#but i suppose that's what i was meant to say | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnacles34 · 1 day ago

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My Greatest Joy

IVE Yujin x Male Reader

16k words

'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.' — The Year of Magical Thinking

18+ smut

The Birth Crisis. The Great Vanishing. The Specter of Demographic Collapse. The media couldn’t decide on a name, only that it was happening. Some said Korea would be empty in a century. Others, ten years. Twenty-five, if they were feeling generous. A hysterical pendulum swing between denial and terror, between think-tank white papers and government campaigns urging citizens to bureaucratize what was once spontaneous: love, sex, reproduction.

But in Dunsan-dong, no one talked about it. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. The village shrank in slow motion. Affairs stopped happening—nobody had the energy, or the audience. The local divorce lawyer quietly removed ‘Infidelity’ from his services, then shut down altogether. Playgrounds grew ghostly. The corner food stands, once territorial battlegrounds for unruly teenagers, went bankrupt one by one. ‘Kids these days grow up too fast,’ one ajumma said, as if that were the whole explanation.

And yet, in all this entropy, two were born. A statistical error. A miracle.

Miracle is not hyperbole. In two decades, the birth count had been three. The bureaucratic failure of Love—yes, Love, capital L, the thing that was supposed to be instinctual, inevitable, the thing people built whole religions and K-dramas around—had finally completed its slow bureaucratic death. Love was no longer a force. Love was paperwork.

Except for two people.

For them, Love was everything.

—

'One move and you'll split open like a badly wrapped present.' ‘Is that your professional opinion?' 'That's my twenty years of keeping-you-alive opinion.' She's biting her lower lip, the way she always does when she's trying not to smile at your stupidity. 'And I really don't want to explain to some emergency room doctor why I have a boy bleeding out in my room at 2 AM.'

The gash should hurt more. Six inches of red spite across your forearm, but all you can focus on is how Yujin's looking at it—like she's found something breakable in a world made of steel.

'I really fucked up.' 'Did you?' Her touch finds your good arm, barely there. 'Or did you do exactly what you meant to?'

The lamp makes everything soft. She's wearing your t-shirt—the one you left here that summer when the AC broke. Cotton worn thin enough to catch shadowy curves underneath. Silk pajama bottoms that whisper secrets when she moves. You try not to notice. You notice everything.

'This might need stitches.' 'Are you volunteering?' 'Shut up and hold still.' But there's laughter in her voice, the kind that makes your chest tight. 'Some of us are trying to work miracles here.'

The first-aid kit looks wrong in her small hands. Those hands that used to patch up your scraped knees, that still know exactly where you're breakable.

'Remember that time in third grade?' Her fingers ghost over your skin. 'When you tried to convince me you could fly?' 'I could've.' 'You broke your arm.' 'Minor setback.' She laughs, soft and close. 'Nothing's changed, has it?'

Everything's changed. The way moonlight catches in her hair now, how her perfume makes your head swim, the careful distance she keeps even when she's touching you. But you say, 'Not the important things.'

Her breath hits your arm in warm little puffs as she works. Clean movements. No hesitation. Like she's mapping something she never forgot.

'Almost done.' Her thumb traces the edge of the bandage. 'Next time try not to bleed on my carpet?' 'Yujin-ah.' 'Mm?' 'Thank you.'

She looks up. Those eyes crack something in your chest. Then she smiles and whatever was cracked turns to stardust.

'So how'd it happen? And don't say you just slipped, because I know all your clumsy excuses by heart.' 'Just slipped.' 'Onto what? Did some wandering samurai leave their sword in Dunsan-dong?' 'You never know what you'll find these days.' 'Hey.' Her voice goes quiet, the way it used to when she'd tell you secrets at midnight. 'Tell me? I promise to not scold you…much.'

Face to face now. The universe narrows to this: her eyes on yours, her hands still on your skin.

'Okay.' You gesture with your good arm. 'Window.' 'What did you—' Her voice catches. 'If you've done something wild—'

Then you smile.

You watch her shoulders drop. It's a small thing, being able to do this—turn her static to quiet. Not exactly Superman stuff, but it's the only superpower you'd keep if they were dealing them out.

She knows. You can see it in how she moves—little half-dance steps to the window, taking your words as is—hopefully, something good. The curtain whispers. You don't watch. Can't. Your skin's electric with her lingering smell—something you'd bottle if you could, except that'd ruin it, the particular way her skin holds the perfume.

The silence stretches until you think you might snap. Then—

'What am I supposed to be looking at? Because all I see is Mrs. Kim's cat trying to fight a streetlight again, and—' She stops. 'What's it say?'

'Let me make sure I'm reading this right.' She's still facing the window, but you can hear the smile breaking through, eyes transforming into pure joy. 'Because either someone's confessing to me via Christmas lights at 2 AM, or the neighborhood's having a very very specific power outage.'

'These past years—' 'Wait.' She spins around, eyes catching lamplight. 'Did you seriously string up every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong just to—' She takes three quick steps toward you, stops. 'The lights outside the convenience store. The ones from the coffee shop. Even the ones from—' Her eyes go wide. 'You didn't.'

'Old Mr. Park drives a hard bargain.' 'His birthday lights? The ones he's kept since forever?' 'To be fair, they were already purple. Worked with the aesthetic.' 'And what exactly did you promise him?' 'Just my eternal servitude. And maybe repainting his fence.' 'The whole fence?'

'Both sides.'

She shakes her head, but her smile could light up the whole neighborhood. 'You're insane. Completely insane. Do you know how many people I had to convince about your mental well-being?'

'Had to?'

'Have to. Present tense.' She's between your knees now, playing with your shirt hem like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 'Though I guess now I'll have to change my story to "dating a lunatic who steals Christmas lights and nearly loses an arm trying to spell out love confessions."'

Your heart stumbles. 'Dating?'

'Well,' her borrowed shirt slips further, showing more shoulder. 'I mean, you did just write my name in stars.'

'They're Christmas lights.'

'Same difference.' Her fingers trail up your arm, careful of the bandage. 'Very romantic Christmas lights.'

'Does that mean—'

'It means anyone crazy enough to risk tetanus and Mr. Park's wrath deserves at least dinner.' A pause, then softer: 'Maybe breakfast too, if they play their cards right.'

'Just breakfast?'

'Don't push your luck.' But she's smiling that smile—the one that's always been just for you.

'Yujin-ah.'

'Mm?'

'All these years, did you ever—'

'Every day.' She doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. 'Every single day.'

'Can I—'

Her mouth finds yours: the way her lips part like flower petals at dawn, soft and inevitable. Her breath mingles with yours. There's the perfect arch of her spine, the way her breasts press warm against your chest through thin cotton, how her hips seek yours with an instinct older than thought. The taste of her, sweet milk tea and something darker, something that makes your blood sing. Her hands flutter at your neck, startled, before finding home in your hair, and there's that smell of her—woody, floral, fruity—that makes you dizzy, makes you forget where you end and she begins. Delicate sounds escape her, primal and pure, vibrating through both your bodies like a struck chord. Then she's pulling back, but her body stays honest—trembling, burning: alive with new knowledge.

'Sorry,' she whispers. 'Got carried away. We should probably wait until your wound is healed.' Her smile is so reassuring, masking the softest disappointment that her eyes couldn't hide.

But she was in luck.

Your fingers circle her wrist mid-fret, right as she's about to check your bandage for the seventh time. Her skin is cool against yours, pulse like a hummingbird.

'Stop fretting.'

'I'm not fretting.' But she's barely holding back a smile, eyes bright with something more than just lamplight. 'I'm calculating how many years Mr. Park's going to make you repaint his fence.'

'Already negotiated.' You tug her closer, feeling the way she pretends to resist. 'Two coats, both sides, and my firstborn child.'

'Bold of you to negotiate with children that don't exist.' She settles between your knees anyway, like she's found her way home.

'Yet.'

Her borrowed shirt—your shirt—slips further off one shoulder. 'You're impossible.'

'Impossible enough to steal every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong.'

'Borrow,' she corrects, fingers playing with your collar. 'We're calling it borrowing. Sounds less felonious.'

'Look who's being responsible.'

'Someone has to be.' But she's leaning closer, breath warm against your mouth. 'Since you've apparently lost your mind.'

'Lost it years ago.' Your thumb traces her lower lip. 'Right around the time you started wearing my clothes.'

She makes this sound—half laugh, half something else entirely. 'Smooth talker.'

'Only for you.'

Her hands find your chest, but there's no real resistance in it. 'If you tear those stitches—'

The kiss swallows her warning. This one's different—deeper, like you're trying to taste every year you've waited. She makes a sound that turns your blood to starlight, fingers curling into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear.

'That's cheating,' she whispers when you break apart.

'Is it working?'

The lamp catches gold in her eyes. 'Always will.'

Your hand finds skin at the small of her back. She arches like a cat stretching into sunlight.

'You're staring.'

'Can't help it.'

'Try.'

'Make me.'

She kisses you this time—soft, sweet, dangerous. When she pulls back, her smile could outshine every stolen light in the neighborhood.

'We should probably—' she starts.

'Probably.'

Her fingers find the hem of her shirt. Your shirt. Details.

What follows is an exercise in creative problem-solving. One functional arm between you, too much cotton, not enough coordination. Her hair gets caught. You both laugh. The shirt wins the first round.

'Left,' she instructs.

'My left or your left?'

'Wait—here… I got it.'

The second attempt goes better. The shirt surrenders its hold, and suddenly there's just Yujin—all golden skin and starlight. Her bra's simple beige cotton, but the way it holds her could make Michaelangelo weep.

'You're staring again.'

'Still can't help it.'

She kisses you quiet, hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer. Everything soft and warm and perfect.

'Can I—' your fingers find her back, trace lace.

'Yes.' Another kiss. 'Please.'

The bra falls away like a secret finally told. You forget how words work.

The air hums with the weight of revelation—her body an altar, every contour a psalm. Your breath tangles as you drink her in: the bronze aureoles, the arch of her ribs like a vaulted sanctuary, the pulse fluttering at her throat like a caged sparrow. She shivers beneath your gaze: the raw vulnerability of a soul laid bare.

Your palms ascend her sides, mapping the smoothness, the glory of it all—each sigh, each hitch of muscle, a dialect you ache to memorize. She tips her head back as your thumbs brush the underswell of her breasts, a whimper dissolving. ‘More,’ she murmurs, not a demand but a prayer, a beg; her fingers knotting in your hair as if you might slip away like smoke.

You oblige, slow as honey, mouth tracing the salt-sweet hollow of her collarbone. Her skin blooms beneath your lips—petal-soft, fever-warm—as you chart a path lower, lower, until her nipple grazes your tongue. She gasps, back arching. Her hands clutch at you, anchor and plea, as you worship her with unhurried devotion, savoring each tremor, each stuttered breath.

When her legs part—a silent invitation—it’s your turn to shudder. The heat of her radiates through the last fragile barrier, a molten promise. You press closer, the rigid heat of your unclothed shaft straining against her thigh, a visceral counterpoint to her softness. She rolls her hips, deliberate, and you groan as her warmth grinds against you, friction sparking like flint.

You linger there, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Her eyes lock with yours, galaxies swirling in their depths. ‘I want to feel you,’ she whispers, voice trembling. ‘All of you.’

You move as tides do: inevitable, reverent. Her thighs cradle your hips as you guide yourself to her entrance, the head of your shaft slick with Her. The first breach is a shared gasp—a threshold crossed in tandem. She tightens around you, velvet heat clenching like a fist around your length, and you still, trembling, sweat-slicked and spellbound. Her nails score your shoulders, anchoring you to the agony of slowness.

‘Slowly,’ she breathes, and you obey, each fractional advance a pilgrimage. Her fingers trace your jaw, your lips, as if memorizing the shape of this moment. When you’re sheathed fully, time suspends. Her lashes flutter closed, a tear escaping as she whispers, 'Yes.'

You move in thrusts. Her sighs crest into whimpers, into chants of your name, each syllable a spark in the gathering storm. Her breasts sway with the rhythm, nipples brushing your chest, while your hands grip the flare of her hips, guiding her into the tide. Around you, the room dissolves: there is only her skin, her scent, the liquid pull of her around your shaft—a mosaic of need and nectar, each fragment a revelation.

You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her surrender, as the world fractures, reforms, and fractures again.

—

Sheets tangled like an afterthought. A leg hooked over yours, pinning you in place with the quiet authority of someone who has long since decided where they belong. The desk fan ticks through its slow, mechanical arc, stirring the air, stirring her hair, making it brush your chin in the softest, smallest way possible.

She shifts, just enough for her ribs to press against yours. You feel her breathing. Deep. Slow. Listening.

‘I have an audition next week,’ she says, voice barely above a whisper.

‘For what?’

‘Community theater. Spring show.’ A pause. Then, quietly, ‘It’s dumb.’

‘You don’t do dumb things.’

She laughs. A real one. The kind that scrunches her nose a little, that makes her shoulders shake just enough to jostle you.

‘Except this,’ she murmurs. Her fingers trace slow circles on your chest.

‘This was a strategic decision.’

‘Oh?’

‘Carefully calculated.’

She laughs again, softer this time. Her breath is warm where it spills against your collarbone. You could live here. Right here, in the space between her voice and her warmth and the way her hair tickles your skin.

She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. The Christmas lights outside flicker purples and blues across her face, her skin, making her look like something caught between a dream and waking. Her smile is quiet. Not big, not blinding. Just there. Something she’s forgotten to hide.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey.’

Her fingers tap lightly against your chest. ‘Remember when you proposed to me behind the school?’

‘Which time.’

She grins. ‘The time I lost the play to Wonyoung and cried so hard I got a nosebleed.’

‘Ah. I told you it didn’t matter because you’d always be the lead in my story.’

She groans, dropping her forehead to your shoulder. ‘You were so corny.’

‘Still am.’

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘You are.’

You feel her smile against your skin.

The fan clicks on again, stirring the night, the space between you. The crickets outside hum in harmony with the distant sound of a train—faint, but there. The whole world is slowing down. Breathing with you.

She shifts again, nestles closer. Her lips brush your skin—your collarbone, then just above your heart.

‘I can hear you thinking,’ you say.

She sighs, slow and steady. ‘Just… happy.’

You don’t say anything. Just hold her tighter. Like keeping her close might keep the moment from slipping away.

She pulls back, just far enough to see you, really see you. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still swollen. The Christmas lights turn her eyes into something impossible, something endless.

‘I love you, you know,’ she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like she’s never known anything else.

You smile. ‘I know.’

She kisses you. Slow, deep, soft. Like a secret. Like an answer.

The fan ticks. The lights flicker. The night stretches on.

—

It was supposed to be small. A local theater gig, a footnote in her life story. Something that kept her busy while she figured out the rest. That was the plan.

Then a casting director walked into the wrong show on the right night. A single scene, a single line delivered with the kind of weight that makes people stop chewing their popcorn. Two weeks later, she’s everywhere.

At first, it’s just murmurs. Articles in the culture section. Buzzwords like promising, raw talent, the next big thing. Then the billboards go up. Magazines with her face—half-laughing, half-serious, eyes catching the camera like they know something you don’t. The first time you see one, it’s plastered on the side of a bus stop you used to share, back when the only lines she rehearsed were whispered promises and badly sung pop songs.

Now she’s too big for Dunsan-dong.

Not just big. Seismic.

Korea’s sweetheart, the industry's new obsession. Agencies circle like sharks with briefcases, smiling through teeth polished for negotiation. They offer her everything—money, sponsorships, a life where she doesn’t have to wait for the subway or count change at convenience stores. And she takes it, not because she’s greedy, but because this is what she was always meant to be.

You watch it happen the way people watch slow-motion car crashes. Helpless. Horrified. A little bit in awe.

Because here’s the thing they never warn you about when you love someone who's destined for greatness: fame isn’t a door. It’s a chasm. You can’t walk through it holding hands.

At first, you convince yourself nothing’s changed. You still talk, still text. But her replies come slower, her voice more rehearsed. The calls happen between set breaks, her voice filtered through exhaustion and bad reception.

Then the interviews start. The talk shows. The press tours.

She gets good at the answers, the little smiles, the artful dodges. The first time someone asks if she’s dating anyone, she hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the internet to notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. That she’s protecting you. That this is just part of the machine.

But a few weeks later, you see a headline:

‘The Nation’s New Star: Who is Yujin’s Mystery First Love?’

And for the first time, it hits you—really hits you—how easy it is to be rewritten.

The tabloids build their own history, constructing boyfriends from old classmates, exes from co-stars. They don’t name you. They don’t have to. Because in the world they’ve built, you don’t exist.

And maybe, you start to think, maybe you never did.

Maybe love isn’t enough when it’s up against the weight of the world. Maybe you were naive to think you could be something more than a footnote in her legend.

Maybe you were never really two. Maybe it was always just her.

Moving forward. Rising higher.

And you—

You’re just the idiot standing still, watching her disappear into the stars.

—

Yujin called you up.

The night was cutting: cold, unrelenting Snow blew sideways, a thousand tiny knives catching on your exposed skin, but you sat there anyway—legs crossed, hands in your lap, all polite.

The bench was old, paint curling at the edges, the kind of place people only sat when they had no better options. You smiled at the irony.

You’d met Yujin in worse places. Loved her in worse places.

And maybe, just maybe, lost her in worse places too.

Then she emerged from the fog, a silhouette first, then a shape, then a person.

Five benches away. Maybe six. Distance had become an abstract concept, like time, like certainty, like the idea that love—real love—was enough to hold the weight of the whole goddamn world.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t hesitate.

‘Let’s break up.’

The words didn’t belong to the girl who used to steal fries from your plate, who used to call you at 2 AM because she saw a cat in the street and thought you needed to know. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had spent hours, maybe days, rehearsing.

Her voice was final. Her eyes were final. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way the wind refused to touch her, was final.

You should’ve said something.

Anything.

But the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale, stolen by the weight of three syllables arranged in an execution sentence.

The snow caught in her hair, in her lashes, in the hollow curve of her collarbone, and she looked—god, she looked—like something from a dream you had once, the kind you woke from gasping, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then she wasn’t.

She turned. Walked away. Snow swallowed her whole.

You could’ve chased her. Could’ve fallen to your knees, begged, pleaded, made a scene, made a fool of yourself. Could’ve grabbed her wrist, reminded her that you were not just some chapter to be closed. Could’ve thrown every memory, every quiet moment, every touch, every whispered I love you in her face like proof of something sacred.

But you didn’t.

Because Yujin never spoke like this. Not unless she meant it.

And that’s what gutted you most.

You sat there long after she was gone, staring at the place she used to be, like if you looked hard enough, you could rewind time, unbreak whatever fragile thing had finally snapped between you.

The sky stretched empty above you, stars sharp against the ink. You tried counting them. Tried counting anything to stop counting the ways you’d just lost her.

One star. Two. One mistake. Two. Three years. Four. Five benches away.

Maybe six. The wind howled, and you let it.

—

The beer’s flat, but that’s not why it tastes bad.

You lean against the bar, watching foam dissolve into something thin and lifeless, the way good things always do. Three years distilled into neon lights and a tab you don’t remember opening.

She’s 24 now. You keep count because she was impossible to avoid—billboards, subway ads, every damn screen flashing her face like she owns the world. And maybe she does. The brightest star, the nation’s darling, the girl who left and became.

You should be proud. You tell yourself you are.

