.

“You said it yourself, we have something to prepare for. So let’s fucking prepare for it.”

☆.☆.☆

“Min, are you coming with us today?”

The five of you started to wrap up the session, discarding your instruments wherever they belonged, sipping on some water for your throats, putting cigarettes between your lips to light outside. The drummer got up from his seat behind his still echoing drums, and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at you, packing his stuff hurriedly – you knew that some days he went to extra-curricular evening classes to up his average, and judging by the speed with which he found himself by the door to the studio, leather bag thrown leisurely over his shoulder and a lighter by the cigarette between his teeth, he was on his way there.

“Nah, probably not. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left with a nod into the group, everyone seeing him off with a mumbled goodbye or a tired grunt – Han wondered if there was more to it. If Lino knew more than he let on, when it came to you and himself. That Lino knew more than even he knew – that Lino’s absence tonight was out of courtesy. Han fished for his lighter in his pocket, playing with the cigarette in his mouth, waiting for you by the door. He looked you up, then he looked you down, watching you joke around with the other two, slapping Changbin across his chest when the man retorted something smug, before you threw your old rucksack over your shoulder – he was probably overthinking it. All of it, he thought. Lino couldn’t possibly know about the proposition you had made Han an hour back, his absence wasn’t credited to courtesy, simply to his usual whiffs of randomness. Nor could the others know; their jokes hadn’t been unusual, nor did they bear any clue about Han’s feelings for you. It was all in his head. That, and the nervousness he carried in his limbs while looking at you. You couldn’t possibly seem more relaxed while he was eyeing you, watching as you gave him a smile, as casual and kind as always, walking up towards him. It seemed, almost, as if you’ve forgotten about your previous plan, as if you’ve never actually asked Han the question altogether. He ought to calm down – it didn’t have to be as serious as he made it out to be; it surely wasn’t for you. Though, at that very thought, his smile faded only a little bit, and the heart in his chest felt only a little heavier.

“Let’s go.” Your voice was soft as you spoke to Han, louder when you bid goodbye to the other two before you opened the heavy door and made your way into the soaring heat outside. When Han lit his cigarette, you fished for a piece of gum and started chewing on it mindlessly. The white sun burned down on your skin, making the sheet of sweat on your bare chest shimmer, only slightly, like droplets of salty ocean water on soft sand. Your dyed hair heated at your neck, so you put it into a lazy ponytail – Han couldn’t be calm about you. Not when every fibre of his body, every muscle burned hotter than the August sun within him, at everything you did. He couldn’t stop looking at you, couldn’t stop looking at your lips as you chewed on the piece of gum, couldn’t stop looking at your closed eyes as you admired the warm rays on your face, couldn’t stop looking, even, at your shoulders which carried your old rucksack. The straps had left red marks, not likely painful, but the red marred your skin nevertheless; Han would give anything to plant his lips there. He would start there, by the red of your skin, by the marks of your rucksack, and would travel up, towards your neck, which, too, carried only a faint mark of your guitar strap. He would kiss it, mark it, bite down behind the small of your-

“You wanna get a drink? I need a Coke… it’s so hot.”

Casualty. Han was far from it, and you were the personification of it. He doubted you were thinking of him at all, let alone in the way he was thinking of you – you were so very casual, in fact, that Han believed, for a second, to have dreamed the conversation on the sofa altogether, to have imagined it. That, if he told you about it, or if he made any advances, you would simply laugh at him. But he couldn’t have imagined it – because then he had to have imagined your wink during rehearsals as well, and your knowing laughter, your mischievous giggling. It had been very much real; Han had simply been thinking with his dick, ever since you had mentioned you and him and fucking in one sentence.

You didn’t await an answer from him. You made your way to the vending machine under the weeping willow – it felt like ages since you’ve last sat there, drinking and talking, about nothing and everything altogether. You had both missed it, and when you saw the dirty, old machine, when you stepped under the shadow of the big, crying tree, when you watched your best friend buy his beloved root beer a soft smile formed on your lips. Time with Han seemed to have become rare, lately; this felt like old times. When you threw in lose coins and selected a Coke, taking out the freezing drink and relishing in the taste of it against your thirsting tongue, the last two weeks of fighting and emotions and distance and confusion disappeared; it was you and Han on the bench under the tree, favourite drinks in hand, and laughing.