But pride doesn’t feel like this. Doesn’t sit heavy in your ribs like grief. Doesn’t twist like a blade when you flip through channels and land on her.

The latest drama. Friends-to-lovers, some rom-com fluff. A special kind of hell, watching her fall for someone else, even if it’s scripted.

And the kiss—god, the kiss.

Over and over. Different angles, different takes. The guy has trepid shoulders and a weaker mouth. You want to reach through the screen, grab him by his stupid collar, shake him until he understands: You don’t get to kiss Yujin like that unless you mean it.

The beer in your hand swirls, a storm in a pint glass. You watch it spin, thinking about how everything these days seems determined to drown you.

Then Roach walks in.

Roach—half philosopher, half walking disaster. A man with too many past lives and a prosthetic eye that glows faintly under bar light, making him look part machine, part ghost.

‘That recovery group, they’re solid,’ he says, by way of hello. His voice is like chewing on gravel. ‘Might’ve been able to quit if I stuck around.’ ‘4.8 stars on Google, right?’ ‘Right. Wait. How’d you know that?’ His synthetic eye sits there while the real one narrows. ‘Been there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Been there. You recommended it.’ Roach laughs, short and sharp. ‘That was the review forum.’ ‘Memory’s fuzzy.’ ‘Fuzzy? You’re getting soft.’ ‘All those reviews read like discount novels, Roach.’ ‘Why the hell would I write reviews?’ ‘Same reason you do anything—to feel something.’ He smacks your chest, hard enough to make you look up. ‘Yujin broke you. Plain as day.’ Your throat tightens. The name alone feels like a switchblade. ‘It’s not like that… anymore.’ ‘Sure looks like it.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘You’re on the leaderboard in this bar. They’re bleeding you dry, and you’re letting them.’ You don’t argue. Just take another sip. ‘Don’t deserve this money anyway.’ ‘Then give it elsewhere. There’s an orphanage across the street.’ ‘Don’t play saint with me.’ ‘It’s just a block away.’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘Just a block—’ ‘Fine.’ You press your glass against the table, like the condensation might hold you steady. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Roach grins like he’s won something. ‘Ever watch her show?’ he asks, tilting his flask toward you. You hesitate. ‘Not really.’ ‘Bullshit. Saw you yesterday. That rain scene.’ Your grip tightens around the glass. The rain scene. You were there. Back when “we” still meant something. Holding her coat between takes, watching her shiver between scripted heartbreaks. ‘She always cried pretty,’ you murmur. ‘Even back then.’ Roach nods, takes a sip. ‘Tell me about it.’ You do. You don’t mean to, but you do. ‘Nothing to tell,’ you start. ‘I was nobody. She was becoming somebody. Simple math.’ ‘That’s not what I heard.’ ‘Yeah? What’d you hear?’ ‘That you proposed. Night before Seoul.’ The beer sours in your mouth. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Does it matter? True though, isn’t it?’ You let out something that’s supposed to be a laugh. ‘Got the ring from my grandmother. Vintage Tiffany, art deco. Yujin loved vintage.’ ‘And?’ ‘And she cried. Not the pretty kind.’ You see it now, clear as the night it happened—her shaking hands, the way she pressed the box back into yours like it burned. ‘Said she couldn’t. Said she wasn't ready. I guess that was the foreshadowing: she broke up with me just a week later.’ ‘A choice between you and fame?’ ‘Between real life and the life she’d dreamed of since she was six. No contest, really.’ Roach doesn’t speak for a while. Just stares at the bar like it’s holding the right words. ‘Where’s the ring now?’ You smirk, but it tastes like blood. ‘Pawned it. Bought a week of blackout drunk and a ticket anywhere else.’ Roach exhales, long and low. His eyes flick to your watch, but nothing gold can compare to what you lost. ‘And here you are.’ ‘Here I am.’ Bass pulses through the walls, someone screams about love on the dance floor, and the bartender slides another drink toward you like it might fix anything. Roach downs the rest of his flask, claps a hand on your shoulder. ‘Well. Good luck with that. Got a missus waiting. Let me know when you find one.’ You don’t look at him. ‘We might never speak again.’ ‘Doubt that.’ A pat on the back, one final grin. Then he’s gone. You scoff. If ever. And you leave.

—

Seoul in summer is a thing that sticks. To your skin, to your thoughts, to the spaces between breath. Heat rises off the pavement, thick and wet, settling in your lungs like something permanent.

The city is wide awake, but softer at this hour. Convenience store fluorescents hover in the humidity, blurring edges. Subway vents exhale something metallic, ghostly. The crickets don’t know they live in a city. They just keep singing.

You walk. Not home, not anywhere. Just walking, because it’s better than stopping.

Stopping means remembering.

Every street corner holds a version of her. The Yujin who stole fries off your plate, who could sleep through a fireworks show, who once convinced you that every ice cream cone tasted better if it was half-melted. She’s there, tucked into flickering billboards, frozen mid-laugh on subway ads, threaded between the chords of songs you don’t mean to hear.

You take the long way. Five, six corners. Maybe more.

Then the bus stop appears.

Half-forgotten. Almost overgrown. A bench with its paint peeling like old skin, weeds curling around the edges like they might swallow it whole.

You sit. Elbows on knees. Hands folded. Thinking. Not thinking.

The streetlight buzzes. The air is thick with waiting.

Then—

A shadow falls across your feet.

A shift in pressure. Not wind, just something. The moment before a storm, before impact, before memory collides with the present and makes a mess of everything.

‘What are you doing here?’ Soft. Not a blade, not a wound. Just a question that lands like an old habit.

You don’t need to look. But you do. Because some habits don’t break.

Yujin stands there, framed by sodium light, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looks too soft to exist. No cameras. No entourage. Just her.

And god—just her is enough to knock the breath out of your chest.

‘Hiding?’ Soft. Like the question isn’t a question, just something to fill the space between heartbeats.

You don’t look up right away. You know the shape of her. You’ve spent years knowing it. The way she stands, weight slightly to one side. The way her voice lands, gentle, edged with something only you ever got to hear.

But you look anyway. Because it’s her. And some rules of the universe don’t change.

Yujin.

Not the Yujin on billboards, the Yujin on magazine covers, the Yujin who belongs to a nation that adores her.

Just Yujin.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Hands tucked into the sleeves like she’s bracing against a cold that doesn’t exist.

And—god. Her eyes. Still warm. Still familiar. Still Dunsan-dong in their quiet, endless way.

She tilts her head. Smiles. The kind of smile that makes you feel seventeen again, like you just said something stupid and brilliant in the same breath.

‘Hiding?’ she repeats, softer this time.

‘Hiding implies I have something to hide from.’

‘And do you?’

A pause. Then—

‘Maybe.’

A hum. A small shift in weight. Then she sits. Just like that. No asking, no hesitation. Just sits, close enough that her knee brushes yours, like muscle memory, like the past hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

The air smells like street food, like summer. Somewhere, a neon sign hums its last flickers before shutting off for the night.

She bumps her shoulder against yours.

‘Missed you, you know.’

You turn your head. Blink. She’s watching you, like the sentence wasn’t a trap, wasn’t something heavy. Just… true.

You swallow.

‘Yeah?’

She nods, pulling her sleeves over her hands. ‘Yeah.’

The night stretches. Not awkward. Not tight with something unspoken. Just easy. Just… there.

‘How’s life?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know. Full of bad choices.’

‘Any good ones?’

‘Still deciding.’

She breathes out a laugh, soft.

You glance at her, at the curve of her nose, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s done since she was a kid.

‘You look…’ she starts, then tilts her head.

‘What?’

‘The same.’

You huff a laugh. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘No.’ She nudges your knee again. ‘You’re just… still you.’

And it’s so simple, the way she says it. So casual, like she hasn’t just pulled the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

She leans in slightly.

‘Still drink too much coffee?’

‘Still sleep through earthquakes?’

Her grin widens. ‘Still remember that?’

‘Some things don’t change.’

‘Some do.’

A small shift. A glance. A fraction closer.

And the city moves around you, oblivious.

But you?

You stay still.

You stay here.

Yujin sighs, long and soft, tilting her head back, watching the streetlight cast flickering halos through the humidity.

‘Seoul’s different at night,’ she murmurs. ‘Seoul’s different all the time.’

She hums, half in agreement, half just because she likes the sound. You forgot about that—the way she used to make tiny noises when she was thinking, little musical notes that filled in the gaps between words.

‘Feels slower now,’ she says. ‘That’s just you.’ She turns to you, eyes warm. ‘Yeah?’ You nod. ‘Everything moves too fast for you these days. You forgot what slow feels like.’ A small smile. ‘Remind me?’ Something tightens in your chest. She doesn’t mean it like that. Doesn’t mean it like anything more than what it is—a quiet moment, a quiet ask. But still. You shift, leaning back against the bench, stretching your arms across the top like you own the night. Like it doesn’t own you. ‘Alright,’ you say. ‘Lesson one: sitting still.’ She huffs a laugh but follows your lead, sinking deeper into the wood, legs stretching out. Her foot knocks against yours. ‘Like this?’ ‘Yeah.’ A beat. ‘And then what?’ ‘Nothing.’ She raises a brow. ‘That’s it?’ ‘That’s it.’ She exhales, slow and thoughtful. ‘You always made things feel easy,’ she says, voice quiet, like she’s afraid of disrupting the moment. You glance at her, and she’s not looking at you—just at the night, at the city, at something only she can see. ‘Not sure that’s true,’ you admit. ‘No, it is.’ She pulls her sleeves over her hands again, eyes flicking toward you. ‘You made me feel easy. Like… breathing.’ Something inside you curls at the edges. ‘Yujin—’ ‘It’s okay.’ She shakes her head, soft, smiling like she’s telling you not to carry it too heavily. ‘I’m just remembering.’ The city hums around you both. A distant motorbike rumbles past. Somewhere, an old radio plays a song you half recognize. You look at her again. Hair slightly mussed. Eyes bright, soft, familiar. Like she was never gone at all. She shifts, tucking one leg under the other, hands still hidden in her sleeves.

‘You ever think about calling?’ Her voice is light. Not demanding. Not accusing. Just... wondering. You let out a slow breath. ‘You ever think about picking up?’ A small laugh, exhale-soft. ‘Yeah.’ You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, chin propped against her knee, smile barely-there but real. ‘But I figured you needed time,’ she says. You swallow. ‘Did I?’ Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her hoodie. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just told myself that so I wouldn’t call.’ The honesty knocks something loose in your chest. You don’t say anything for a moment. The city moves around you both, neon humming against the wet pavement, the smell of night air thick with too many things. Then, quietly— ‘Three years is a long time, Yujin.’ ‘I know.’

She shifts, slow, careful, like she’s turning over a fragile thought in her hands. ‘But I never wanted it to be forever.’ Your throat tightens. You want to ask her then why did you leave like it was? But you don’t. Because you already know the answer. Because she was always meant for something bigger. Because she was scared, because you were scared, because maybe—just maybe—back then, love wasn’t enough to hold everything steady.

Instead, you say, ‘You look good, you know.’ Her lips curve, soft. ‘You do too.’ You scoff, tipping your head back against the bench. ‘Liar.’ ‘I never lied to you.’ That shuts you up. For a moment, you let it sink in. The weight of her voice, the way she says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something you should’ve never doubted. Then, softer— ‘You really never called?’ she asks. ‘I really never called.’ She doesn’t look away. ‘Why?’ You inhale. Let the air sit heavy in your lungs. ‘Because I thought you’d be better off without me.’ The words land, quiet and unpolished. Yujin blinks. Then— ‘You idiot.’ And then she’s moving, shifting closer, her fingers finding your sleeve, gripping just slightly, just enough for you to feel her there, to feel her warmth against the fabric. ‘Do you know how many times I almost showed up at your door?’ she says, voice soft but steady. ‘How many times I wanted to tell you that I was still here? That I—’ She stops. Exhales. Looks away, looks back. ‘That I missed you?’ You swallow. She’s close now. Not quite touching, but nearly. The air between you charged, something slow, something waiting. Your heart does something complicated in your chest. ‘You missed me?’ you murmur. Yujin smiles, small, fond. ‘Of course, you idiot.’ The city hums. The night exhales. And you— You don’t move away. Yujin stays close. Close enough for you to count her breaths, to feel the warmth of her body radiating through the space between you. You should say something. You should do something. Instead, you just sit there. And Yujin—Yujin lets you.

Her fingers stay curled into your sleeve, loose but certain. Like she’s testing gravity, checking to see if you’ll stay, if you’ll shift, if you’ll remind her that you’re real. She tilts her head, watching you the way she used to—like she’s memorizing you, like she’s trying to fit you back into the version of her life where you were always supposed to be. And maybe she is. Maybe she’s wondering how you look the same but feel different. Maybe she’s cataloging the way your shoulders have set a little heavier, the way your mouth curves in thought before you speak. Or maybe she’s just looking. Like she never stopped. ‘So,’ she says, voice light, careful. ‘What now?’ A question too big for this moment. A question you can’t answer, not yet. So you do what you always do. You deflect. You lean back, arms stretching across the top of the bench, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ She lifts a brow. ‘You were always the planner.’ She snorts. ‘Hardly.’ ‘Oh? I seem to remember someone who had color-coded schedules for summer break.’ ‘That was one summer.’

‘Still counts.’ She exhales a laugh, tipping her head back against the bench, looking up at the sky. ‘Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed with plans.’ ‘A little?’

She shoots you a look, but it’s all warmth. All familiarity. ‘You liked it,’ she says. ‘It was efficient. It was cute.’

You hesitate. Just slightly. But she catches it. Of course she does. Her smile softens.

‘You can say it, you know.’ You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. ‘Say what?’ ‘That you missed me too.’

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach pull tight. Not teasing. Not fishing. Just true. You turn back to the street, watching the way the neon catches in the puddles, turning them into something like galaxies.

‘You already know.’ Yujin hums. ‘I want to hear it anyway.’ You exhale.

Three years of distance. Three years of silence. Three years of trying to unwrite the part of your life where she belonged.

‘Yeah,’ you say, voice quiet. ‘I missed you.’

Yujin doesn’t say anything right away. Then—

Her hand slides fully into your sleeve, warm against your wrist. A small thing. A quiet thing. But it’s enough.

‘Good,’ she murmurs.

You sit there like that for a while. Neither of you moving. Neither of you pulling away. And for the first time in years—

The silence between you doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

Her hand stays there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just resting, warm against your wrist, like it belongs there. Like it never left.

You let out a slow breath. Three years. Three whole years. And somehow, this—her, the quiet press of her skin against yours, the way she’s just here—feels so natural it makes your ribs ache.

‘What are we doing, Yujin?’

Soft. Not accusing. Just—just needing to know if she feels it too, if this night is supposed to mean what you think it does.

She tilts her head, slow. Her hair slips over her shoulder, catching the streetlight in its strands. ‘Talking?’

A small, careful smile.

You huff. ‘Is that what this is?’

She hums, shifts a little closer, foot knocking against yours. ‘I don’t know. Feels nice, though.’

Nice. Nice, like it isn’t everything. Nice, like you aren’t suddenly breathing her in again, like your body hasn’t been on high alert since the moment she walked into your orbit tonight.

You roll your wrist slightly, just enough so that your fingers brush hers. She doesn’t pull away.

The city hums. The night exhales. And then—

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ she asks.

It’s an easy question. A simple one. But something about it knots itself into your chest, makes your throat tight. Because that’s always how it was with her. Yujin never asked for big things. Just small ones, one after another, adding up to something impossible to resist.

Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to climb onto the roof? Do you want to watch the rain with me? Do you want to stay?

And you had always said yes.

You glance at her now, at the way she’s watching you, hopeful but not pushing, patient in the way only she could ever be. A walk. A moment. A step toward something you don’t quite know how to name.

You exhale, slow. Then you stand.

‘Lead the way.’

Her smile—god. Her smile.

She slips her hand fully into yours, easy, thoughtless, like muscle memory. Like no time has passed at all.

And you— You let her.

The street hums around you, the last traces of night shifting toward something softer. The vendors have mostly packed up, but the scent of grilled meat and frying oil still lingers, floating warm through the thick summer air.

Yujin’s hand stays in yours. Not tight. Not hesitant. Just there. Like it was always meant to be.

You walk without direction. Just moving, side by side, the way you used to. Her footsteps match yours easily, a quiet sync neither of you planned.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, voice low.

‘Nowhere,’ she says.

It makes you smile.

A few years ago, that answer would have annoyed her. Yujin, the girl with color-coded schedules, with plans so detailed they might as well have been carved into stone. But now she just says it like it’s enough. Like it’s the whole point.

She swings your hands slightly, absentminded. ‘You always walked like this,’ she murmurs.

‘Like what?’

She shrugs. ‘Like the city doesn’t own you.’

You breathe in, slow. The neon of old convenience stores, the occasional flickering of a streetlamp. ‘I guess I never let it.’

She hums. ‘I did.’

You glance at her. ‘Yujin—’

‘It’s okay,’ she cuts in, smiling. ‘I wanted to. I just—’ She exhales, presses her lips together for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘I forgot how good it feels to walk like this. Without thinking.’

You squeeze her hand just slightly.

She notices. Her thumb brushes the edge of your palm. Not an accident. Not a mistake.

The city stretches ahead of you, quiet. ‘You ever think about coming back?’ you ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just a little.

‘I used to dream about it,’ she says, voice softer now. ‘I’d wake up thinking I was still in Dunsan-dong. That I’d step outside and find you waiting, like always.’

Your throat goes tight. She turns her head, studies your face in the flickering light.

‘But I was scared,’ she says, gentle. ‘What if you were different? What if I was?’

You don’t look away. ‘And now?’

A breath. A small, small smile. ‘I think I was scared of the wrong thing.’

Your heart stumbles.

She slows, pulling you toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward a tiny park that barely qualifies as a park—a patch of grass, a few trees. The kind of place nobody notices. She stops. Turns to face you.

You should say something. You should say everything.

But she beats you to it.

‘You were always the best part of my life,’ she says, voice steady, firm, like she’s decided something for herself.

Your pulse jumps. ‘Yujin—’

‘I just needed you to know that.’

She’s looking at you like she’s bracing for impact. Like she’s not sure what you’ll do with this thing she’s handing you.

So you take it. Carefully, quietly, the way she deserves.

You lift your hand—the one she’s not holding—and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches.

‘Yeah?’ you murmur.

She nods.

And then, softer—

‘I think you were always mine.’

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because the next thing you know, her hands are on your face, and your mouth is against hers, and the whole city dissolves around you.

She tastes like everything you remember. Like fine tea and something sweeter, something that was always just hers. She presses closer, hands slipping down to your collar, holding you there like you might disappear.

You won’t. Not this time.

When you pull back, she’s breathing fast, forehead resting against yours. You smile.

‘Still walk like the city doesn’t own me?’ you murmur.

She laughs, breathless, and pulls you back in.

Yujin kisses like a memory you never let go of. Like muscle memory, like breathing. Like the space between your ribs was always meant to make room for her.

She pulls back, just enough for her nose to brush yours. Her breath is warm, uneven. Her hands are still curled into the collar of your shirt, holding, gripping, keeping.

You open your eyes. She’s already looking at you.

Not like the girl on the billboards, not like the actress on screen. Just Yujin. Soft, real, right here.