“You’re literally disgusting.” Han’s remark to the fact you kept your minty gum under your tongue as you sipped on your Coke, and you laughed at his frowning face.

“I’m not gonna waste a piece of gum to drink, dumbass.”, you retorted, and he scoffed in response. You watched him – something has changed, though, after all. He did, you thought. Something in Han had been fundamentally different ever since you had very first mentioned Chris. He seemed more absent, sipping on his root beer and watching a stray cat purring beneath his feet. He took out his phone, snapped a picture of it; likely sending it Lino, teasing that he should have come with you two after all. You were fond of him, deeply so, knew him deeply, too – it was natural for you to feel uneasiness in his change of demeanour. And somehow, you felt even more uneasy at the realization that he tried to overplay said change. That he tried desperately to act like he always did, but the pretending never is as natural as habits. Han’s trying instead of talking and figuring it out is unlike either of you, and it nagged on you, whenever you looked at him. You ought to find out what it was that changed him, that made him refuse of confessing it to you – you feared you already knew.

He looked at you, then, and blushed; he seemed like he got caught, doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His eyes immediately lost yours again, and his attention was back on the cat which had been begging for it. Your eyes saddened, fell into themselves. You shouldn’t have ever proposed your idea on the sofa – you should have managed to work out your frustration, sexual or not, yourself. You didn’t regret it, not particularly, but you simply shouldn’t have. For his sake, as much as for your friendships’. You never promised anyone to be an angel, and frankly, you doubted to be a very good person altogether – but the selfishness you burdened Han with surprised even yourself, more so that you didn’t have the guts to dissolve it. You weren’t any better than him, in that matter, then; choosing silence instead of talking it out, instead of resolving matters that desperately needed it.

“Do we have beer at home?”

Breaking the silence because you couldn’t possibly take it, and Han looked at you. There was gratefulness in his eyes, you thought – gratefulness that you brought up such an easy subject, that you chose to talk of mundanity. He shook his head, took a long drag of his cigarette before finishing his root beer with a big gulp, throwing his head back and exhaling loudly.

“No, I think we finished it all last time. Should we go buy some?”

You looked at him as he continued smoking, putting the empty can of his drink into his worn-out bag to deposit it later for a couple cents. He squatted down, pinching the shrinking bud between his lips, and played with the clingy feline still snaking around his feet. He giggled softly, only for himself – you wished nothing would ever change at all. You wished, too, that you’d mature into a better person, at some point.

You stood in front of the shelves of booze, searching for your go-to beer, or something that at least wasn’t disgusting for its’ price. Han still stood outside; “You’re not wasting your gum, and I’m not wasting my cigarettes; they’re expensive.”, was his argument when you rolled your eyes at the tiny bud between his fingers, having argued that he could long discard it. You had scoffed at him, and had entered the store by yourself; “You keep destroying your lungs then, I won’t wait for you; I’m passively smoking way too much anyways with your smoking all around me.” You had waved your hands in front of your face to accentuate your disgust at the cloud of smoke Han engulfed you in, and disappeared into the badly lit store, half empty, with a tired-looking cashier behind the counter.

Han hadn’t lied to you when he said he wasn’t wasting his cigarettes, but it had only been a half-truth – he needed to compose himself. You were driving him crazy. Unknowingly, and surely not purposefully, but every word you spoke, every move you made set off a fire in his veins. He hadn’t felt this way about you before, even when he had realized, painfully, the feelings he bore for you – because before today, you weren’t a possibility. Before today the very thought of having you, in any form other than he already had, was laughable. The mere idea of touching you, letting his lips meet your body, your skin, your own lips had been amusing at least, embarrassing at best. So now that you were palpable, now that those ideas were, he couldn’t stop thinking them. He couldn’t stop imagining your hands on his body when you took hold of your bag to throw it around your shoulder, couldn’t stop imagining your fingers against his skin when they typed away at your phone, to send someone a quick, mindless message. When he looked at your mouth, talking or chewing on your long tasteless gum, the picture of it around his cock would not leave his mind – he wasn’t even sure if you had planned to fuck him tonight, but he didn’t care as long as it happened, eventually. He was long beyond the point of caring, too, about his laughable pitifulness.

When he made his way into the store, he met you by the shelves of chips and snacks. When you saw him, you gave him a mindless smile, and he returned it. He was glad you were so very calm – despite his pathetic anticipation Han had missed feeling careless in your presence, almost like before. And your relaxation calmed him, too; if you were to tease him, if you were to mention the conversation on the sofa in the studio – he might have to spill his feelings for you the very moment.

“You want something specific? I’ll take sweet-onion anddd…”, you scanned the bright bags of chips, deciding on hot-chilli quickly, “…these. Anything else?” You showed Han the haul in your hands, two six-packs of beer, two bags of chips, struggling to hold it all. He took one pack of the beverages you held, and another bag of sweet-onion chips. “Should be enough.”

You left the store with full hands of groceries, emptier wallets, and one additional cigarette pack in Han’s jean pocket.

“I swear you knew you didn’t bring your wallet – you were the one who asked if we should buy some beer!!”, you cried out, accusing your best friend. You had stood at the check-out already, beer and chips and one pack of expensive cigarettes laying on the register, when Han had announced that he hadn’t brought his wallet.

“And I swear I didn’t know!!” Not quite a comeback when you walked further towards your apartment, already having reached your neighbourhood, and squinting your eyes at the blinding sundown.

“Sure you didn’t. You only want me for my money.”, you tsked while shaking your head playfully, and Han laughed at that – you barely made more than him in your respective part-time jobs.

“I do, actually.” Then, after a while, when you didn’t retort anything, only continued making your way further down the quiet street, droplets of sweat sticking to the skin of your neck, “I’ll pay you back the money for my cigarettes.”

You turned your head to look back at him. There it was again, that changed look. Playful one moment, making you believe that you were the same old again, before the change settled behind his eyes. A pang to your heart, because his eyes looked sad that way, and his face spoke more than his words did; you just weren’t sure if you understood him.

“I sure hope so. And I want the money for half of the rest, too.”

One hour later, you were tipsy and full on the sofa in your shared apartment. You were giggling, too, about what you were unsure. Though you knew that you were content. Han seemed relaxed, helped by the three beers he had drank over the past sixty minutes, and was telling you joke after joke, making you laugh. He loved making you laugh; it had been a while he last had, and you had missed it, dearly. For a moment, sitting here with him, you believed that the past two weeks truly had dissipated into nothingness – you had been ought to forget the fights and the pettiness, and you enjoyed his company now, which felt like old times.

“Should we watch something? I kinda wanna watch something.”, Han half-slurred, and you giggled as he reached for the TV remote. The static of the screen blinded you for a moment before your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and by then the man had already opened his Netflix account, scrolling through collections of movies. You felt the heat of his body next to your own, his leg touching yours. You watched his fingers as he clicked away on the remote, his face, then, enlightened by bright hues. The way his eyes shone with them.

It had been five minutes, movie names thrown out into the air, but none of which caught either of your attention. Another five minutes, and you weren’t even paying attention to the TV anymore; you wondered if you were attracted to him. A part of you had to be, maybe – for you had asked to sleep with him after all. And though you couldn’t deny his attractiveness, a subtle one, a natural one which not a lot of people you knew carried, you couldn’t say you ever noticed it. Your preposition had merely been a practical one, not one based on mutual attractiveness; you thought, at least.

Yet despite, your eyes wandered around his body, unbeknownst to him. Would he shy away from your gaze, if he only saw it? If he turned his head your way? Now that you saw him in a light which you’ve never thought about before, you noticed more of him. His hands, which still were holding the remote and his can of warm-turned beer, were pretty, almost delicate. Callused, too, at the fingertips – much like your own. The clinking sound of his teeth biting at his silver piercing sounded in your ears, even though the trailers he played on the TV were far louder; you only heard the repetitive sound of tooth on metal, and converted your eyes to his lips. His tongue darted out, from time to time, mindlessly, quickly before it was gone again. You wanted to kiss him, suddenly.