Her lips are pink and kiss-bitten. She blinks slowly, dazed, like she’s trying to piece together what just happened. And then—

Then she laughs.

Not a big laugh. Not loud. Just this tiny, incredulous little sound. Like she can’t believe it. Like she can’t believe you.

‘What?’ you murmur.

She shakes her head, smiling, fingers still resting against your collar. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s a first.’

She huffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

A flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement. Mischief. Something else.

She tilts her head, considering. Then, in one slow movement, she leans in—

Not kissing you, not quite. Just close enough that her lips barely graze yours. Close enough that you can feel her smile.

‘Tempting,’ she murmurs.

Your heart stumbles.

But then she pulls away, slipping her fingers from your shirt, stepping back onto the sidewalk, like she’s giving you space to breathe.

You don’t need it. But you let her.

The city hums around you, the distant rumble of a car engine, the occasional flicker of neon against damp pavement.

You watch as Yujin tilts her head toward the sky, stretching her arms out, exhaling like she’s just remembered how.

‘I forgot what this feels like,’ she admits.

‘What?’

‘Not thinking.’ She lets her hands drop to her sides, flexing her fingers. ‘Not planning every second of my life in advance. Just… being.’

You shift, watching her.

‘I don’t think I’ve done that in years,’ she says.

A pause. Then, softly—

‘Stay with me.’

Your heart does something complicated in your chest.

She looks over, a little hesitant now, like she’s not sure how the words sound out loud.

‘I mean—’ she starts, but you shake your head.

‘Okay.’

Her lips part slightly.

Like she expected you to hesitate. Like she thought she’d have to convince you.

You step closer. Just enough that the space between you disappears again.

‘Okay?’ she echoes.

You nod.

Then, quieter—‘Anywhere.’

Yujin’s face softens.

And god, it’s so easy, the way she looks at you. Like you are something known. Like she is something understood.

She lets out a small, breathy laugh, reaching up to brush her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

‘You’re so stupid,’ she murmurs.

‘You love it.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, I do.’

She slips her hand back into yours, fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she never left. Like you never let her.

And the city stretches ahead, wide open, waiting.

You should take a taxi. That would be the smart thing. A quiet, unremarkable way to disappear from the city before someone notices Korea’s brightest star walking hand-in-hand with someone who isn’t famous, isn’t scripted, isn’t anything but hers.

But Yujin shakes her head.

‘Not yet,’ she says.

So you walk.

She keeps close, hood pulled low, fingers curled into yours. The streets are thinning out, the city exhaling into its quieter hours. The air smells like fried oil and pavement, the ghosts of dinner service still hanging in the air.

She bumps into you once, then twice.

‘Are you always this bad at walking?’ you ask.

She grins, breathless. ‘I think I forgot how to do it with company.’

Company. Company.

You’re not sure if you’re relieved of that; that she was too busy to even meander through lazy lovers.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Your place isn’t far, but when you reach it—when Yujin stops at the entrance, tilting her head back to take it all in—something shifts.

‘Huh.’

That’s all she says.

You fight a smirk. ‘Huh?’

She makes a small noise, arms crossed, like she’s trying not to look impressed.

‘You kept acting like you lived in a shoebox.’

You raise a brow. ‘Did I?’

‘Yeah.’ She gestures vaguely to the high-rise, the massive glass windows catching the city lights. ‘I was expecting something small. Modest. Maybe a bachelor pad with an ugly couch and a tragic little coffee table.’

You scoff. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘A very humble man, apparently.’

You shake your head, leading her inside.

The elevator is empty. Too bright. Too quiet.

She rocks on her heels. ‘So, do I get the grand tour?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say, pretending to think. ‘You might not be able to handle it. Very overwhelming.’

She elbows you in the side, laughing. ‘Shut up.’

The doors slide open.

She steps out first, into the hallway, waiting while you fish your keys from your pocket.

She glances over. ‘I still can’t believe you live here.’

‘Why?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s just weird.’

‘Weird how?’

She scrunches her nose, like she doesn’t quite know how to explain it. ‘I don’t know. You just never cared about stuff like this.’

You unlock the door.

She steps inside.

And immediately—

‘Oh my god.’

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. ‘What now?’

She turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. The high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft lighting that spills across the polished wood.

‘Are you kidding?’ she says, spinning toward you, mouth open in faux outrage. ‘This is beautiful.’

You snort. ‘What, you thought I was sleeping in a broom closet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow. Faith in me is strong, I see.’

She grins, moving toward the living room. ‘No, it’s just—’ She shakes her head, fingers brushing over the back of the sleek, perfectly chosen couch. ‘You were always so… comfortable with less. I figured, even if you had money, you’d still live like some struggling artist in a shoebox.’

You scoff, kicking off your shoes. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Like, I don’t know, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. A single sad chair. Stacks of books everywhere.’

You raise a brow. ‘So your image of me is basically a broke philosophy major?’

She shrugs. ‘It suited you.’

You exhale a laugh.

‘But this,’ she gestures around again, ‘this is… grown-up.’

‘Was I not grown-up before?’

She grins. ‘No.’

‘Wow.’

‘But,’ she continues, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city spills out in front of her like a living, breathing thing, ‘I like it. It feels like you.’

You pause.

Not expensive. Not fancy. Not over-the-top.

It feels like you.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.

‘Yeah?’

She nods. ‘Yeah.’

She turns back to the glass, resting her fingers lightly against the frame. ‘You can see the river from here.’

You step up beside her.

It’s a view you see every day, but somehow, with Yujin here, it looks different.

She breathes in. ‘It’s nice.’

You breathe her in.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It is.’

She turns.

And then she kisses you.

Not careful. Not planned.

Just Yujin.

She tilts her head, presses up slightly on her toes, and meets your mouth with something warm, something easy.

It’s not perfect.

She misses, just slightly. Laughs into the kiss. Her hands fumble for your collar but find your wrist instead.

But god—

It’s real.

You breathe her in. Hold her waist. Feel her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to pull you closer, closer.

She hums against your lips, smiling.

You grin. ‘You missed.’

She exhales a laugh. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

She does.

The kisses are clumsy, messy, soft. The kind that happens when two people are trying to remember, trying to relearn each other in real-time.

She tugs at your shirt.

You trip over the edge of the couch.

She gasps.

You land in a heap, tangled together, breathless.

Silence.

Then—

She laughs.

Bright, full, head tipped back against your chest.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. ‘Unbelievable.’

She grins, shifting so she’s straddling your lap. ‘I don’t know, I think it’s fitting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours. ‘Clumsy love suits us.’

Your breath catches.

Then, softer—

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It does.’

She cups your face, fingers warm against your jaw.

The city hums outside, unaware.

And you—

You stay here.

With her.

You don’t know who says it first.

Maybe her. Maybe you. Maybe neither of you—maybe it’s just implied, wrapped up in the way she’s still sitting in your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns over your collarbone, skin warm against yours.

But at some point, between the teasing and the breathless little ohs that slip between kisses, it just becomes a fact.

You’re both too warm.

Too sticky from the night air, from walking too long through humid Seoul streets, from the thick summer heat pressing against the glass of your windows.

‘Shower,’ she murmurs.

You’re not sure if it’s a request or a declaration, but either way—

‘Yeah,’ you say.

And then you’re moving.

Yujin laughs when you lift her off the couch, stumbling slightly as you navigate through the apartment. She doesn’t let go, arms slung loosely around your neck, breath warm against your ear.

‘Are you always this dramatic?’ she asks.

‘You love it.’

She hums, not denying it.

The bathroom is bright, too bright, the kind of brightness that makes everything feel a little more real than you’re prepared for. But Yujin doesn’t hesitate—just pulls her hoodie over her head, shakes her hair out, steps closer like she’s done this a thousand times.

Like she’s never left.

You watch as she turns toward the mirror, tilting her head slightly.

‘Haven’t been in a place like this in a while,’ she muses.

‘A bathroom?’

She snorts, shoving you lightly. ‘No, this kind of bathroom.’ She waves a hand vaguely, indicating the open shower, the marble walls, the soft lighting. ‘It’s fancy.’

You roll your eyes, reaching for the faucet. ‘You act like you don’t stay in five-star hotels every week.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

She steps behind you, pressing her chin against your shoulder. ‘This feels like you.’

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t say anything at all.

The water warms between your fingers, steam rising slowly.

Yujin hums, stepping forward, slipping her fingers under the hem of your shirt. ‘Come on.’

You don’t move.

She looks up, amused. ‘What, suddenly shy?’

You scoff, shaking your head, but your pulse jumps when her fingers skate lightly against your stomach.

She grins. ‘Cute.’

‘What is?’

‘Three years apart, and you’re still so you.’

You exhale a laugh, finally pulling your shirt over your head. She does the same, tossing her clothes into a messy pile, and then—

Then it’s just you and her, standing too close, bare skin meeting for the first time in what feels like forever.

Her breath catches.

You hear it. Feel it.

And god—

She’s so beautiful.

All golden skin and soft curves and the kind of warmth that could make the whole city feel like home.

She watches you, expectant, waiting.

You don’t make her wait long.

You reach for her—

And she lets you.

Lets you pull her in, lets you kiss her slow, deep, careful, like you’re memorizing her all over again.

She sighs into your mouth, hands trailing up your arms, curling into your hair.

‘Come on,’ she whispers.

And this time—

You listen.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but neither of you care.

Yujin steps under first, exhaling as the warmth rolls over her skin, tilting her head back so that her hair darkens, slick against her shoulders.

You’re distracted.

Too distracted.

Because—

Because she’s standing there, all bare skin and soft curves and Yujin, looking at you like she already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

‘Are you going to keep staring?’ she teases.

You swallow. ‘Maybe.’

She laughs, stepping forward, reaching for the shampoo.

You should move. Should help. Should do something.

But instead, you just—

Just watch.

The way she hums under her breath, the way she lathers the shampoo into her hair, fingers massaging small circles against her scalp.

You’re so lost in it, in her, that you don’t even realize she’s finished—

Until she suddenly turns, tilts her head, and smiles.

‘Come here.’

You don’t hesitate.

She tugs you forward, fingers threading through your hair, working shampoo into your scalp like it’s something sacred, something worth taking her time with.

And god—

God, you forgot how good this feels.

Forgot what it was like to just be, to just exist under someone’s hands, to let yourself be cared for in a way that doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t feel like a transaction.

Her fingers move slowly, carefully, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Let yourself lean into it.

Let yourself lean into her.

And she—

She lets you.

She’s still rinsing when you reach for her.

‘What—’

You shush her, hands skimming up her sides, guiding her under the water’s warmth.

She lets you.

Lets you tilt her chin slightly, lets you press a kiss just below her ear, lets you work your fingers into her hair like she’s something holy.

Her breath catches.

You hear it, feel it, let it sink into your bones.

‘Close your eyes,’ you murmur.

She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then obeys.

The water slides down her face, over her lips, down the elegant curve of her throat.

You watch, transfixed.

Then you move.

You reach for the shampoo, work it between your hands, and Yujin’s confused—’Again?’—but when your fingers find her scalp—

She melts.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this undone.

Head tilted slightly, mouth parted, body soft beneath your touch.

She hums, a small, quiet sound, like she’s just remembered something she’d long forgotten.

You barely breathe.

Just keep going, keep moving, keep tracing slow, deliberate circles, letting your fingers tangle through her hair like it’s something sacred.

Because it is.

Because she is.

Yujin, the girl who never stopped moving, who never let herself stop thinking, who planned every step of her life down to the last decimal—

She’s still now.

Still, and warm, and yours.

You rinse the shampoo carefully, letting the water do the work. Your fingers trail down, down, past her neck, past her shoulders, past the delicate slip of her collarbone.

She sighs.

Leans into you.

Lets herself fall.

And god—

You’ll catch her.

Every time.

You reach for the soap next, work it slowly over her back, over her arms, over every inch of her that you can touch.

She exhales, barely above a whisper.

‘Feels nice.’

You smile.

‘Good.’

You don’t rush.

Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her with something as simple as this.

Your hands trail lower, down her spine, over the dip of her waist. She shifts slightly, breath hitching just a little.

You pause.

Press a kiss to her shoulder.

She shivers, but not from the cold.

‘This okay?’ you murmur.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.

For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away—

But instead—

She guides your hand lower.

Presses it against the soft warmth of her stomach.

Holds it there.

She exhales, slow and deep. ‘Don’t stop.’ You don’t. God, you don’t. You let your hands move slowly, carefully, exploring her the way you’ve always wanted to—like she’s something to learn, something to understand. And Yujin— Yujin lets you.

She lets you wash away the last three years, lets you trace something new into her skin, lets you relearn every inch of her with soap and steam and careful, careful hands.

She turns in your arms, pressing her forehead against yours. The water slips between you, catching at the spaces where you don’t quite meet. She’s smiling. Soft. Sweet. Yours. You cup her face. She leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. For a long, long moment, neither of you move. You just stay. Right here. Right now. Like this. Like always. Then— She opens her eyes. And she kisses you.

The water trails down her spine in slow, careful rivers, catching in the dips of her back, rolling down the curve of her waist. You follow its path with your fingers, mapping her skin like something sacred, something known.

She doesn’t move. Just lets you touch. Lets you care.

You start with her back, palms gliding down the slope of her shoulders, the delicate stretch of muscle beneath warm, damp skin. Your thumbs press gently into the knots there, kneading, coaxing, working out tension she probably doesn’t even realize she’s holding.

She exhales, long and slow, tipping her head forward. ‘Mmm,’ she murmurs, voice thick with something close to sleep. ‘That feels good.’ You smile. Press your thumbs in a little deeper. Let your hands drift lower, following the curve of her spine, tracing each ridge, each shadow, each memory pressed into muscle. You smooth circles over her lower back, fingers pressing into the dimples there, trailing down— She shivers. Your hands pause. ‘Ticklish?’ you murmur.

She huffs a quiet laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘A little.’ You grin, but you don’t tease. Not now. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her in the simplest, softest way. You reach for the soap, work it between your hands until it foams, and then— Then you really start. You start with her arms, sliding your palms over smooth, damp skin, tracing the delicate lines of muscle beneath. You lift her wrist, turning it over, running your fingers along the pulse point there. Her breath catches. You watch, mesmerized, as water beads along the inside of her forearm, trailing down to the soft bend of her elbow. ‘You’re so careful,’ she murmurs. You hum. ‘You deserve careful.’ Something flickers across her face. Something soft. She lets her fingers curl around yours. You smile. Run your hands over her stomach next, tracing the subtle rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of her, the realness of her. She shifts slightly, the movement pressing her closer, pressing skin to skin, pressing warmth to warmth. You exhale. Let your hands drift lower, over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the length of her thigh. You take your time. Because she lets you. Because she wants you to. You kneel then, water rolling down your shoulders, down your back, pooling against your skin. You press your lips to her hip. She exhales, shaky, fingers threading into your hair. ‘You don’t have to—’ ‘I want to.’ You slide your hands over her legs, smoothing your palms down her thighs, over her calves, down to her ankles. She watches, breathing slow. You work the soap into her skin, rubbing warmth into her, sliding your thumbs up the backs of her knees, over the gentle curve of her calves. She sighs. Soft. Deep. Content. You let your fingers skim up again, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her stomach, up— Up— To her chest. Her breath stutters. You pause. Look up. She’s already looking at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. She lifts her hand, pressing it against yours. Guiding you. ‘Go on,’ she whispers. And you do. God, you do.

You cup her, trace the delicate slope of her, run your thumbs over warm, wet skin, over the soft peaks of her breasts, watching the way she reacts, the way she shivers under your touch.

Her lips part.

Her fingers tighten in your hair.

‘You’re—’ she starts, voice barely a breath, barely a sound. ‘You’re so—’

You stand.

Tilt her chin up.

Kiss her.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Just deep.

Just certain.

Just her.

And when you pull back, pressing your forehead against hers, she exhales a laugh.

‘This is dangerous,’ she murmurs.

You smile. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

She lifts her arms, looping them around your neck, pulling you in, pressing against you, warm and wet and perfect.

And you—

You let her.

The steam rises. The water beads against her skin, gliding down slow, tracing paths over the soft slopes of her body, catching at the delicate points where warmth meets shadow, where light bends just so, where she is golden and bronze and endless.

You follow it.

With your eyes first, then with your hands.

Fingertips grazing along the soft valley of her stomach, skimming over her ribs, pressing gently into the places where she is most tender, most real. You watch the way the droplets gather at her collarbone, suspended for just a moment before slipping down, down, disappearing into the delicate dip between her breasts.

It feels unfair, almost, that something as simple as water gets to touch her like this before you do.

So you take its place.

Your lips find her collarbone first, brushing against the damp skin, warm and reverent. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you have her like this, letting you take your time.

You do.

You always do.

Your mouth trails lower, following the path of the water, tracing its descent. You press a kiss against the gentle swell of her chest, right where her heart beats beneath, steady, certain, alive. You linger there, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel it, letting yourself remember what it’s like to love someone in a way that has nothing to do with time or distance or the years lost in between.

She breathes in, slow and deep, her fingers threading through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. Not pulling. Just holding.

And then you go lower.

The water clings to her, catching at the nipples, glistening like liquid gold against the dark-bronze warmth of her nipples. It drips, slow and deliberate, down the soft curve of her, over the places where she is most tender, most beautiful.

You chase it.

Your lips press to her sternum, then lower, following the water as it rolls over the swell of her breast, catching it before it can disappear.

She makes a sound then, a soft, breathy thing, like something breaking open inside her, like something unfolding, something giving way.

And god—

You love her like this.

Love the way she lets you worship her, the way she lets you press your mouth to her skin like it’s something sacred, like it’s something worth kneeling for.

You take your time.

You kiss along the curve of her, letting your tongue flick against her skin, letting yourself taste the warmth of her, the salt, the sweetness, the Yujin of her.

She trembles. Not much. Just a little. Just enough. You kiss the the peak of her breast—nipple, lips closing around the dark, glistening bronze of her, taking her between your lips like something meant to be savored. And she— She gasps. Soft. Sharp. Her fingers tighten in your hair, her back arching just slightly, just enough to press herself further into your mouth, to offer herself up like this, to let you take her in a way that feels like praise. The water slips between you, forgotten, but you don’t need it anymore. She is all the warmth you will ever need. And you— You are drowning. But you don’t mind. Not one bit.

You don’t know how long you stay like this—your mouth on her, your hands tracing slow worship into her skin, your tongue moving against the dark-bronze pebble of her like you’re tasting something sacred, something forbidden, something you never stopped craving.

She doesn’t rush you.

Just feels.

Just lets herself be felt.

Her fingers tremble against your scalp, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, to keep herself from falling apart entirely. The water sings against the tiles, drowning the rest of the world out, leaving just the sound of her soft gasps, her breath catching, the delicate whimper when your teeth graze over where she is most sensitive.

‘You’re—’ she tries, but the sentence breaks, dissolving into something else entirely.

You hum against her, half-smirking, half-dazed.

‘Say that again?’

She exhales sharply. Then, in a voice softer than the steam curling between you—

‘You’re ruining me.’

You smile against her skin.

‘Good.’

But then she’s moving.

Slow, steady, deliberate—sliding her hands down to your jaw, guiding you up, forcing your mouth away from her skin so she can see you again.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze, and god—

She looks like something devotional.

Like she’s burning and melting and breaking and remaking herself in the same moment.

And then she cups your face.