You tore yourself out of your thoughts, and your eyes caught the light of the TV. You breathed out, more heavily than Han had expected you to.

“You don’t wanna watch anything?”

He looked at you, eyes big, and bright, mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed a little to show question, and you looked at his lips. You caught him blushing when your eyes suddenly weren’t on his own anymore, when they travelled down his mouth, and he licked his lips then, sealed them. You thought about Chris, the angering frustration he’s left you with. You looked Han in the eyes again; and you smiled a little, smugly.

“You know…”, your voice was quiet, and low, and slurred. Han visibly swallowed when he looked at you; you caught his gaze flicking to your lips quickly, before he blushed even deeper. “We could just do… this instead.” You leaned in slowly, so slow that you gave him enough time to back away, to turn his face and flee your lips; but he didn’t. Han sat in his place, awaiting, big-eyed and blinking so hard you almost chuckled. You further closed the distance between you, inch by inch, before finally, your lips met.

It was a slow kiss, a leisure one. You were testing out the waters, letting your tongue brush across Han’s lower lip, across his piercing for only half a second before your lips closed his in again, softly. He was kissing you back, though the man was as though paralyzed otherwise; not moving in his seat, dumbfounded – he loved you. If he didn’t know it before, he surely did now, as your lips danced along his, so very calm, so very collected, unapologetically. You kissed him slowly, and softly, and deeply. Your hand lay on his shoulders, came up to caress at his cheek. You were delicate, you moaned out quietly when Han opened his mouth for you, let you take him in; and he couldn’t even touch you, could only sit, a stone of himself. He had you, close and warm and perfect, next to him, and he only needed to reach out, but couldn’t. He couldn’t as much as move his limbs, having lost all control over his own body; he was utterly hopeless.

You pulled away. Your head cocked to the side, and you looked at him with a smile grazing at the corner of your mouth. He could only look at you, in the dim light, in the static of the TV. The beads of sweat on your neck, the scent of beer when you breathed against him, the smell of your worn perfume – it was everything and it was nothing, losing himself in every detail which was you.

“Do you not like it?” Your voice was a whisper; you didn’t need to talk any louder, for the distance between your bodies wasn’t even worth mentioning. Han blinked, two times, three, four more, and finally registered your question.

“No, I do…”, he finally breathed out, as quietly as you, though far more desperate, “I really fucking do.”

You giggled, too cute for the given situation, he thought, but he didn’t mind it. You got hold of the can of beer still in his hands, the TV remote; Han had long forgotten that his hands had been occupied, in the first place. The dark, tangy beer met the old table with a quiet thump, and Han didn’t even see where the remote landed; you had thrown it somewhere beside them, both careless about it, both eager for each other.

“That’s good.”

You sat up, and with one swift motion, you found yourself on top of him. Han looked you up, from beneath his lashes; he hadn’t expected that, and the drowsiness in his veins almost made him curse out. Your legs were caging in his, and you hovered over him with a smile – he wasn’t sure if it was more than that, if what he saw wasn’t a smile but a smirk, more teasing and mischievous than kind, but he couldn’t tell in this lighting. He didn’t truly care, either. Because the next moment your lips were on his again, and you kissed him deeper this time around, faster. Surer of yourself, and Han welcomed it. He felt paralyzed, still, more so than before – a big part of him thought he had to imagine things, that the beer made him dream so very vividly that he had troubles differentiating it from reality – and for several moments, he simply let you kiss him. You didn’t seem to mind it; you were experimenting, cupping his face in your hands and making out with him, fast, yet unhurriedly.

He moved, then, finally. His hands fought against the disbelief and the numbing bliss coursing his body, and he lay them by the side of your thighs, wandering up to your waist in the process. It was the first time he was feeling you like this. Was he a fool, to never having noticed you before? To never having noticed your appeal, your body? He was noticing it now, exploring it, slowly, excessively; he needed to savour every passing second, every inch of you in risk this to be his only chance. He didn’t know how much longer you’d want to keep this affair, how much until you were satisfied, or until you managed to get Mr. Bahng where you wanted him. Han couldn’t let a single detail about tonight get past him; he would be able to remember the feeling of your body and your skin beneath his hands long after you’d grow tired of him.