Runs her fingers down the sharp edge of your jaw, down your throat, down the planes of your chest like she’s trying to learn you all over again.

‘My turn,’ she whispers.

You exhale. ‘Yujin—’

But she’s already pressing her lips to your palm.

A slow, wet kiss against the skin there, warm and reverent.

You tense, watching the way she does it—how her mouth lingers, how her breath spills against your hand like she’s praying into it.

Then another.

And another.

Each kiss deliberate. Each one softer than the last.

Your fingers twitch.

Your heart stutters.

And Yujin—

Yujin just smiles.

Like she knows what she’s doing to you.

Like she knows the effect of her lips, her mouth, the heat of her pressing into you like this.

Then she goes lower.

Tracing fire against your wrist. Down to your forearm.

She’s taking her time.

Like she knows what’s coming. Like she wants you to feel every second of it before she even starts.

Softly, she lowers herself to the shower floor, folding her legs beneath her like someone praying—like someone preparing for something sacred. Water cascades over her, tracing the delicate angles of her face, slipping down her shoulders, clinging to her lashes. She doesn’t blink it away.

She looks up at you instead.

‘Just so you know,’ she murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh, pressing just hard enough to make you feel it, ‘I haven’t had this for three years.’

Your breath catches.

‘You poor thing.’

She hums, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering with something playful, something edged with heat. ‘If only you called.’

Her grip tightens on your shaft—subtle, knowing, cruel.

Your pulse slams into your ribs.

‘Regretting everything as we speak,’ you manage, voice rough, because god—three years of waking up alone, three years of knowing what her body felt like against yours and still having to live without it, three years of not having this—

Yujin presses her lips to your hip, slow, warm, reverent.

‘Don’t,’ she whispers, breath ghosting over your skin. ‘From now on, let’s not waste a single breath.’

And that was that.

No more lost time. No more distance.

She presses another kiss, right below your navel. Cheating.

Your entire body tenses, twitches, a sharp current running through you.

She notices.

She smiles.

‘This is punishment,’ she murmurs.

Your fingers twitch against the tile. ‘For what?’

She looks up at you, lashes wet and mussed and dripping, lips parted just slightly—ruinous.

‘For almost forgetting me.’

Your jaw tightens. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Every waking moment, every—’

Her hand slides along your wet shaft. Tight. Destitution incarnate.

You stumble against the back wall.

She grins, a little smug, a little knowing, a little dangerous.

‘I don’t want excuses,’ she says softly.

And then—

Then she presses another kiss, open-mouthed, slow, dangerous, right where on the tip of your cock—collecting whatever desperation you had bottled up.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

She hums against you. Then, another kiss.

‘This,’ she says, hands curling against your hips, ‘is mine.’

And god, you believe her.

You always have.

Her mouth forms a tight ring right on your tip. She’s sucking everything out of you. Caring not for a single second how much this ruins you, how your knees intend to buckle.

The cool wall slides against your back, and her mouth gentles now—less tight, slower, deliberate. Her lips part, wet and swollen, spit-strung as they glide over the flushed head of you. A slick sound escapes her, obscene and tender. You feel every ridge of her tongue, every warm drag, the way her saliva pools and drips down the length of you. She moans softly, and the vibration travels straight to your gut.

‘Easy,’ you rasp, fingers threading into her hair—not to push, but to feel. To guide her rhythm, your thumb brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Just like that…’

She obeys, but not meekly. Her eyes flick up, dark and gleaming through her lashes, her lips a glistening ring around you. The head glistens under the shower’s spray, spit-slick and ruddy, and when she pulls back just to breathe, a thin strand of saliva stretches between her bottom lip and your tip. She watches you watch it snap.

‘Yujin—’

‘Shhh.’ Her breath ghosts over the wetness she’s made, cooling the heat. ‘Let me.’

Her tongue swipes the slit, slow, too slow, and your hips jerk. She laughs—a soft, husky thing—and catches the bead of precum with her thumb. Holds your gaze as she sucks it clean.

‘All those years,’ she murmurs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. Her voice is a frayed ribbon. ‘You let this ache. Let it go untouched. Why?’

You tighten your grip in her hair, not harsh, but present. ‘You know why.’

She hums, lips pressing to the vein throbbing beneath the skin. ‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Because it was yours.’ The admission tears free, raw. ‘Even when you weren’t.’

Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, her composure cracks—lips parting, eyes glassy. Then she surges forward, taking you deep, deep, until your tip brushes the back of her throat. Her nose presses into your pelvis, her cheeks hollowed, and the wetness is overwhelming. Spit spills down her chin, drips onto the shower floor. You watch, wrecked, as she works you with a reverence that borders on worship.

‘God—Yujin—’

She pulls off with a gasp, lips swollen and slick. ‘Look at me.’

You do. Her face is flushed, water clinging to her lashes, hair plastered to her neck. Ruin has never looked so soft.

‘Never again,’ she whispers, palm cradling your jaw. ‘You don’t starve yourself. Not of this. Not of me.’

You nod, breathless, and she smiles—a fragile, aching thing—before bending again. Her mouth is softer now, languid, savoring. Every suck, every lick, pours honey into your veins. You let her take you apart, let her rebuild you, until the world narrows to her lips, her hands, the spit-slick sounds of her devotion.

The climax coils, inevitable—a wildfire in your spine, a tremor in your thighs. You feel it there, the precipice, and your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard. ‘Yujin—wait—’

She resists at first, brows furrowed, lips sealed tight around you. But you tug her back gently, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, her lips swollen, glistening. Her confusion flickers only for a heartbeat before you fist your cock, rough and hurried, and the first hot stripe of release paints her cheek.

She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as the next pulse hits her chin, her throat, the tip catching her collarbone. Thick, pearly streaks splatter across her skin—her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her top lip. A ragged moan tears from you as you empty yourself onto her, the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, dripping down her sternum.

For a moment, she’s perfectly still, breath held, face tilted up as if in prayer. Then her tongue darts out, just once, catching the spill on her lip—not to taste, but to feel, to savor the proof. Her eyes open slowly, lashes sticky, gaze molten.

For a second, she just blinks.

One eye.

The other one is… well.

You watch her process it in real time.

Her lips part slightly, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as she takes in exactly what’s happened. Your release is everywhere—everywhere—glossing her cheekbones, slipping down the slope of her throat, pooling in the dip of her collarbone like some kind of offering.

She tilts her head. Blinks again.

‘Oh.’

Then she laughs.

A breathy, disbelieving sound, half-amused, half-are-you-kidding-me?

You’re still pressed against the shower wall, still trying to function, your brain short-circuiting between the mess you’ve made of her and the fact that she’s actually—laughing.

‘You—’ she starts, touching her cheek, then stopping, fingers hesitating before they smear through the mess, ‘—you got it in my hair.’

She looks up at you then, eyes bright, glistening—partly from you, partly from water, partly from the sheer absurdity of this situation.

You swallow, still breathless. ‘Uh.’

She blinks. A slow, lazy flutter of lashes.

Then her mouth quirks.

‘You should’ve warned me, you beast.’

You can’t help it—you laugh, too, scrubbing a hand down your face. ‘I tried. You didn’t stop—’

‘I was busy,’ she huffs, wiping at her cheek again. ‘And now I’m busy. Because look at me.’

You are.

You really, really are.

‘I mean—’ you gesture vaguely to her face, her throat, the trail of evidence marking everywhere she’s been—‘I think it’s a good look.’

She glares.

‘No, seriously. We could brand this. “Dewy Glow” or something. Sell it in high-end skincare stores. “Celebrity Secret.”’

She snorts, shoving at your thigh. ‘You absolute menace.’

And then—

‘Oh, wait.’

She freezes.

Her smile vanishes.

Her expression shifts into something far more serious.

‘Oh no.’

You blink. ‘What?’

She doesn’t say anything.

Just slowly, slowly, slowly raises a hand to her right eye.

You know what’s coming before she even speaks.

‘Oh my god, I can’t see.’

You wheeze. Actually wheeze.

She jabs a finger into your thigh. ‘Don’t—don’t laugh. This is serious. This is—I might never recover—’

‘Yujin.’ You’re still dying, but you reach for her anyway, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs swiping over her cheeks, carefully wiping away what you can. ‘Baby, blink—’

‘I am blinking.’ She’s being so dramatic about it, blinking furiously, tilting her face up to the water like it might cleanse her soul. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god.’

‘Okay, okay, come here—’

You guide her fully under the stream, hands in her hair, rubbing circles at her temples as she half-laughs, half-groans against your chest.

‘Three years, and this is how it goes?’

‘I mean,’ you murmur, fingers tracing down her jaw, ‘technically, this is a good thing. This means I really missed you.’

She gasps, smacking your chest. ‘That is not how this works.’

‘No, no, it is. You should be flattered.’

‘I am blinded.’

‘Listen, some people pay a lot of money for facials like this.’

‘Oh my god, shut up—’

She’s laughing now, still rubbing at her eye, still squinting slightly, but you tilt her face up, press your lips to her forehead, her nose, the water-warm curve of her cheek.

‘Here,’ you murmur, ‘let me see.’

She lets you, tilting her chin up, letting you wipe at her lashes, the bridge of her nose, the soft hollow under her eye. Your fingers are gentle, your touch slow, careful, as you rinse the last of it away.

Her hands find your ribs, gripping lightly, grounding herself.

‘I’m keeping score, you know,’ she murmurs, voice softer now.

You kiss her temple. ‘Yeah?’

She hums. ‘You owe me for this.’

You grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek. ‘I owe you?’

‘Mhm.’ Another soft blink, this one slower, more considering. ‘Big time.’

You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, searching.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

A beat.

Then she grins, pressing a quick, mischievous kiss to your lips.

‘Good.’

And then—

‘Now help me get this out of my hair, you absolute monster.’

You laugh, tilting her back under the water, already reaching for the shampoo.

You barely make it out of the shower before Yujin is already reaching for a towel, scrubbing at her hair like she’s trying to erase all evidence of your existence.

You watch her, arms crossed, towel slung lazily over your shoulder. ‘You know, I could help with that.’

She gives you a look. A very specific you-are-the-reason-I’m-in-this-mess look.

‘You’ve helped enough,’ she mutters, aggressively drying her face.

You grin. ‘Want me to dry your back?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘I don’t trust you.’

You press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded. ‘I am offended by this blatant accusation.’

‘You are plotting something. I know that face.’

‘I literally only have one face, Yujin.’

‘Yeah. And I know it.’

She sighs, shoving her towel at you. ‘Fine. You want to be useful? Dry my hair. But no funny business.’

‘Define funny business.’

She glares.

You chuckle, grabbing another towel, stepping behind her. She exhales as you gently towel-dry her hair, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her scalp.

Her head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch.

You knew she’d enjoy this.

She hums, closing her eyes. ‘Okay. Maybe you can be trusted.’

‘Told you.’ You press a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘I am a professional.’

‘A professional nuisance.’

‘A professional lover.’

She snorts. ‘Oh my god, shut up.’

You grin, setting the towel aside, reaching for the hairdryer.

She shifts slightly in her seat. ‘Wait—’

‘Hm?’

She peeks up at you, tilting her head back, cheeks warm. ‘...I like it when you do it slow. With your hands.’

You pause.

Look down at her.

Oh.

You set the hairdryer aside. ‘You should’ve said so earlier, baby.’

She exhales, smiling, closing her eyes again as your fingers slip into her hair, raking through the damp strands, slow and careful.

This is— This is intimacy in its simplest form. You, standing behind her, fingers combing through her hair, working through knots with gentle patience. Her, sitting still, trusting you, letting herself be taken care of. ‘You’re soft,’ you murmur, pressing another kiss to her temple. ‘Mm.’ Her shoulders relax completely. ‘Just don’t mess up my parting.’ You chuckle. ‘I’ll do my best.’ It takes a while—because you like taking your time with her—but eventually, her hair is dry, loose waves tumbling down her back. She stretches, arms overhead, and that’s when you realize— She’s still wearing your shirt. The one she stole post-shower, hanging off her like it was made for this moment.

You stare. Your thoughts are not wholesome. She catches you looking. Her lips curve. ‘You’re plotting something again,’ she says, amused. ‘Maybe.’ ‘You need to control yourself—’ ‘Nope.’ She laughs, batting you away when you attempt to grab her. ‘No. No, sir,’ she warns, scooting to the bed. ‘You said you’d be good.’ ‘Did I?’ ‘Yes. You did. You explicitly said you’d behave.’ ‘And you believed me?’ She pauses. Then groans, rubbing her face. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’ You grin. And then you pounce.

She yelps, barely managing to roll away before you trap her under you, laughing as she dodges your grabby hands.

‘No,’ she gasps between laughs, ‘we are doing the normal nighttime routine first!’ ‘This is the routine.’ ‘No it is not!’ You chase her across the bed. She giggles, swats at you, then suddenly—miraculously—manages to flip you over, straddling you with a triumphant grin. ‘HAH.’ She plants her hands on your chest. ‘Got you.’ You blink up at her. Pause. Then smirk. ‘Yujin,’ you murmur, voice low. ‘Baby.’ Her smile falters. ‘…What.’

You cup her waist, slowly sliding your hands up, over the fabric of your shirt, over the nothing she’s wearing underneath.

She realizes. Her eyes widen. ‘Wait—’ And then you flip her back over. She gasps. ‘Noooooo—’ You laugh, pinning her down, watching as she squirms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with warmth and amusement. This. This is the routine. Laughter. Teasing. The way you move around each other like gravity has always existed between you. She exhales, chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers curling around your wrists. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer. ‘You win,’ she murmurs. You press your forehead to hers. ‘I always do.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Ugh. Fine. Manhandle me, then.’ She’s still beneath you, chest rising and falling, fingers curled loosely around your wrists where you’ve pinned them. Her breath is quick, her pulse erratic, and you know it’s not just because of the weight of you pressing her into the mattress—it’s everything. The warmth between you, the years leading to this, the understanding that what’s about to happen isn’t just want, isn’t just release—it’s reclamation.

She swallows, lips parting slightly, pupils wide and dark in the low light. The dark strands of her hair are fanned across the pillow, tangled from your hands, a mess you’d memorize blindfolded. There’s a flush blooming across her chest, creeping up the column of her throat, a heat that you feel mirrored in yourself.

You watch her, watch the way she shifts slightly beneath you, pressing up just enough to remind you she’s waiting, waiting, waiting. You could draw this out forever. But that’s cruelty. Or maybe, maybe, that’s worship.

You press your lips to the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then down, trailing a path over her jaw, her throat, the faint dip between her collarbones. You can feel the hum of her laughter before she even releases it, a small breath of amusement, her fingers twitching against your hold'

‘You’re teasing,’ she murmurs, voice wrecked already. ‘No,’ you answer, dragging your mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin. ‘I’m remembering.’

Because you are. You’re remembering the way her body curls into yours when she’s overwhelmed. You’re remembering the tiny, trembling exhales she makes when your hands slide over the slopes of her ribs. You’re remembering that she loves when you take your time, that she loves to be adored, that she wants to feel every inch of you.

And she is so easy to adore.

You shift lower, your hands tracing slow, lazy patterns down her sides, feeling the way her muscles twitch beneath your touch. The shape of her—long lines, soft curves, skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath your lips.

Your name escapes her in a breath, a barely-there sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs, inside your chest, like it belongs there.

You kiss lower. Down, down. Your fingers slip between her thighs, ghosting over her bare glistening pussy, and her breath stutters, a sharp intake that punches straight through your gut. ‘Look at you,’ you murmur, dragging your knuckles up the inside of her goosebump-ridden thigh. ‘Fidgeting.’ She doesn’t answer. Just glares, lashes damp, lips parted, so achingly beautiful you feel winded.

‘Is that frustration?’ you tease, dragging your mouth back up, scraping your teeth over her hip bone. ‘It’s—’ She exhales, trying for control. Fails. ‘It’s you taking too long.’ You hum. ‘I thought you liked it slow.’ ‘I do,’ she grits out. ‘But I also like it when you—’

Her voice catches as your fingers press a little harder into her. A single stroke, just enough to make her body jolt, enough to make her curse under her breath, enough to feel the sticky wetness of her—inside.

Then you do it again. And again. Until her hips are moving against your touch, until her nails bite into your shoulders, until her breath is a series of broken, unsteady exhalations, ‘Yes, yes, oh fuck~’

You kiss her then. Hard. Deep. Drinking in every shiver, every sound, every breathless plea she won’t voice but you understand anyway.

And then— Then, finally— Her thighs part wider, welcoming you; knees hooking around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back. You press your shaft along her golden-soft navel, hard enough to get her whimpering under the heat of your shaft. You drag slowly along her soft—yet firm—navel, coursing the map lower and lower—until the nub responsible for her heat—all swollen and beautiful and pink—meets your tip. She lets out a sudden whimper; She glares, and you press a kiss on her temple once again—sorry baby, sorry. At the end of the map, you feel the slick heat of her cunt against the head of your cock, her entrance fluttering, pulsing, as you grind around the clit in slow, torturous circles. Precum smears her folds, mingling with her arousal, the glide obscenely wet. ‘Fuck,’ she hisses, nails raking down your spine. ‘Stop—stop toying—’ You catch her wrist, pinning it above her head again. ‘No.’ Your other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it through her slit, the swollen head catching on her clit with every pass. She jerks, a broken moan tearing free, her hips bucking—but you hold firm, denying her friction. ‘You wanted slow. This is slow.’ Her cunt weeps, glistening, her inner lips swollen and flushed. You watch, transfixed, as your cockhead nudges her entrance, spreading her open incrementally. A single inch sinks in, the velvety grip of her walls clenching reflexively, and you groan through gritted teeth. ‘Christ’ She whimpers, her clit throbbing against your shaft as you retreat, dragging your tip through her folds again. ‘Please—’ Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her temples. ‘Just—fuck me—’ You lean down, lips grazing hers. ‘Where?’ She glares, chest heaving. ‘You know—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘Inside—’ ‘Inside what?’ You press forward, another inch sheathed, the stretch burning sweet. ‘Use your words, Yujin.’ Her thighs tremble. ‘My—my cunt.’ ‘Good girl.’ You sink deeper, the thick ridge of your cockhead massaging her front wall, that spongy patch of nerves that makes her sob. Her cervix yields, soft and pliant, as you bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick muscle, and you swear, forehead dropping to her shoulder. ‘You’re gonna milk me dry—’ ‘Move,’ she demands, her ankles locking behind your back. ‘Move or I’ll—’ ‘You’ll what?’ You pull out almost completely, leaving just the tip seated, her clit rubbing against your shaft. ‘Beg?’ She keens, back arching, breasts pressed to your chest. ‘Yes—yes, god, please—’ You snap your hips forward, sheathing yourself in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your palm as you clamp it over her mouth, your other hand sliding between you to circle her clit. ‘Quiet,’ you growl, grinding deep. ‘You’ll take it. All of it.’ Her cunt ripples around you, fluttering in erratic pulses, her clit swollen and pebbled beneath your thumb. You fuck her with shallow, punishing rolls of your hips, each stroke dragging your cockhead over that sweet spot, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. ‘Look at me,’ you snarl, removing your hand from her mouth. She obeys, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw. ‘Whose cunt is this?’ ‘Yours—’ ‘And whose cock?’ ‘Mine—’ You slam into her, hilt-deep, your balls slapping her ass. ‘Louder—’ ‘MINE—’

The word cracks through the room, ragged and raw, and you reward it by slamming into her hilt-deep, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you still inside her. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick heat, and you hiss through your teeth, your grip bruising on her hips. ‘Again,’ you demand, pulling out until only the swollen head of your cock remains lodged in her entrance. Her inner lips cling to you, reluctant to let go. She whines, back arching off the bed. ‘Yours—your cunt, your everything—’ You thrust back in, slow, savoring the way her walls ripple to accommodate you. ‘And what do you want?’ 'You,’ she gasps, nails carving half-moons into your shoulders. ‘Inside me—claiming me—’ 'How?' You drag your cockhead over that spongy patch of nerves again, deliberate, watching her thighs quake. 'Cum,' she begs, tears streaking her temples. 'Fill me—mark me—' You still, your hand sliding up to grip her throat—not restricting air, just owning. 'Ask nicely.' Her breath hitches. 'Please—please, I need it—need you to paint my insides white, need to feel it—' A dark thrill curls in your gut. You lean down, lips brushing hers. 'Since you asked so sweetly.' You start a brutal, precise rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that punch the air from her lungs. Each snap of your hips drags her clit against the base of your cock, each retreat leaves her clenching around nothing. Her cunt weeps, arousal slicking your shaft, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. 'Look at me,' you snarl, tightening your grip on her throat. Her eyes fly open, hazy but obedient. 'You take me so well,' you murmur, your free hand sliding between you to circle her throbbing clit. 'This greedy cunt—my greedy cunt—sucking me in like you were made for it.'