And that’s how he touched you, too; firm, suddenly, awakened and driven by a newly found passion, a plan. He groped at your hips, felt your clothed flesh beneath his hands. He was fascinated at how it didn’t feel at all strange; the more he touched you, the more right it felt. He kissed you back more feverishly now, too. He opened his mouth and invited you in, pushed his tongue against your own, moaning quietly, a little shyly, against your lips. He felt you smile at that, and if he lost himself any further his hips would have bucked into yours at the feeling.

You pulled away. Suddenly, leaving him hungry and searching for your lips with his own. You giggled at the view of him not ready to let you go, of him trying to lean in to you, eyes yet closed and needy, in hopes of finding you again. When he didn’t, when he was left with only emptiness, his eyes opened, and he looked at you. It was silent desperation in his gaze; he wouldn’t stoop low enough to beg for you yet, keeping some of his pride after all, but he was silently pleading you on, to keep going, to give you more, to please, please not stop.

It was different seeing him like this. A puddle in your hands, so very needy. It was different, and it was sweet. You enjoyed it, more than you thought you would. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was pent up frustration; or maybe it was simply him, so infatuated by you, so seemingly enamoured. You knew he hadn’t fucked anyone in a while – he must have missed it as much as you, and reading it on his face, the relief and the quiet shame and the pleasure, was far more exciting than you had hoped it to be.

You leaned in again, and Han closed his eyes, puckered his lips. He was ready, entirely; but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a kiss. You stopped inches before him, and gave him a smile when he looked up at you again, frustrated, teetering on annoyance. Your hand disappeared to his hips; the man jumped in surprise, and a breath hitched in his throat; cute. He tensed up, until he realized it wasn’t his sex – hard and leaking by now, though he wouldn’t want to admit to it – you were aiming for, but the pockets of his jeans. He blinked at you, watched you hold his gaze in a manner unwavering; he wondered if you liked this as much as he did. If it came natural to you also, the kissing, and the touching, and the teasing. Or if you felt a hint of amusement, still, a little funny because this wasn’t anything either of you had ever truly thought of, let alone planned until a couple hours ago; he wouldn’t blame you, either way.

Your fingers snuck into the depths of his pockets, finally fishing out what you were looking for – Han never left the house without a condom on him, despite the little use he found for them. He didn’t know why you knew; but something about it turned him on beyond comprehension. Something about your smile when you looked at him now, when you sat back a little. Something about the way your teeth flashed when your smile widened, something about the way you waved the condom in front of him, when his face screamed question marks and the absence of any coherence.

You giggled, let one of your hands slowly wander down his body. You started at his chest, travelled to the expanse of his stomach over his old, washed-out shirt, teased at his abdomen. The touches were feather light, but they ignited burning fires on the sensitivity of his skin.

“We’re gonna need that, no?”, you asked, rhetorically, but he nodded anyways.

“Can already feel how hard you are… and we’ve only kissed.”, you mumbled against his lips, before you connected them with your own. You didn’t give him much time to react; but when he processed your words and hot embarrassment flooded his body he whined out, brows furrowed and holding onto you, fingers digging into the fabric of your low-rise jeans. He could feel the skin of your waist beneath his fingertips; it was warm and slightly sweaty, and it drove him insane.

Your hands explored a little more of him, moved further south, until you hovered over his core. You only hovered, you didn’t yet touch. You let Han get impatient, let him whine out again – you hadn’t expected him to sound so pretty, so eager. It almost wasn’t in your control, the way you egged him on only to elicit more of those sounds from the depths of his throat. You let him whimper into your mouth, let him buck his hips in search of your touch; only softly, almost embarrassed, and only then you palmed him over the restrains of his jeans. It must have been painful; he was straining against the rough material, so hard you wondered just how long it had been since he’d last had his dick touched. Though you couldn’t really blame him, not if the wetness between your legs started staining not only your underwear but your jeans also, not when the heat in your core was barely possible to hold out. You needed this as bad as he did, after all.

You fiddled with the belt of Han’s jeans, his button, then, when you succeeded. You undid the zipper, lastly – by then his breath came in staggered huffs and sighs, and he pulled you closer, entirely lost. He kissed you harder, too, when you palmed his cock over his underwear; it was marred with precum already, and you smiled against his lips. Lips which never ceased to urge for more, to glue against yours.

Finally, and he almost started begging for it, you took him out fully. You broke the kiss, and you both watched as you palmed his cock, at the base first before you moved your hand against it, up to the tip, then down again. Slowly, taking your time. It wasn’t the first time you saw him naked, wasn’t the first time, even, you touched his sex – you had been kids once and curious, though back then, awkwardness had marred the memory. Now, the feeling was different; and not for the first time tonight, you were surprised just how different. You grew wetter at the sounds of his pleasure, and how very red, how very angry his leaking tip was when your thumb circled over it. Han rolled his hips into your fist softly, more confident now, or maybe simply needier, but softly nonetheless. After moments of touching he made moves to open the buttons on your jeans as well, and you let him. You raised your hips slowly to help him slide them off you, and it took you a little to discard them fully; the alcohol in your system made you clumsy and dizzy, and you both giggled when you almost tripped over your pants before you were back to straddling him. Han noticed the light scar on your knee – he had the same one. He also noticed the self-made tattoo by your ankle; a music note. You hadn’t been eighteen yet, and you had known a guy with a tattoo gun back then. Against his warnings of never, ever touching it you did, once, had almost caught an infection, too. The tattoo was long faded out now, looking rough and shaky; but it was still there, and Han noticed it now as he looked you up and down, as took all of you in.

Yet he hesitated to touch you, now that your jeans didn’t cover your skin anymore. He was almost glad you had decided to leave your panties on – his eyes were already lost on your figure, trying to take you all in and losing himself in it. Your tank top still was on, too; it wasn’t a sight he didn’t know, necessarily. You were both comfortable in your bodies and around each other, and days at the beach weren’t a rarity with you two, either. But right now was different. Right now, your bare thighs were caging in his own, and he could only focus on how the softness of them spilled over your underwear. He didn’t know if he had ever noticed it before; he surely would from now on, and it was bound to destroy him.

His hands slowly found your hips again. It was a steady place, secure, sturdy; he liked how they felt beneath his palm, your hips. But he wanted to touch you, more intimate, closer; simply more. He didn’t know if he was brave enough. He was frozen in his place, frozen by your hips, only moving his lips against yours. But you were urging for it, he thought. Your hips were moving slowly, rolling over his own; he wasn’t sure if you were getting any friction, if you moved for moving’s sake, or if you wanted him exactly where his own fingers tingled to be.

Though he didn’t need to decide, after all; your right hand took hold of his left, and you guided him to your wetness. A loud whine escaped him – your underwear was soaked, and you were hot. A heat so scorching it ought to burn Han alive, yet he didn’t retract his hand, only dove into you further. He pulled your panties to the side, scooped up your wetness, testing the waters. You moaned, you bit his lower lip, you kissed him harder; and he kept going. He teased at your clit, enjoyed how your hips rolled against his hand, how you lost yourself in pleasure now, too. He was dizzy himself; you never eased off his sex, kept touching upon him, kept teasing his tip. You grinded against each other, both needy, both intoxicated, both your hearts speaking different languages this very moment, yet yearning for the same purpose.

You pulled away with a deep sigh, and your teeth ripped open the package of the condom you had held in your hand up until now. Han sat wide-eyed, speechless; he hoped he wouldn’t cum the very moment you eased onto him. He wasn’t strong-willed as it was, and hopeless around you altogether. He would embarrass himself, surely.

You rolled the rubber over his erection, kissed him again before you adjusted yourself above him. And he had been right; when he felt your wetness, your heat engulf him slowly, when he watched your face blow out in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes widening before they shut close, before your head lulled back, he was closer to release than it was comfortable to admit. Fuck. He needed to recompose himself if he wanted this moment to last any longer than only a couple seconds. Not only didn’t he want to ever leave this, ever leave you, your touch, the feeling of your body underneath his hands; he would also be unable to face you without shame if he happened to bust already. Which wouldn’t be an easy task; you were together every day, and he wanted to still be able to look you in the eyes, without feeling embarrassed to the core. So, Han lulled his head back, closed his eyes shut, to not look at your contorted face – it was far prettier than he had imagined.