She sobs, her walls fluttering. 'Yours—always yours—'

'Prove it.' You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, your other still working her clit. 'Come. Now.'

Her orgasm rips through her violently—back arched, cunt spasming, a scream tearing from her throat as she soaks your cock. You ride it out, fucking her through the pulses, your thrusts turning jagged, erratic.

'Mine,' you growl, feeling your balls tighten. 'Say it—say it—'

'Yours—god, yours—'

You slam into her one last time, hilt-deep, and hold. Your release surges—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her cervix, painting her walls in stripes of white. She whimpers, oversensitive but greedy, her cunt milking every drop as you grind your hips in slow, possessive circles.

'Take it,' you grit out, watching her stomach quiver with the force of your spend. 'All of it.'

She nods, dazed, her thighs trembling around your waist. You collapse atop her, still buried inside, your lips finding the sweat-damp hollow of her throat.

—

Yujin’s lashes flutter against your chest, and there’s a moment where she seems to wrestle with something—embarrassment, vulnerability—but it dissolves when she feels your fingers tracing gentle circles against her back. She shifts, propping herself up just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and soft and entirely too honest.

‘You know,’ she whispers, voice almost shy, ‘I used to dream about this. You and me, like this. Just… here.’

‘Here?’ You brush a damp strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘In bed, sweaty and gross?’

A soft laugh escapes her, warm and tender. ‘Yeah. Exactly this.’ Her fingertips graze your jaw, light as the touch of a memory. ‘I’d think about waking up to you, about how it’d feel to fall asleep in your arms. It’s stupid, I know—’

‘Not stupid,’ you murmur, cutting her off with a kiss—soft, lingering, like you’re trying to pour every unspoken word into it. ‘Never stupid.’

Her gaze softens even further, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s something she needs to breathe. You feel her lips press against your pulse, a delicate kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

‘I don’t want to let you go,’ she confesses, voice muffled. ‘Not tonight. Not ever.’

‘Then don’t.’ You trail your fingers up and down her spine, feeling the subtle curve of her back beneath your touch. ‘Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere.’

She shifts, looping her arms around your neck, pressing her body flush against yours. The contact is warm, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the weight of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.

‘You’re too good at this,’ she mumbles, the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. ‘Making me feel safe. Like I belong here.’

You tighten your hold on her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘You do belong here. With me. Always.’

Her breath shudders, and you feel her fingers clutch at your shoulders, like she’s afraid you might slip away. You press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, each touch softer than the last.

‘Yujin,’ you whisper, and she looks up at you, eyes wide and glistening. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

She smiles—a real, unguarded smile—and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. She lifts herself up just enough to press a kiss to your lips, lingering, tender, unhurried. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like something that doesn’t need words to be understood.

When she pulls back, her face is flushed, her expression open and raw. ‘I love you,’ she says softly, the words so simple, so devastatingly sincere.

You cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. ‘I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.’

She settles against you, fitting herself into the curve of your body, her head resting against your chest. You stroke her hair, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she presses one last kiss to your heart.

The room is warm and heavy with the scent of you both, with the quiet weight of something real and unbreakable. You feel her breathing slow, her body growing heavy with sleep, and you let your own eyes drift shut, content to let the world narrow to the steady rise and fall of her breath.

And then—nothing. Just the two of you tangled together, warmth and closeness and the certainty that this, right here, is home.

—

a/n: Experimenting yet again. Hopefully the last sex scene wasn't too mortifying. But I really enjoyed writing this—Yujin's personality meshes really well with with the dialogue I was aiming to do (hopefully I succeeded). This was a half-finished draft that I managed to finish (through merging other drafts, other idols, et cetera et cetera), and now I don't have a single draft remaining; sooo... I don't know how this fares for the next fic (hopefully not too long..... haha..heh..he).

a/n 2: Much love for all the support: they never go unnoticed!!! <3333333

#Yujin smut #Ive smut #ive #fanfic #smut #kpop #kpop smut #male reader

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deathofacupid · 2 days ago

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opposites attract, they say. they attract, but they don't last. at least, not satoru and you.

"'toru," you tug on his sleeve, the silk cool against your clammy skin. he glances away from the gaggle of people surrounding him, a practiced smile flashing across his face. it doesn't reach his eyes.

"yeah, baby?"

you inhale, the bass of the music vibrating through your chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. "can we — could you…" the words catch in your throat. what were you asking for? sanity? a moment of quiet? "um," you stammer, "when's this going to be over?"

"over?" he echoes, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, as if the very concept is absurd. "babe, the party just started."

your party. the party you hadn't asked for, the party you dreaded.

"i know," you say, treading carefully. you knew he'd put effort into this. it's just… the room felt like it was closing in. it wasn't his fault, not really. he thrived in this environment, the center of attention, radiating that effortless charisma. people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. and tonight, the flame was burning too bright.

"but… it's just really, um," suffocating is the word that claws at your throat, but it feels too dramatic, too needy. "it's just kind of a lot."

he laughs, a booming sound that seems to amplify the noise around you, and says something you can't hear over the music. "'toru," you sigh, the sound barely audible, "i can't hear you."

he clicks his tongue, a flash of annoyance crossing his features, before he leans in and excuses himself from the group. he takes your hand, his grip a little too tight, and pulls you out onto the balcony of the penthouse. the city lights sprawl beneath you, a dizzying panorama that mirrors the chaos in your head.

"okay," he says, his tone impatient, as if this whole conversation is an unwelcome interruption. "go ahead."

the resentment simmers. you swallow it down. "toru, this is… nice and all, but, uh — i'm just not sure… not sure this is my scene."

he squints at you, his brow furrowed. "what do you mean? it's your party."

"i didn't want one, though. don't get me wrong, this was… thoughtful, i guess. it's just too much for me."

satoru blinks, genuinely surprised, as if you've sprouted a second head. "but…i mean, i thought you'd like it. look at how many people showed up for you."

"'toru, those people aren't here for me. i don't even know most of them."

"it's a party! like, a party party. of course, you won't know all of them."

"i probably don't even know three of them!" you snap, the frustration finally breaking through. "you know i don't like these things," you add, the words softer now, pleading.

"yeah," he scoffs, the sound laced with something you can't quite decipher. "i do."

"well, what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing. it's just," he groans, running a hand through his hair, "frustrating."

"frustrating? it's frustrating? me wanting to spend my birthday with you, that's frustrating?"

"you are with me!"

"and, like, one hundred other people! what's frustrating is that you're not listening! i told you i wanted to spend today, just the two of us!"

"but that's what we always do," he mutters, the words barely audible.

"what? oh, i'm sorry, is quality time annoying?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "that's not what i meant."

"that's what it sounded like."

"look, it's just… boring doing the same thing all the time. we like different things."

"yeah," you whisper, the words heavy with a sudden, sinking realization. "we do, don't we?" you shake your head, the movement small and defeated, and turn to walk past him.

"wait, where are you going?"

you shrug, unable to meet his eyes, "to go to a different thing."

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #jjk #satoru x reader #gojo angst #satoru angst

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 days ago

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spiderman kiss

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event for Valentine's Day

rated t | 896 words | no cw | tags: fake dating au, fake wedding date, strangers to lovers, fast burn of the century, getting together, first kiss, modern au

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

“I cannot believe you fell for this guy,” Robin hisses through her teeth as she gestures to Eddie, who is doing his best impression of a bat by hanging upside down from a tree branch. “You were supposed to bring him to the wedding, not want to marry him.”

“Woah. I said I liked him, not that I wanted to marry him,” Steve whispers.

“For you, that’s basically the same thing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but she’s right. He may not fall for people often, but when he does, it’s all or nothing. Head over heels. Madly, deeply in love.

Eddie was supposed to be his date for this wedding to appease all the kids, to get them to just shut up already about how single he is and how miserable he is when he comes to events alone. He’s Dustin’s friend, apparently someone just as miserably single as Steve.

He’s weird. Steve likes weird.

He’s loud. Steve likes…his loud.

He’s exciting. Steve needs excitement.

He’s also hot. In a metalhead who didn’t get the memo that the 80s are over, wore jeans and a button-up to a formal event, played air guitar in his seat during the bridal march kind of way.

“He’s fun,” Steve settles on, shrugging. “Aren’t you the one who said I need more fun in my life?”

“I meant, like, a new hobby!”

“He could be my new hobby.”

“Ew,” Robin groans. “Okay. Alright, fine. You wanna be involved with him, be my guest. Dustin says he’s never once seen him in a committed relationship.”

Steve knows. They spent most of yesterday together talking, getting to know each other, making sure they could pass as boyfriends and not people who just met. Steve didn’t care about being single at a wedding, but apparently all of his friends had told Dustin’s mom they were dating behind their backs and now-

“Stevie!” Eddie yells when he notices him talking to Robin at the table. “We could Spiderman kiss!”

Steve glances at Robin, who rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Oh my god, just go.”

He stands and walks over to Eddie, who is hanging much lower than he should be for a proper Spiderman kiss. He’s grinning, and his hair has started to fall from its messy bun. Steve cannot believe he’s doing this.

He stands with his hands on his hips, smirking at Eddie trying to hold himself up higher, but not having the strength to do it.

“It would be a lot easier to kiss you if you got down,” Steve says.

Everyone goes silent.

Because everyone who is standing by Eddie– Max, Dustin, Will, and Mike– are all very aware that this was nothing more than a fake date for the wedding. Steve doesn’t need to kiss Eddie when no one is watching; He doesn’t need to kiss even when someone is watching.

Eddie stops trying to lift himself, eyes widening as Steve takes another step closer.

“You’d have to be on that branch to pull it off,” Steve says as he points at the branch about two feet above the one he’s currently on. “Unless I get on my knees.”

Everyone pretends they don’t hear the strangled noise that escapes Eddie.

“You’d get dirty, though. Those are nice pants,” Eddie says, still upside down, face bright red from embarrassment and blood rushing to his head.

“They are,” Steve agrees, laughing as he squats so he’s barely higher than Eddie’s face. “But I have to dry clean them anyway. Might as well get what I’m paying for.”

Steve places his hand on the back of Eddie’s neck and leans in, brushing their lips together softly. It’s awkward because Eddie’s upside down and Steve has no idea how they made it looks so hot in the movie, but-

“This is a turn of events I did not see coming!” Dustin’s new wife, Suzie, claps. “You were so right, Dusty Buns. They’re perfect for each other.”

Steve does what he does best and ignores them, focusing on Eddie, who looks unstable now.

“Do you need help getting down?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods, and Steve moves as quickly as he can to help get him upright so he can climb down. He’s surprised Dustin agreed to an outdoor wedding in the spring with his allergies, but Suzie insisted on having fresh flowers everywhere and would not accept store bought. He’s even more surprised that Eddie, who admitted to having seasonal allergies while they talked at dinner last night, is hanging in trees.

When Eddie’s back on the ground, Steve kisses him for real. A hard press to his lips, tongue brushing against him, teasing.

“Did you climb a tree for attention?” Steve asks him when he pulls away.

“It worked. I can’t be blamed for doing something drastic for you to kiss me.”

“You could’ve just kissed me,” Steve laughs.

Eddie does.

“Still fake? Or can we admit that there’s way more chemistry here than we expected there to be and kiss some more?” He asks.

“I regret doing this. I regret it so much,” Dustin groans as he walks away.

Steve rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t. He’s gonna go do his happy dance where we can’t see him.”

“He has a happy dance?” Eddie asks, smile growing as he leans into Steve’s side.

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing. Let’s go watch.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie events #steddie holiday drabbles #steve harrington x eddie munson #fake dating #getting together #strangers to lovers

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nightplvmes · 3 days ago

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*.⊹˚ SYLUS | surprise dinner (valentine's day)

── ◜sylus x fem!reader — ◜short special | specials from the rest of the LIs on my profile

Everything had gone wrong. From the moment she woke up that morning she must have known that everything was going to go wrong.

First it started with her alarm going off. She woke up two hours later than she was supposed to and had missed the delivery time for the dessert she had ordered. It was a famous and expensive bakery, they had been very strict when they said that if she didn't arrive on time or at least half an hour later she wouldn't receive her order. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She thought maybe she could convince them to change their minds, but on her way to the bakery, her car's tire had gone flat. She ended up taking it to a garage and took a taxi back to home.

As if the day hadn't been bad enough. The dinner she had in mind also went wrong. She had burned a significant portion of the meal and didn't have time to start over. Around 5pm she had called Sylus to tell him that they couldn't meet that day because she had a problem. Lies and lies.

Sylus didn't say anything to her except that he understood and hung up. In her mind she was relieved that he hadn't been upset about ruining their first Valentine's Day. In Sylus' mind it was a different story. He had noticed her shaky voice because he know the way her voice sounded different after crying. Something was wrong.

It was already quite late when she returned home after searching for her favorite ice cream in three different stores. She couldn't even be sad in peace because she hadn't found the stupid ice cream.

Sylus had sent her a text while she was out but she wasn't sure what it meant. See you tonight. When she asked what it meant she got no reply. They weren't supposed to have a date until tomorrow, she had called him a couple of hours ago and he said it was fine.

When she got home everything was dark, she was almost sure that she had left more than one light on. She hated coming home and tripping over everything, plus her cat was always walking around. She walked in the darkness until she saw a flash of light shining in the dining room. She walked slowly and felt the air escape from her lungs.

He was there.

But he wasn't just there. He had prepared dinner, the room was dimly lit by the candles and everything was perfectly arranged. How had he done that in such a short time?

"Sy…" She felt the bag with the ice cream slip from her fingers. Her lips were parted and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Her eyes stung with tears.

"I got some information," he started speaking, setting something down on the table before walking over to her. "About the things that went wrong for you today."

She narrowed her eyes, confused, but it didn’t take her long to realize what he was talking about. Had Mephisto been following her? She had been distracted for most of the day, but not enough for her not to have noticed a black crow following her.

"I thought our date would be tomorrow," she said once the urge to cry had settled a little.

"I can leave if you want," he joked, closing the distance between them. She felt his arms wrap around her, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Maybe she had overreacted by canceling all her Valentine’s Day plans because of how badly her day had gone. But that afternoon, when she had sat on the couch, replaying everything that had gone wrong, she had felt awful—too drained to even get up and get ready.

"No." She shook her head quickly, her hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair and tugging gently. "You didn’t have to do this," she murmured, feeling Sylus’ breath against her face.

"Stop saying that." He tightened his hold on her hips. He would do anything for her—he had told her that over and over again.

She rose onto her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his one last time before she couldn’t hold back any longer. Finally, she kissed him. The urge to cry rushed back for a few seconds. She had given up—had accepted that her first Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend was going to be a complete disaster.

But now she was here, in Sylus’ arms, feeling how perfectly his lips fit with hers. A gasp escaped from her lips when she felt Sylus start to move backward, making her follow. Her back hit the wall, but his hand was already there, stopping her from hurting herself.

When she finally pulled away from his lips, her breathing was slightly unsteady. She could barely see anything in the dimly lit room, the candles on the dining table casting a warm, romantic glow. When she first met Sylus, it had been… an unconventional beginning. She never would have thought he was the type of person to prepare an entire dinner without her knowing, surprising her when she got home. A lot had changed since then, but she knew a different Sylus now.

"Come here. We can eat your ice cream after dinner."

She let out a little laugh, remembering the bag with over a liter of ice cream she had brought home, planning to eat it while crying over her ruined plans. She picked up the grocery bag that had slipped from her fingers, feeling Sylus intertwine his with hers as he guided her to the dining table.

She was still too dazed to say anything. She just let him pull out the chair for her, set the silverware, and… she was almost sure he had cooked everything himself, not just bought it from some restaurant. After all these years, she had learned to recognize the little details that made it clear when he was the one who had cooked.

The Sylus she had first met might never have done something like this—at least, that’s how he had seemed. But the Sylus she knew now? He would do anything for her.

#love and deepspace #sylus #lnds #lads #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus x female reader #sylus love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace sylus x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace one shot #sylus fluff #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader

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random2908 · 1 day ago

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My grandfather's grandparents were killed in a pogrom in 1920. The political setup was:

The Austro-Hungarian Empire had collapsed during WWI. So coming out of the war there was no real government of Hungary.

The intelligentsia class (doctors, lawyers, teachers) was somewhat Jewish, and somewhat communist, so a lot of the communist leadership in Budapest was Jewish. That was one of two major factions trying to create a government in Hungary starting from 1919 and over the next few years.

The other major faction was the far-right alliance of monarchists (mostly unpopular and pushed to the fringes of the movement) and proto-fascist nationalists (who would become actual fascists a few years later, once that movement fully congealed in Italy and then spread to surrounding nations).

To win hearts and minds, the proto-fascists claimed that they had the Hungarian people's best interests in mind much more than the communists, because the communists were Jewish.

To counter that propaganda--outside of Budapest itself where a lot of the communists were actually Jewish--the communist movement decided to kill as many Jews as it could find and redistribute all their property, to prove that they were more anti-Jewish than the fascists. The fascists thought this sounded like great fun, and so a contest was born, the two groups roving through the Hungarian countryside and killing as many Jews as they could.

It happened that it was the communists, rather than the fascists, who killed my great-great grandparents (beat them to death). I suppose this was inevitable: they were the head servants at a count's estate, which meant that they were among the least-poor people in a county where everyone was poor, so they were prime targets for wealth redistribution. (The count's property was untouched, because he was a noble, so it was all his by divine right.)

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

As for Trump, supporting Israel is not the same as supporting Jews. Most pro-Israel voters in the US are Evangelical Christians; there are more than twice as many Zionist Evangelical Christians in the US than there are Jews in the entire world. And the reason they're pro-Israel is because Israel needs to exist as a Jewish country in order for their apocalypse to start, at which point they (the Evangelical Christians) will be raptured safely to heaven and everyone else will die horribly and go to hell. (This sounds completely insane, but it's so central a part of their religion that they're happy to talk about it openly, if you ask them why they support Israel; they won't even bother hiding behind other platitudes or anything.)