He felt you. Because he didn’t dare look at you all his senses were locked in on the feeling of your dripping pussy around him, your velvety walls taking all of him in, again and again. You kept a rhythm which was driving the man further to numbing pleasure, and your sounds echoing in his ears were heavenly – god, how much he loved the way you sounded. It wasn’t the first time he heard you this way – the walls in your shared apartment were rather thin – but it was the first time the sounds were meant for him, the first time he didn’t mind it, the first time he didn’t cover his ears with noise-cancelling headphones, not so much out of annoyance, but out of the embarrassment of his hardening erection. He had always thought it wasn’t your sounds in particular which got him so very hard whenever you had brought someone over to spend the night with, that it had always been the mere and mundane act of sex within close proximity; he had always had the libido of a teenage boy, after all.

Though now, listening to your throaty, whiny moans, your small sighs of pleasure; it had been you. Had always been, long before he had realized it himself.

“Gonna cum.” Your voice was breathy, stuck in your throat, and Han shot his eyes open at your words. He moaned out, too, when his eyes met yours – you had never looked more beautiful. With a hand of yours down your core, hectic fingers toying with your clit and the other clinging onto his shoulder he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into you, whining out curses and your name, furrowing his brows. It got you off the edge; his high-pitched whimpers, the way your name sounded when it rolled off his lips. He had never sounded like this, so breathy, so whiny, so pleading. It was adorable, it was enough to tip you off, and you came against him loud and hard, mouth hung open and head lulling into your neck. And it was entirely enough for Han to follow, momentarily; his hips fucked into yours, and his hands dug into your flesh before he filled the condom with a drawn-out whimper, continuing to grind his hips into yours, riding out his orgasm, chasing the end of it, the endlessness of it.

You sat next to him, panties wet and sticky, chests heaving, watching him slide off the condom to tie it up. You couldn’t read him. He didn’t look the way you’d have expected him to post sex; his thoughts were occupied by something, and he fled your eyes, it seemed. When he got up to throw the used rubber in the kitchen trash distress glazed his eyes, and a feeling of worry set in your chest. Had it been wrong, after all? Maybe you had misread him, took him for someone who would enjoy casualties. He had seemed to have enjoyed it, though. And he had agreed; were you so bad in reading your best friend? Did you know him so little?

When Han sat back down on the sofa he looked at nothing in particular, before his head turned to you. He smiled a bit, fucked out and pupils blown out; maybe he was fine. You clung onto a hopeless straw.

“So, is the only reason you fucked me because you can’t have Mr. Bahng.” The name sounded sarcastic out of his mouth, and the question amused; was he joking around? It sounded like it, but his eyes looked serious, hopeful. Why was he bringing up Chris, all of a sudden? Not even you had been thinking about the teacher too much throughout tonight; so why was he?

Your brows furrowed slightly, and you hoped he didn’t notice; you chuckled then, throwing your head back against the backrest of the sofa, feigning relaxation.

“No, actually I’ve always been suuuper attracted to you.”, you looked at him, and his eyes sunk. You noticed, but you giggled, and put on your best pout, “I was just so scared to tell you before.” You chuckled, and you couldn’t stand yourself. Han’s face visibly saddened, sunk into itself, before he forced himself to huff out in fake amusement. He seemed nervous, fiddled with his hands, pretended to sweep something off his pants which wasn’t there. And when he got up with a quiet “Gonna go to sleep, then.”, you were disgusted by yourself. You sat on the sofa for a little while longer, booze making your head pulsate, making you more anxious than maybe necessary. Your panties were dry by now, and your thighs aching; did you enjoy hurting the people around you, only so they wouldn’t hurt you first? Or were you doing it, just for the pleasure of it? You cleaned up the empty cans of beer and the snacks before you went to wash the guilt off your body; when the shower started running Han still wasn’t asleep, and you couldn’t hear his quiet sniffling in the room next to your own.

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