But as someone above pointed out, Trump sure did say threatening things about Jews during his election campaign a few months ago. And he redefined Jews as a separate "nationality" during his first presidency--othering us and implying that we aren't fully American. Whatever he thinks of Israel, he is a danger to Jews.

(And honestly, what Trump thinks of Israel is that Bibi is a man very like himself. Someone who would go to jail for fraud and corruption if he lost his political hold, and is willing to do any unethical thing, up to and including dismantling democracy and killing large numbers of people, to evade justice. So Trump is personally friends with Bibi and supports him in every unethical and immoral act. Additionally, as evidenced by Trump's attempt at "Muslim bans" in his first presidency, he thinks dehumanizing Muslims is at the very least politically expedient, and possibly even something he personally believes in although it's always hard to tell what Trump really believes; and so will jump on opportunities to do so. None of this makes Trump any sort of ally to Jews.)

“trump isn’t antisemitic bc he supports israel” he supports whatever israel can do for him and the united states (in that order). “okay but he supports jews in the united states!” he is using us as a political tool as goyim often do. if he actually cared about dismantling antisemitism, he’d realize that superficially uplifting jews while leading a crusade against “dei” will only strengthen the left’s resentment of us. he doesn’t give a fuck about jews i promise lol

#anyway this is part of why I would never support anarchism and much prefer big-government socialist-leaning democracy #because sure there have been times when governments have killed my ancestors (my great-grandparents died in Auschwitz)#but there have also been times when governments have saved my ancestors--and myself I'm sure #and NOTHING else has ever saved us EXCEPT for benevolent governments #so even if it's not a sure bet it's better than zero

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alexrosa13 · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! I've read your writing about the supermodel! I'm obsessed with it! Can you do something similar but make the MC/reader an idol?

Idol

Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel; Sylus; Caleb; Jeremiah; Greyson; Thomas; Luke & Kieran x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: may come out a little suggestive if you squint (Xavier; Sylus; Greyson), alcohol (Thomas), hinted at bisexual reader in Luke & Kieran's part

Note: OMG HELL YES, I was really confused if the idea was supposed to be about just idol, or a k-pop kind of idol so I went with the idea of the reader being a soloist whether k-pop or not - doesn't matter

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

Music is what feelings sound like...

Xavier

How do we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine

Nothing can keep us apart

'Cause you are the one I was meant to find

~ „Rewrite The Stars” Zac Efron, Zendaya

★ falls asleep listening to your music, makes it his ringtone, all of his chores are done while humming to it, he's obsessed in the cutest way

★ oh if you'd ever write a song inspired by him; expect him to not leave you alone for at least two weeks straight, he will be tailing you like a puppy wherever you go (if you're already on this stage in a relationship then bathroom included, you can lock the door but this dude can teleport sooo...)

★ would get any merch you release and would (will) make you sign it (please add a little heart or a star to your autograph every now and then, he will cherish those pieces the most)

★ after your concerts, late at night in your shared home, you would have a private concert between just the two of you and occasionally you would also invite animals that came to visit you

"Xavier my voice is dead, you have to sing solo." you laughed while taking a sip of water from your bottle.

"But without my other half this song isn't as special as it's supposed to be, it's our song." he complained, while looking too cute with a little frown on his face.

"Then pick another song, and this one we'll sing together tomorrow, deal?" you came closer to him, your arms curling around his neck, hugging him.

You swore that the brightest stars of tonight's sky were hidden in his eyes, looking at you as if reflecting your shine, as if your joy was what made him truly the happiest.

With a quiet sight he complied, agreeing to continue your little concert another day, letting your vocal cords rest after hours of singing.

You felt his hands tightening its hold at your waist before casting you up, making you cling to him even more, while your legs wrapped around his waist. You threw him a questioning look, but he simply smiled while proceeding to carry you towards your shared bathroom.

"Xavier? May I ask what exactly are you doing?" you giggled a bit while he sat you down at the edge of the tub.

"Planning to spoil you and get you ready for bed." he said casually while already starting to prepare a bath.

"So the first point of your little plan is running me a bath?" he nodded, not looking at you, too focused on getting the right temperature of water "Will you join me?" now you got his attention. Seeing your smiley face he wouldn't even dream of refusing, deciding to simply chuckle to himself and nod his head once more.

Zayne

Unconditional, unconditionally

I will love you unconditionally

There is no fear now

Let go and just be free

~ „Unconditionally” Katy Perry

★ makes sure that you don't overwork yourself, which sometimes may be hard while your new album is about to drop or a tour is approaching

★ sometimes, especially in the evening when it's just the two of you in the quietness of your home, you like to sit in his office and write songs while he works, some lyrics would never leave your notes, too personal to share them with the world

★ would attend award ceremonies with you, however he won't walk the red carpet by your side, when asked about it he simply says that it's only your moment to shine, but you know that it's just because he's not fully comfortable with that kind of attention on him

★ if you play instruments in a different room while he's working he would purposely leave the door to his office open, same with singing, once he'll finished with all of the documents he would go to find you and listen to you in person, sometimes hiding behind the wall as 'not to distract you'

He heard another faint note coming from the piano in the living area of your home, soon accompanied by your voice, so quiet and soft that Zayne almost couldn't catch it.

Looking at the clock in the corner of the monitor of his work laptop and noticing the late hour he decided to call it a night. The rest of his work can wait until tomorrow, now he wanted to spend the remaining hours of the day with his love, and nothing could stop him.

He left his office and made his way through the dark corridor, his steps quiet, not wanting to alert you of his presence, planning to stay unnoticed for a while and enjoy your little concert.

And just like any other time: he succeeded.

He leaned against the wall on the other side of the room while watching your back, slightly lit garden making as your background behind the huge window.

If recorded - this moment could fit perfectly in one of your future music videos, but instead it was just his to savor.

A perfectly played melody synchronized with your voice sounded like an angel singing lullaby accompanied by the gentle noises of its wings swaying in the air.

Unnoticed by him the song finally came to an end, last note leaving the instrument before your finger left the key.

Seconds later the sound of a quiet applause from behind your back stirred you, quickly you turned around on your seat, catching eye contact with your lover.

"Will there finally come a time when you'll stop sneaking up on me when I play?" you teased with not even a hint of irritation in your voice.

"I simply do not wish to disturb your focus, once you're fully into the song you tend to lose yourself in it. I wouldn't dream of breaking that state." his smirk made you let out a quiet giggle.

"Come and join me."

Rafayel

Ain't no prayer, ain't no God that could save us from our love

Ain't no rainfall, ain't no flood that could drown all our sorrow

~ „Lovers In The Dark” Sophie Morelli

★ in a pack with a boyfriend you got yourself a free stylist, well not exactly free, but your payment now are kissed and complements

★ poor Thomas would never hear the end of Raf's ramblings about you... "Rafayel I know that your girlfriend is really really important to you BUT I NEED YOUR ASS TO GET BACK TO PAINTING, WE HAVE CUSTOMERS!" while Rafayel stays in his seat, unbothered, ordering thousands of new designer clothes for you - yeah it's hard to be a manager of such a diva

★ would put his artistic soul to use when you need a new album cover, either would paint something inspired by your song or play your photographer for a bit

★ concerts backstage can get really chaotic sometimes, all sets of hands put to work, making sure that everything will go smoothly - and Rafayel making sure that you look your absolute best (girl fire your stylist at this point)

"Babe who hurt you?" he looked at you looking genuinely terrified.

"Rafayel. It's just an outfit, I'll be fine." your gaze returned to a mirror, trying to believe in your own words.

"JUST AN OUTFIT?! Baby there's absolutely no way I'm letting you on stage in this... Horrible, horrible, piece of fabric." his eyes never left your clothes, his brows drew together in a grimace, half an hour was left before you'll need to wrap everything up and walk out to face the cameras and your fans, he needs to fix the mess your 'stylist' made.

"Can you fix it in twenty minutes?" you asked, the confidence disappearing from your expression, looking at him with a plead. Instantly he moved towards your wardrobe, pulling you after him.

"Give me ten." he signaled for you to take off this outfit while busying himself in the countless clothes, working his art.

He'll be damned if he'll let you leave this room in anything less than gorgeous and fabulous.

He had a mission to fulfill, and your image to protect.

Hours later he waited in your changing room for the people to stop running around you, logging onto his social media to see any new posts about you.

WHO'S THAT DIVA???

DOES SHE LIKE WOMEN TOO? Asking for a friend.

I don't think so, she took her bf on the red carpet last time 😔

WHYYYY, WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS TO STEAL HER FROM US

seeing people just now discovering that she dates Rafayel is wild

WAIT. I JUST GOT TO KNOW THAT SHE'S TAKEN AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE DATES THE RAFAYEL??? 😭😭😭

Idk who I am more jealous about...

⬆️⬆️⬆️ literally me

BISEXUAL PANIC 🫡

He chuckled to himself, yeah he won the world the moment you agreed to date him.

Sylus

They say all good boys go to Heaven

But bad boys bring Heaven to you

It's automatic

It's just what they do

~ „Heaven” Julia Michaels

★ mysterious boyfriend pt. 2 - the one and only time when your fans 'saw' him was in one of your mv's, but only his back was visible while you were clinging to his side, at first they thought that it was some random actor but then they saw the same white hair on one of your social media stories and rumors started to fly

★ would give twins the tickets to your concert under the excuse of watching you in case someone came there to hurt you, but in reality it's just because he knows they enjoy your concerts and wants them to have some fun

★ he'll ensure your safety on any kinds of events, not trusting your company to take care of it properly

★ in one interview you mentioned that your partner is absolutely tone-deaf, laughing about it, saying how opposites attract, in another one you said how your partner loves your singing and how they are your biggest supporter and inspiration

You just stepped out of your morning shower, putting on underwear you went to sit down on a stool before the mirror, about to dry your hair and do your morning beauty routine.

With the loud humming of the hair dryer drowning out other noises you began to sing, loudly, thinking that no one will hear it.

Well, you were wrong.

About a minute in you noticed a silhouette standing by the door.

Damn you should really learn to lock it.

"Sylus?" you asked, turning the hair dryer off, watching him through the mirror's reflection.

"Don't mind me sweetheart. I'm just enjoying the show." you turned around to face him with your face expression screaming 'really?', but he remained unbothered, reaching to close the door and right after taking a couple steps your way finding himself right behind you "Allow me."

The hair dryer was gently taken away from your hand, your eyes met his in the mirror, smile threatened to show on your lips, but you still tried to keep up the facade of annoyance.

Yet completely unbothered Sylus began drying your hair, humming a tune in the meantime, a sound that you almost didn't catch.

Seeing his eyes focused on your hair, you closed your own in a relaxed manner, your voice synchronizing with his when you started to hum the well-known melody of the song you wrote for him a long time ago.

A quiet domesticated moment before your long day began was something that you didn't even know you needed today, but were absolutely grateful that it happened. Grateful that you had someone to share this morning with.

Caleb

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?

I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now

~ „Airplanes” B.o.B, Hayley Williams

★ imagine being highschool sweethearts with Caleb, every girl being jealous of you, sending you hateful glances every time they saw you leaning on his arm during a break between the classes, and every guy either congratulating him on dating you or plotting to steal you away from him

★ and in the middle of it all: both of you just didn't care - too busy with admiring the other to notice the jealous looks you received at every corner, every gift given to you by someone else than your lover being either rejected or thrown away

★ everyone knew that you'll go far in life, with his plans about becoming a pilot and your dreams of existing in the music industry, supporting each other in your goals

★ and with another concert bringing a huge echo on the news questions started floating around you; did you have a partner? Well that was a secret no one knew the truth about, with you dodging any question regaining your private life like a pro

The screams and cheering felt like home, you standing with a microphone before thousands of people, feeling like you made it.

Another song starting to play, the show going on, you and your dancers flowlessly navigating through the stage, during one of the quiet moments between the verses, your eyes began scanning the front row, eager to meet one pair of eyes watching you.

And sure enough: among the sea of flashes, phones and signs one immediately caught your eye.

[ Your Wish Is Here 🍎⭐]

A giggle slipped out from your mouth, your mic catching the sound before you moved your face away, cheers erupted from everywhere around you, your eyes met his.

The next words before you came back to singing got an even louder reaction from the crowd.

"All of my wishes came true already." and the lyrics of your song began floating out of your mouth, all the while holding the eye contact with those beautiful violet eyes.

You made it.

Jeremiah

Lilacs for all of the lies

Daisies for days that I cried

I love to watch 'em as they die

Orchids when I want a kiss

All that I need is your tulips on mine

~ „Don't Send Me Flowers” Sorana

★ to say that you were an unexpected match would be an understanding. A humble florist with a worldwide music star? Yeah, maybe in a dreams.

★ your fans knew that you had someone, the smile on your face every time you were asked about your partner was telling them enough, even if your mouth didn't.

★ in reality this match was as if made in Heaven: your radiating kindness together with his calm but sweet demeanor, never before have you had a partner that was so understanding and patient with you

★ the truth as to why you never spoke his name was a mystery, you talked about him so much, they saw you with him every now and then, so why was his name such a high guarded secret?

"So... Are you coming with me for the next tour?" you asked in a hopeful tone, it was a week before the whole thing shall begin, and you had yet to hear an answer from his lips.

Today he texted you that he finally decided, you weren't particularly stressed, if he'll agree then you'll be happy, if he'll refuse then you'll be... well, less happy but still understanding and just slightly sadden by the fact.

The look on his face didn't tell you anything, perfectly calm and composed.

"Well I had a lot of thinking to do, and some work with the documents." his identity creates complications every now and then "And I've decided..." he made a dramatic pause, the hopeful look on your face made his heart throb.

"Well? Tell me! You kept me in the dark for too long Mister!" your expression turned into a fake annoyance, unable to help himself he chuckled.

"I'll come with you." instantly you jumped onto him, almost making you both fall in the process but he managed to steady you in time, damn he's actually kinda strong...

The smile didn't leave either of your faces for the rest of the day, your happiness caused by his agreement and his caused by your joy.

Yeah, a perfect harmony.

Greyson

And every time we touch, boy, you make me feel weak

I can tell you're shy, and I think you're so sweet

Spendin' every night under covers and

Still I wonder, could you fall for a woman like me?

~ „Woman Like Me” Little Mix, Nicki Minaj

★ imagine him being your fan previously to your meeting and relationship, nothing too intense, but he knew you and your music well enough to recognize you

★ now imagine his shock when he randomly saw you sitting at the quiet cafe he often visited after leaving his work, enjoying your favorite drink while occupied by a book lying open before you

★ he tried not to stare, you probably came there to relax and wouldn't wish to be bothered by a fan asking for a photo or autograph, so he tried to go about his day, trying to act like he totally didn't recognize his celebrity crush

★ now imagine his shock when you spoke to him when he was passing by your table, saying that his glasses suit him, a nice compliment turned into an hour spent talking to each other, with him leaving the cafe with an autograph in his notebook, a photo with you hugging him, and your number to top that

"Darling do you know where my Saint Laurent heels are?" he heard your voice coming from the bathroom, probably finishing up your make-up.

Turning off the stove he went to the bedroom, knowing where to look for your (expensive) shoes.

And sure enough: they were there, lying carelessly in the corner of your room, the memories of how they ended up there bringing a blush to his face.

He picked them up, much more carefully than you when you dropped them to the floor, and headed back to give them to you.

Just as he left the bedroom he saw you, standing before the body length mirror put right next to the entrance door, fixing your jewelry.

He took a second to admire you, the way your body looked in your carefully picked outfit, the way your hair looked absolutely perfect and your make-up imitating a professional work.

How did he even got to date you?

Oh, right, he didn't, you picked him, grabbed him by a collar like you would a kitten saying 'This one's mine.' and he just accepted it (gladly).

"Darling? My shoes?" your voice brought him back from a daydream, he met your eyes through the mirror's reflection, a knowing smile formed on your lips.

He rushed towards you, showing you the items in his hands.

"Thank you darling." you kissed his cheek, unknowingly to him leaving a lipstick mark.

You bent to put on the shoes, with him moving away to pick up your purse, handing it to you once you stood up straight.

You took your possession from him and moved your palm to caress his cheek for a second, gracing him with one more smile of yours before turning around and leaving the walls of your shared apartment.

Thomas

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

~ „Enchanted” Taylor Swift

★ you met him during one of the after parties after a gala that he attended with (instead of) Rafayel, he was sipping nonalcoholic drink, rethinking all of his life choices after another one of artist's runaways from the cameras

★ imagine your drunk ass laughing from something that your friends were saying, unnoticed by you coming too close to a tables put on the higher platform and falling in a way that had you landing right on Thomas's lap

★ it was a start to your love story, you spend an evening together, talking about the industries and random life fun-facts, the night ending in him driving you home and exchanging numbers

★ you were one of the rising stars back then, overworked and underappreciated, you felt like you didn't have a say in your career, everyone deciding for you, even your social media were carefully monitored and you needed an approval from the management before posting anything, that was until Thomas put a stop to it

"You don't understand how much your career costs the company! Your music is better as it is, so leave your little notes in the trash and get back to the studio to work with the professionals." your manager, an old guy whose wife left taking the kids with her, screamed at you on the corridor, right after another long, boring meeting regarding your status in the industry.

"If only they would take a peek at my lyrics maybe it would work for the be-" you tried to argue, but the look he sent you made you quiet down instantly.

"I don't care about your little scribbles." harshly he yanked the papers from your hands, crumpling the paper with his grip "This is trash. Everything you do - is trash. So if you want us not to drop you and your little music career then just stay quiet and do what you're told." you felt the numbness creeping up on you, this isn't what you wanted your life to look like. You saw the old man opening up his mouth to probably let out more insults about you and your work, but another voice interrupted your conversation before he got the chance to continue.

"I'm pretty sure that insulting your artists is against the company's policy." you looked at Thomas, he told you that he'll be at a meeting in your work place today, he probably just finished up with that.

Before your manager could mutter out an excuse Thomas clicked something on his phone, a voice recording started playing, a proof of what happened a moment earlier.

You couldn't help the smile that threatened to show, he had lots of recordings like those actually.

You saw how the colors left your manager's face and knew that you caught him.

You shared a knowing look with Thomas, silently thanking him.

It will all be alright.

Luke & Kieran

Yeah, you fell in love

But you fell deeper in this pit

While death rains from above

So count your blessings 'cause this is it

You're not letting it go

So what if I misbehave? It's what everybody craves

~ „Addict” Michael Kovach, Chi-Chi

★ I hope you're ready for the chaos, because girl you're in for a ride. The amount of support you would get from every single man above but make it double.

★ imagine being a loud, confident, outspoken woman in the industry, rising up high just as a teen, everyone knew who you are, either loving or hating you (you were probably a wake up call for young teens gayness)

★ none of the men could ever handle you, so who could blame you when you got yourself two super sweet and silly boyfriends, breaking a standard once again?

★ your partners were a mystery, people knew about them, sure, but they knew them without ever seeing their faces or knowing their names, the most of the info they got was when a video from the backside of your concert got leaked, showing a cute moment between you and two men, dressed in black comfy clothes covering them whole with a hood dropped over their heads and a masks

"You'll drop me!" your high pinched scream could be heard together with your laugh, and a loud chuckle from one of the two men.

One of them had you dropped over his shoulders, attempting to do a squat with you as his additional weight.

"OMG STOP!" you continued screaming while laughing, clearly having fun.

"Aaaaand..." the other guy followed you two down, cheering up on the man holding you "WE GOT IT!" he screamed when the other man came back to stand after his successful squat without dropping you,

"I'LL KILL YOU TWO!" you playfully tugged on their hair to which they both let out a couple of dramatic 'auw!'s.

The video ended with the camera dropping down and the sound of the three of you laughing,

Safe to say that it made a storm in the media.

I AM SORRFY WHSO ARE THEYD?

THATS WHAT ALL OF US WANT TO KNOW SIS

Well that was not on my 2048 bingo card...

my crush got herself 2 boyfriends and I'm fine with it. *sob*

I have a couple of not really appropriate questions.

*hides a notebook* a couple of whaaaaaat

Okay, so the bisexual Queen got a man. Two men. Chat how are we coping?

*cries into a pillow*

It's a hard day for us girlies out here.

We fight, she's held hostage🤺🤺🤺

OMG I JUST WOKE UP???!!! 🥹😭

185 notes · View notes

bombiikki · 3 days ago

Text

𐙚⋆.˚　──── heart shaped box °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – non idol!danielle x fem!reader !!

synopsis: you’ve been yearning for danielle for years, and you’re never quite sure if she likes you too. you decided to gift her a box of chocolate-dipped strawberries for valentines, only to give it to her at the very end of the day and run off.

contains: fluff, dany/n just being homos, haerin the matchmaker/homo hater (depedns on how u perceive it), NOT PROOFREAD I REPEAT NOT PROOFREAD, the start is lwk ass from what i rememebr

a/n: after a whole lotta procrastination its here!! happy balentines day guys 😋😋 i also listedn to falling behind by laufey on repeat while writing this cuz i love luafey and i unforutnatley am falling behind

you sat down on an empty field. it was lunchtime by then, but you didn’t feel hungry enough to go to the cafeteria. instead, you took in the sunlight from the clear skies above. as you looked ahead at the field a figure had plopped themself down next to you.

“hi y/n! why are you just staring into the field like a weirdo?” hyein asked. she was younger than you by a few years, but you didn’t mind her company.

“c’mon hyein, don’t call y/n a weirdo. she deserves a title like—i’m actually out of ideas,” minji smiles, sitting on the other side of you.

you lay back onto the grassy field, sighing loudly before chuckling softly to yourself.

“you guys are the weirdos,” you snickered.

the three of you began chatting amongst yourselves, talking about anything and everything. a few minutes had passed as you were laughing with your friends, before you noticed another trio of girls making their way onto the field.

and there she was, danielle marsh. danielle was always the light of everyone’s lives. she was the kindest, sweetest soul anyone has met. danielle was the type of girl to include and help anyone in need, and for that you always admired her. and when you say admire, you actually meant you’ve been yearning for her for years now.

you watched as danielle walked across the field with her friends, hanni and haerin, babbling about something as they listened. she turned her head towards your general direction, and she seemed to light up even more.

“hi y/n!” she yelled, waving her arm in the air.

you waved back with a small smile, watching as she continued to smile widely at you before turning back to talk to her friends.

“now what was that,” hyein teased. “i didn’t know you had friends outside of us!”

you rolled your eyes before pushing hyein onto her side. “whatever,” you mumbled. you took a deep breath in and exhaled before opening your mouth again.

“you do know i’m friends with haerin right? danielle’s no different” you shrugged, feeling a little warmth on your cheeks.

“you say that yet you’re blushing,” minji chuckled. you slap your hands onto your cheeks.

“what do you mean! i’m not blushing! you’re blushing!!” you yell quietly, your eyebrows furrowing.

you found yourself in class on a boring day. your teacher is explaining something that could be important but you aren’t quite sure. with your notebook open, you began doodling a little cat in the corner. then, a piece of paper was thrown onto your desk.

you looked around for the sender, noticing haerin staring you down. you scoffed a little before opening the paper.

“i saw you on the field you homo”

your eyebrows furrowed as you wrote something back, the note being thrown back and forth.

“well ofc you did you were literally there with danielle”

“yeah but i saw the way she looked at you”

“you mean the way i looked at her??? cuz i was being a lil homo”

“no i mean the way she looked at you”

“WAS SHE JUDGING ME HAE…”

“far from it unfortunately,” haerin wrote with an eye-rolling doodle next to it.

“dude you have to tell me how she was looking at me cuz im lwk scared now”

“BE SCARED. more fun for me”

“ok and your supposed to be my friend”

“erm actually it’s spelt you’re!”

“whatever just tell me PLEASE”

“i’ll tell you after school if i can run away from dani and hanni”

as soon as the bell rang, you got up from your seat and grabbed your stuff. it was time to go home and you were buzzing around the hallways to make it off campus.

as you made your way to the front entrance, you felt someone pounce on you.

“hey loser,” haerin smiled.

“why is everyone giving me nicknames,” you mumbled.

the two of you began to walk home together, considering the two of you lived quite close to each other. haerin has always been your friend. despite not being in the same friend groups this year, she always had your back.

“okay, so spill. how was danielle looking at me?” you questioned, watching as haerin began to smirk—something sinister glistening in her eyes.

“you know, i’m not so sure i want to tell you anymore!” she said blissfully.

“then what was the point of walking and talking with me,” you frowned.

haerin looked at you as she began to pout. “did you not want to walk and talk with me?”

you chuckled softly before nudging her shoulder. “of course i did. i’m sorry i said it like that hae.”

“yeah, i know. i’m just messing with you,” haerin said, poking out her tongue.

you nudged her a little harder than before as you continued to walk and talk. when you made it to her front door, you waved her goodbye before walking to your house a few blocks away.

“wait, y/n!” you heard haerin call out.

“what’s up!” you yelled back.

“make a move!” haerin yelled with a smile before retreating into her own home.

you stood in place for a moment, trying to process what haerin had told you. make a move? what’s that supposed to mean? instead of pondering about it further, you continued to walk home.

as haerin jumped into her bed, she immediately called danielle.

“hey haerin! what’s up?” danielle said cheerfully through the screen.

“you’re a homo,” haerin said flatly. she heard danielle drop something before speaking again.

“what are you talking about! homo? me? no….” danielle chuckled nervously.

“i’ve been friends with you since forever dani, it’s okay,” haerin smiled softly. danielle exhaled through the phone before haerin spoke up again.

“you know who else i’ve been friends with since forever? y/n,” haerin added.

“what’s y/n got to do with me being gay?” danielle asked curiously. she heard haerin let out a big sigh from the other end of the phone.

“my eyes don’t lie. i know what i saw,” haerin said.

“what did you see?” danielle asked concerningly.

“you know what, i give up! you guys suck!” haerin exclaimed, hearing danielle’s confusion from the other line before hanging up.

you sat on the field again, not particularly feeling hungry. you looked out onto the field and spotted danielle once more. but, this time she was alone.

you watched as danielle smiled and walked over to you. you felt your heart begin to slowly rise and beat harder.

“hi there!” danielle smiled brightly, sitting next to you on the patch of grass.

you nodded your head and thinned your lips in response, not trusting your voice to say anything.

“do you know what’s going on with haerin? she was acting weird after school and you’re–like–her best friend,” danielle blurted out.

so she wanted to talk about haerin?

“me? haerin’s best friend? she’s around you so much i’m pretty sure you’re her best friend,” you chuckled softly.

“well, i’d like to disagree but seriously y/n—do you know what happened?” she asked concerningly, inching closer to you with a frown on her face.

you thought back to the day before and how haerin acted. she didn’t seem too out of the ordinary to you, though she was very secretive. you looked at danielle with her big puppy eyes before your heart began to pound through your chest. you hoped that she wouldn’t hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“i–um–i don’t know anything. she seemed a little secretive but overall quite normal,” you said nervously. “what did she do or say that made her seem odd?” you added.

you watched danielle intently as she began to sink herself deep in her thoughts. you watched as a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head and the way she looked into your eyes before looking away quickly with pink cheeks.

“it’s–nothing. it’s nothing important,” danielle said dismissively. she gave a small smile before getting up from the grass.

“i’ll see you in class y/n!” she said with one last smile. you watched her as she ran off the field.

see her in class you did! as you sat in your seat, you watched as danielle walked past your desk and flashed a smile. your heart did a flip before you rested your facial muscles and calmed yourself down.

the lesson itself was boring, and so was the next—but seeing danielle’s face in class made it more than worth it. the two of you don’t interact as much as you would prefer but when you do it always makes you giddy.

as the lessons continued to pass, you felt fatigued. but as the last bell rang, you shot up from your chair once more and grabbed all your stuff. you made your way into the crowded hallway and looked for a way to the front.

you gripped onto your bag of stuff and squirmed your way through the crowd, accidentally bumping into a few people in your attempt to get out of school. you furrowed your eyebrows as you managed to make it close to the front doors, bumping into one last person as you did.

“oh! sorry!” you exclaim, picking up your bag which had fallen to the floor.

your hands touched another which was also reaching out for your bag. your eyes travelled up the hand, to the arm, and to the face in which it belonged to.

“oh, y/n! no, i should be sorry—i was just standing in the middle of the hallway,” danielle smiled apologetically.

she picked up your bag for you and handed it over, your fingers brushing over hers once more.

“thank you,” you mumbled, before noticing haerin standing off to the side.

“no, don’t mind me! just keep doing what you’re doing,” she smirked.

you watched as danielle’s eyes widened and the way her cheeks began to flush a red tint. she mumbled something to haerin which you couldn’t quite decipher. danielle looked back at you before waving goodbye, leaving you with haerin.

haerin took your arm as you both walked off campus together once more.

“what were you talking about with danielle?” you questioned.

“aw is poor y/n jealous?” haerin teased. “we talked about you actually,” she added.

your eyes widened slightly as you tilted your head to the side.

“you talked about me? what did you talk about?” you questioned further.

“oh—nothing much. just the fact that you’re a socially awkward single loser,” haerin snickered.

you unwrapped your arm from haerin’s as you smacked her on the arm.

“acting as if that isn’t the exact description of you too,” you scoffed with a small smirk.

“well, at least i can actually talk to danielle,” haerin shrugged.

you stayed silent for a while, still standing by haerin’s side. you hummed flatly as your eyebrows furrowed.

“do you like danielle?” you asked haerin quietly.

haerin’s eyes widened as she turned her head to look at you. her own eyebrows furrowed as her jaw dropped slightly.

“excuse me?” haerin exclaimed, clearly taken aback.

“no–nevermind. it’s whatever. it’s nothing and stupid!” you mutter, walking just a little bit faster.

“it is stupid! me? like dani? hell no!” haerin said strongly, matching your walking pace and nudging you in the shoulder. “she's amazing, don't get me wrong! but she's amazing for you.”

you blush at her comment before letting out a sigh of the biggest relief.

“they just let any oblivious homo fall in love with each other,” haerin commented, rolling her eyes.

“wait, what? who’s oblivious?”

“my point exactly.”

“y/n, how long is it going to take for you to ask out danielle?” minji asked on a sunny day.

you spat out the water you were drinking in shock—cleaning yourself up when you regained your consciousness

“excuse me?” you asked with your jaw dropped.

“no–’cause–i agree with minji,” hyein commented, pointing her finger up.

you pondered for a moment before your eyebrows began to furrow.

“i don’t even know if she likes me like that. i’m not risking it,” you sighed.

as if on cue, danielle began to walk onto the field along with her friends. she looked around the field before spotting you with your friends. you watched a smile grow on her face and wave at you.

“yeah, ‘cause she totally doesn’t like you back,” hyein teased, nudging you with her elbow. you nudged her back before whispering to her.

“she’s just nice like that,” you said in a hushed tone, waving back at danielle.

danielle turned back around to look at her friends. before squealing.

“did you guys see that? she waved back at me!” danielle said with a bright smile.

“didn't you wave first?” hanni questioned, raising her eyebrow.

“yeah, but she waved back!” danielle emphasised.

hanni looked over to haerin who had a smug look on her face.

“what's got you looking so smug, haerin?” hanni scoffed.

haerin paused.

“homos.”

“haerin!” you called out from outside her front door. you had been banging on the door and ringing the doorbell for a solid minute before she came out with tired eyes.

“what are you doing here? it's—like—5 am,” haerin said groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“i want to ask out danielle for valentines!” you said in a hurry, a blush spreading on your cheeks.

with your words, you watched as haerin seemed to regain all her energy—her eyes lighting up.

“finally! but why'd you have to come over at 5 am?” haerin asked.

you pushed your way through the front door and took off your shoes—making your way to the kitchen. haerin noticed a plastic bag in your hands and asked what was in it. you dumped the contents onto the kitchen counter before opening your mouth to respond.

“this is why i came over at 5 am!” you said with a smile.

on the counter lay a pack of strawberries, different types of chocolate, and marshmallows.

“did you wake me up just so i could help you woo danielle?” haerin teased, a smirk forming on her mouth as she brought up the marshmallows.

“also, why marshmallows?”

“well–y’know– danielle marsh. marshmallows!” you chuckled nervously. haerin rolled her eyes with a smile on her lips.

you searched through haerin’s cabinets to find yourself a glass bowl and a saucepan—filling the saucepan up with water and putting it on the stove.

“wait, isn’t this going to wake up your parents?” you asked in a hushed tone.

“they decided to go on a valentines trip last night so no one's home,” haerin shrugged, washing the strawberries for you.

“oh, to be in love,” you sighed. haerin glared at you from the side of her eyes before washing the last of the strawberries.

“hae, i might need to steal a few things. thank you!!” you exclaimed as you rummaged through more cabinets, haerin chuckling on the side.

as the bell went for the first period, you nervously peeked your head through the door. you noticed danielle already sitting by her desk and you wanted to take this opportunity to hand her your gift—that was until more students began to flow into the classroom.

feeling more anxious and defeated, you gently hid your gift away in your bag and went to take your seat. you looked over to where danielle was sitting as she looked straight back at you, smiling brightly with nothing but sweetness in her eyes.

you felt your cheeks grow warm before breaking eye contact—the teacher entering the classroom and beginning the lesson.

you sat lazily as the time seemed to pass by slowly, doodling in your book and jotting down some notes.

when the bell had finally rung after a very boring lesson, you didn't get up from your seat immediately like you usually would. instead, you stayed behind—taking extra time to pack up all your stuff. you watched as the students began to leave the class one by one—leaving you in the classroom alone with danielle.

she had also taken a while to pack up all her stuff before slowly making her way to the door. you thought that maybe this was your chance to give her your gift. you took a hesitant step before she opened the door to reveal haerin standing right in front of it.

“oh, haerin! you scared me!” danielle shrieked, haerin giving her an apologetic look before making eye contact with you from over danielle’s shoulder.

you watched as she gave you a look—danielle obviously noticing haerin glance over her shoulder. as danielle turned around, you hid your gift once more with a blush on your face.

“did you want to come walk around with us?” danielle asked you with a soft smile.

you felt your heart beat faster, wanting to accept her offer.

“i–um–i think i’ll have to say no to the offer. sorry danielle,” you said hesitantly. you knew you could not last hanging out with her, despite it hurting your heart as danielle frowned slightly at your response.

“that's okay! and, you can call me dani—that's what all my friends call me,” she said with another soft smile.

you nodded and gave her a small wave as she walked out the door with haerin by her side—haerin glaring at you before following along with her.

after walking a good distance away from the classroom, danielle looked around her surroundings—as if she were making sure no one was around. haerin looked at her with a confused look before danielle began to speak.

“did you see the pink on her cheeks or was it just me?” danielle giggled, smiling from ear to ear.

“okay, homo,” haerin chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

danielle continued to blabber on about how cute she found you to haerin—running into hanni halfway through and continuing her rant.

“wait, so did you just friendzone y/n?” hanni asked.

danielle furrowed her eyebrows and began slowly shaking her head—then it hit her.

“that's what all my friends call me… wait—i think i did,” danielle mumbled.

“did i fumble!?” she exclaimed, holding hanni by the shoulders.

hanni nodded slowly as haerin patted danielle’s back.

“mate, just straight up ask her out if you want to unfriendzone her. it is valentines day today,” hanni scoffed.

danielle’s eyes lit up at hanni’s advice before she began furrowing her eyebrows again.

“but, i don't have anything to gift her,” danielle pouted. “i can't just ask her out with nothing to give her.”

hanni looked at haerin who had a smug look glistening in her eyes.

“haerin, seriously, why are you always looking so smug?” hanni inquired. haerin shrugged in response as the three of them continued to walk around campus.

“she friend-zoned me,” you exclaimed in a saddened tone, bringing your hands to your hair.

minji and hyein looked at you with confused looks as you came to sit down with them.

“um—can we get some context?” minji questioned.

“she said i could start calling her dani because that's what all her friends call her,” you said as you flopped down onto your back, the feeling of the grass hitting the back of your hands.

both of your friends winced in sympathy for you as you continued to rant about danielle.

“she's amazing and i’m so glad she sees me as a friend—but i want to be more than that,” you groaned.

“well, did you tell her that?” hyein asked. you shook your head.

“then tell her you dummy. no better day to ask out the girl you're in love with than valentines day,” hyein smiled.

“did you just ignore the fact i said she friend-zoned me?” you mumbled with a frown.

“yeah, but you planned on asking her out—didn't you?” she asked with a smirk.

minji looked at you as you slowly nodded your head—her mouth dropping.

“and why didn't i know about this?” minji shouted in disbelief. “when did you grow guts?”

you playfully slapped minji on her side as you chuckled softly. you closed your eyes as you felt the sun against your skin, sighing loudly.

“i may or may have not made chocolate-dipped strawberries for her,” you muttered—both minji and hyein still hearing every word.

they both smiled at you before dragging you up from the grass.

“c’mon then. let's bag you a girlfriend.”

minji and hyein dragged you around campus, searching every crook and cranny for danielle before spotting her from a distance.

“hey, danielle!” hyein yelled out, waving her hand in the air as danielle looked over to you.

the three of you walked up to danielle and her friends. you made eye contact with haerin and mouthed “help me” with furrowed brows as she smirked at you with her tongue stuck out.

“rude ass friend,” you muttered to yourself.

danielle looked at you and your friends with a confused face, looking at you specifically before looking at hyein as she spoke once more.

“y/n here has something to tell you!” hyein exclaimed, letting you go as she went to drag haerin away—minji doing the same with hanni. “alone too by the way!”

you watched your friends drag danielle's friends away, leaving you standing in the hallway with danielle.

“so, pretty nice day isn’t it,” you nervously chuckled, fidgeting with your fingers.

“yeah, it's a pretty nice day—especially for valentines day too,” danielle beamed.

you felt yourself hiccup at the words valentines day, clearing your throat as you did.

“what did you want to tell me?” danielle asked with soft eyes. looking into them, you thought that—maybe—she knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“look—danielle–” you started. “um—i mean dani—i just wanted to say that i think you're really–” and before you could finish your sentence, the bell rang for the next period.

students began to walk through the corridors, walking straight passed you and danielle. your cheeks now burnt a bright red as you cleared your throat—danielle still waiting for what you had to say.

“you know what, it's nothing. i’ll see you in class,” you choked out with an awkward smile, lowering your head and leaving for class.

you raised your hands over to your cheeks before exhaling air you didn't know you were holding in.

as you sat in class, you watched as haerin walked through the door—glaring right at you. you grimaced as she tore out a piece of paper from her notebook and began to scribble something down. it didn't take long before she passed the paper over to you.

“what the hell did you say and why did your friends drag me and hanni away?”

“IDK WHY THEY DID THAT PLEASE BELIEVE ME but i feel like they wanted me to confess :/”

“im guessing you didn't cuz i saw dani right before coming to class and she looked oddly disappointed”

“disappointed? why was she disappointed?”

“use your brain y/n”, haerin wrote with a mad cat doodle on the side.

“idk i’m still confused but should i still give the chocolates?”

“why are you even asking? ofc you should and ask her out for real why you're at it”

“I’M SCARED”

“be scared idrc but you need to ask her out before i jump you with your own friends”

“minii and hyein would never! wait nvm they would”

“you have all day to think about it and if you don't plan on confessing then i’m stealing the strawberries for myself”

“WHAT”

“did i do something wrong?” danielle asked hanni as they walked out of class together. “y/n seemed like she wanted to tell me something but has been avoiding me all day.”

hanni watched as danielle pouted with sad eyes.

“no, you didn't do anything wrong—just trust me on that,” hanni smiled softly, placing her hand on danielle's shoulder.

“where's haerin?” hanni questioned.

“she told me she had to help y/n with something,” danielle mumbled.

hanni looked at her with an amused face. “are you jealous?”

“what!? no! what gave you that conclusion!?” danielle exclaimed—her cheeks growing warmer as she gradually became flustered.

“i just wish i knew what y/n wanted to tell me! that's it,” danielled chuckled nervously.

“wait up!” danielle heard from behind her. she turned around to see haerin walking towards her and hanni—alone.

“you look disappointed. did you expect someone else?” haerin snickered, pointing at danielle.

danielle pouted as she wrapped her arms in her friends. “nope! i’m just glad to have my friends,” danielle said with her chin up.

the three of them took a step off campus as they heard another voice yell from behind them.

“dani! wait up!” you yelled. danielle immediately unwrapped her arms from her friends as she turned around to look at you.

you ran up to danielle and her friends with a box in your hands. you stopped to take a deep breath before looking up into danielle's eyes. you swallowed down all your anxiety before opening your mouth.

“i just wanted to say something i wanted to say before and i’m sorry i haven't told you sooner—but i think you're really pretty and an absolute angel. you're so sweet it makes my heart skip a a beat and you don't have to reciprocate my feelings but—i like you, danielle,” you blurted out, lowering your head as you brought the carefully decorated box in front of danielle.

you looked up slightly with pink cheeks, watching as danielle's cheeks begin to flush. you pushed the box into danielle’s hands as you brought your head back up.

“okay! that's all i had to say then. goodbye!” you rushed nervously, running away as danielle was left stunned along with her friends.

“i told you—you didn't do anything wrong,” hanni chuckled lightly.

danielle was left standing in place, her cheeks rapidly growing warmer as she felt her heart pound in her chest. she blinked once, she blinked twice. danielle turned her head to haerin with wide eyes and red cheeks.

“did you know she was going to do that?” danielle mumbled as the edges of her lips began to curl up.

“maybe! just—open the box. it gets better,” haerin shrugged with a smile.

danielle opened the box with shaky hands, revealing beautifully decorated chocolate-dipped strawberries that sat on top of marshmallows.

“y/n wanted to tell you that she chose marshmallows ‘cause it has your last name in it—marshmallows, danielle marsh,” haerin commented.

danielle kept going red as she took a deep breath in. she looked at her friends who wore big smiles on their faces, clearly really happy for her. danielle moved her eyes to the box of strawberries then up to haerin’s eyes.

“can you tell me y/n’s address?”

after running home, you decided you needed to calm down your nerves—your heart still pounding from your sudden confession to danielle.

you set your bag down before hopping into the shower, feeling the water touch your back and the top of your head. you felt your muscles relax as the water continued to flow down your body.

you closed your eyes and began to imagine danielle's eyes, her smile, her face. you thought about the possible consequences of your confession and started to worry. what if you messed everything up?

as you finished up your shower, you heard your front doorbell ring. you quickly dried yourself down and put on a new change of clothes, bringing a towel with you to the door for your hair.

you ruffled your hair with the towel before opening the front door to reveal a face you were just thinking about.

“hi!” danielle said with a big smile that reached from ear to ear—her cheeks coloured in a cute pink.

“hi,” you breathed out, a warmth starting to spread on your own cheeks.

you watched danielle lower her head, rocking back and forth on her heels. she held something behind her back but you weren't quite sure what it was.

“i–um–i just wanted to say that—i think you're really pretty too,” danielle stuttered.

she brought her hands in between her and yourself, revealing a beautiful pink and white bouquet. she raised her head to look at you with her big, soft eyes—adorned with the softest smile that made your knees buckle. you felt your jaw drop and your heart began to race as she grabbed your hand to hold the bouquet.

“could i have the honour of being your girlfriend?”

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans danielle #danielle x reader #danielle marsh x reader

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sugurusfavemonkey · 1 day ago

Text

say you'll be my darlin' - kento nanami (2/2)

secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought maybe I just wanna be yours

valentine's day special

summary: kento just made you not only his valentine but also his girlfriend (this is where the pure and unadulterated smut comes in - minors do not interact)

part 1

Kento's plan had only encompassed providing you with a memorable Valentine's day and, perhaps, building a foundation for a relationship with you in the near future. Yet, somehow, he had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend.

The term felt so juvenile, yet he couldn't care less because he felt young. The knowledge that you were just as enraptured created a bubble of blissful elation Nanami had no intention of bursting.

He had no idea how he got there.

Nanami had piled up the plates and was in the process of standing up, having just pushed his chair from under the table when you sprung up from your seat, startling the poor man.

"The restroom is-" he tried to direct you as you made your way around the table, assuming you wanted to use the toilette, but you hushed Nanami by wedging yourself between him and the table. "Sweetheart?" the way he looked up at you in question nearly had you losing your nerve.

You steeled yourself though, swallowing hard and placing your hands on his shoulders. Kento, for all his puzzlement, opened up his knees to make space for you in between his legs but remained otherwise neutral. The way his jaw clenched and hands flexed on his thighs wasn't lost on you, bless his heart.

"I want to show my appreciation to you. May I?" you spoke quietly into the otherwise silent room.

He wetted his dry lips with his tongue and your eyes immediately dropped to follow the brief gesture before mirroring it while he searched your face with a weighted gaze, "we haven't even had dessert yet."

"I have the dessert I want right here, Kento." You slapped yourself in the back for the quick comeback and the hitch it elicited in Kento's breath.

"I don't want to be disrespectful-"

"You've been a perfect gentleman all night. Hell! All your life, I'd bet," you stopped him before he took the blame for your forwardness. "Tell me I'm moving too fast and I'll stop."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Kento smiled gently up at you. The position you put yourself in rendered both of you vulnerable in different ways and you cherished how he so easily entrusted you with seeing this side of him.

"Hmm…" you shook your head, "consent goes both ways."

"I adore how thoughtful you are, my love."

You're unsure if it's the pet name or the intensity behind his gaze, but a shiver ran down your spine.

"I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. This dinner, the flowers… they don't require any retribution," Kento assured you once more, insistent, but you knew he was merely making sure to give you an out in case that's what you wanted.

"I know that. But I want to," you assured him, hopefully conveying just how much you meant the words with your eyes as well. "Consider it my gift to you. I am your Valentine too after all, am I not?"

You didn't give him a chance to answer before you sat on his lap, each of your legs wrapping around his waist. At first, Kento hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly until they found your hips and slowly glided up to settle on your waist.

You leaned closer until your breaths mingled together and your head spun dangerously with his aromatic fragrance taking over your senses. Nanami is the one who closed the space between you, eyes falling shut as your lips connected.

It's nothing more than a peck, full of unspoken feelings and repressed longing. The air feels charged with tension, your heart pulsing loudly in your ears, temperature running hot at the sheer brush of his warm lips to yours.

He nudged your nose with his before giving you another peck. And another. And then pressing for a bit longer, more intensely, tilting his head so his lips fit better with yours. You let your hands follow the natural curve of his shoulder, one sliding down his back and the other finding its way into the buzzed hair on the back of his head.

With the first brush of his tongue, you were ruined. You opened up to him like a blooming flower. Your entire body tingled pleasantly as he let himself consume you and you let yourself be consumed. Warm muscle exploring and mapping out your mouth sensually.

Nanami felt as if a dam was breaking as he poured the yearning from every moment he had spent craving you into the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist until you were sure he had left fingerprints on your skin. You pressed yourself even closer, moaning into the kiss when that did nothing to relieve the ache you felt, your teeth briskly clashing together in your haste.

You only separated when the need for air became too much to bear, a string of spit still connecting your lips.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Kento gasped.

"I think I do." You chirped teasingly as you ground yourself down on his lap, feeling a distinct hardness pressing into your covered center.

"Fuck." That night was full of firsts because you're absolutely certain you had never heard Kento cuss before. "Don't do that," he warned you, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Or what?" You challenged with a giggle as you did the exact opposite, pressing yourself down on him once more. Whimpering at the silver of pleasure it gave you, a teaser of what was to come.

Kento almost growled your name, his breath labored, red blossoming from his exposed upper chest and neck. He gave you no indication before he pushed the dirty dishes further up the table and picked you up with ease, laying you on the table in front of him and leaning over your sprawled form, his body slotted between your spread thighs ad he kissed you again with even more fervor.

Or that, you guessed.

His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. His ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table. You whined pitifully when he abruptly detached himself from you.

"Sit up for me, love" He commanded. And you obeyed… How could you not when you had Kento Nanami in between your legs? His fingers held onto the hem of your top, giving it a few impish tugs, "may I?"

You nodded, wordlessly lifting your arms to aid him in removing the offending cloth. His eyes fell to your cleavage and his mouth fell open, pupils taking over until you could barely see his iris. You used his distraction to remove your bra, throwing it aside the same he had done to your top. Kento let out a guttural sound, something feral from deep within as his hands softly caressed your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he huffed before he leaned down, pushing you back on the table surface with another kiss. You heard the crashing sound of some dish falling to the ground but neither of you paid it any mind, too absorbed in each other. His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. Kento's ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table.

"K-Kento!"

"Yes, love?" you felt his chest vibrating with his low croon against your skin.

"Please," your fingers searched for purchase on the cotton of his shirt fruitlessly, you feared your nails could have even ripped the material in your desperate pursuit.

"What do you need? Tell me." Nanami had his hands on your chest, massaging the skin nimbly.

"Touch me," you were very close to just begging for it.

"Hmm, but I am touching you."

You rolled your eyes in both pleasure in exasperation, unsurprised his matter-of-fact manners came out even then.

"For f-fuck's sake. Don't- ah," he pinched one of your nipples. "Don't make me spell it out, Ken."

"Right here?" He questioned as he squeezed your tit. "Or maybe here?" The palm of one hand pressed to your covered mound as his middle and ring fingers found your clit even through your clothes and pressed down hard. You moaned.

"Yes! Yes, right there! Please!"

"How could I ever deny you when you beg so sweetly?"

His finger moved to your pants, teasing the button as he searched your face for permission. You huffed a breathy "yes", nodding wildly.

With your consent, Kento unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, pulling them down as he let himself fall to his knees in front of you. Right where he belonged, he thought to himself. He removed both of your shoes, hands stopping to massage your heels before your pants were off. Kento held your leg by your ankle, dropping a few kisses to your calf before setting it down and making space between your legs by pushing your thighs apart.

You lifted yourself on your elbows to peer down at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I thought I was the one showing my appreciation?"

"What if I want to show my appreciation as well?"

"You already," Kento kissed up the supple skin of your thighs making your voice tremble. "Hmm, you already did. It's my turn."

"Then let me have this. Worshipping you is the greatest pleasure you could bestow me, love."

"Kento! I-" He bit down on your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him the most, "Ah! Fuck! That's n-not fair."

He nuzzled at your pussy through the soaked lace of your flimsy panties, fingers wrapping around each of your legs to keep them open when the sudden touch had you trying to squeeze them together, "did you wear these for me?"

"Just for you, Kento. All for you," you sighed.

"Look at you. So pretty. So wet too," he murmured contently, his eyes locked on the wet patch on your underwear, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin with each word.

Your hand found its way into his hair, nails brushing his scalp when he finally dared to lick a stripe over the thong, a pointer finger sliding it to the side before doing it again.

Kento outwardly moaned when he tasted your slickness on his tongue, "you taste divine, my love. So much better than I imagined."

You wanted to tease him, question how many times he pictured that scenario, just how often he touched himself to the thought of you, but you could only cry out as he slid his tongue through your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking over your clit and your finger tangle in the strands of his hair.

You whimpered at the wet heat of his mouth on you. It felt like he was trying to devour you, pussy first. His tongue alternated between flicking over your clit playfully and running along your folds. It made you moan as you ground your hips upward. His tongue finally relented its attack on your clit., thrusting deeper into your heat. Nanami groaned, loving the feeling as you tugged on his hair to push his face deeper into your cunt. His cock twitched in his pants, precum probably staining through his briefs and pants.

"Fuck, Ken. Feels so good," you panted.

Nanami glanced up to meet your lidded eyes. The sight of your flushed cheeks had him moaning into your pussy, his hips thrusting helplessly in the air at the same time you jerked your hips. He stopped momentarily and snaked an arm up, pointer and middle fingers breaching through your parted lips and pressing down on your tongue, "wet them for me, love."

You clamped your lips around his fingers promptly, sucking in your cheeks as your tongue twirled around them until there was drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.

Kento pecked your lower lips without breaking the eye contact, "such a good girl."

His praise went straight to your cunt, creating even more slick. You could feel a puddle forming on the table underneath you with how wet you were.

His hand slid from your mouth, down your jaw and followed the curve of your neck only to pause briefly to grope your tit and give your nipple a firm tug before continuing on his trajectory down your body, the heel of his palm pressing firmly to your lower stomach just as his lips attached themselves to your cunt again. You kept making small sounds through it all, breath hitching with each of the breaks he took in the path.

Nanami used his wet fingers to rub small circles on your clit, eating you out like a man starved, craving to have your release on his tongue. You started babbling incoherently, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes when the feeling became too much.

For a second you thought you felt him spelling his name on your clit with his digits, but that could also have been something your fuzzy brain came up with.

"I'm s-so close! Ah!" You moan loudly, "gonna cum-"

And then the coil snap, black spots taking over your vision as pleasure explodes inside your veins, thighs shaking and squeezing his head, Kento only groans as he eagerly lapped up your slick. He worked you through your high until you were pushing his head away.

You're a panting mess, laying there on his dinner table as you try to recover and all Kento could think as he stood up was that you looked like a dream.

"Are you alright?" Kento rubbed the outside of your thighs up and down, still slotted in between them.

"Yup. Just- Help me up?"

"Of course!"

He quickly stepped back holding both of your hands firmly so you could anchor yourself as you sat up and then slid to the ground on unsteady legs. You took a deep breath and mumbled a hoarse "thank you". Once you were certain your legs wouldn't fail you, you squeezed his hands, signaling it would be fine to let you go.

Your eyes drifted to the wet patch and the very clear tent on his pants. You couldn't help but feel a new wave of desire watching over you. You licked your lips and stepped until you were flush against him, fisting the lapels of his shirt and pulling him down. You didn't care that he tasted like you or that his lips were still stained with your juices as you eagerly kissed him. Kento hummed into the kiss, arms circling your waist.

He let you take the reins, felt your clumsy fingers struggle to open each of the buttons of his shirt, and helped when you pushed the open garment down his shoulders and arms. Nanami only stopped you when you tried to unbuckle his belt, his large hands circling your wrists and pulling them up. You whined into the kiss, biting his lower lip and pulling away.

"Let me return the favor. Please."

"Fuck. Tasting you got on the very edge of the precipice I wouldn't last if you went down on me, beautiful."

"That's fine, I-"

"It's not fine," he cut you off, placing a tender kiss on the tip of your nose. "It's not fine because right now I need to fuck you. Will you let me?"

You shivered, lips parting in wonder. The tension on his shoulders and blown pupils did little to hide his hunger and you weren't faring much better, "yes, please."

You were embarrassed by the shriek you let out as he easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and walked around as if you weighed less than a feather, "I promise I'll give you a tour of the apartment tomorrow morning," (which he does so after bringing you a lovely arranged tray with breakfast in bed and spoon feed you yogurt with chopped fruit before you finally have enough and push him down on the bed to suck him dry).

His strength became even more pronounced when he held you up with only one arm to open the door to his bedroom and before you knew it, he had you laid down and spread over the comforter on his mattress. You admired his shifting muscles as he toed off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and removed his pants until he was standing before you in only his briefs. Nanami was truly a sight for sore eyes, with his mussed-up hair (probably your fault), heaving chest, and deep v-line that gave way and pointed down to a badly concealed dick. 'Happy trail' never felt like a more fitting moniker, the meticulously trimmed blonde hair a path to paradise.

"You're beautiful," you had been so engrossed in gawking at him that you failed to notice he had been doing the exact same to you, soft hazel eyes then meeting yours. You knew that small compliment had you blushing, you started to sit up, legs going to fall close, but Kento stopped the movement by kneeling between them, "don't. Let me see you."

"Fine. But you gotta let me see you too," you bargained with a tip of your chin to his cock. You knew for a fact he was positively packing since the shape of it was so clearly apparent too.

"That can be easily arranged."

You watched in bated breath as he slid his briefs down, revealing his thick, veiny… perfect cock. The tip is red and angry, precum dripping down its sides. You caught yourself wondering if he would even fit.

Kento kneeled back on the bed and jerked you forward on the bed so your head rested on a pillow and climbed after you. He reached above you for his wallet on the bedside table and picked through it until he found a condom and dropped both back on the bed, his attention shifting back to you.

"We don't have to use it. I'm on the pill. And I trust."

He wasn't sure if his cock twitched over the prospect of feeling you whole, with no barriers or if it was your trust that turned him on so much.

"My last annual check-up came up clean, but I will do nothing you don't want to, love."

"I want to feel you, Kento. Every inch of you," you were trying to go for seducing, but you were pretty sure you just sounded desperate.

He pressed a finger to your entrance, thumb catching your clit in mean circles to test the waters, and then a second finger, thrusting them lightly. It's when he starts scissoring them to prepare you for what was to come that you let yourself melt.

"Ken, I'm ready, please," you cried wantonly, fingers digging into the comforter as your entire body quivered.

"Are you, love?"

"Hmhmm. So ready." You nodded maniacally, desperate for more. Famished for him.

He slotted his thighs to yours, opening you up for him, and coated himself in your slick as he rubbed his cockhead head up and down your folds, his lips falling apart, gaze locked on the tantalizing motion. When it caught on your entrance you whined, arms reaching to pull him in closer and ankles locking behind his back, miserably trying to pull him in. Kento smirked and finally pushed the first inch inside. Your mouth fell open and your head lolled back at the stretch, nails digging into his back.

He hissed, shifting to his forearms and he ducked his head down to kiss you, pushing further in, feeling your tightness envelop him until he's bottomed out. You gasped into the kiss. It felt like he was so far inside of you he reached your guts.

It was perfection. Pure, unadulterated perfection. Kento was certain he had just made it into heaven.

"Fuuuuuck," you whined pathetically, "you fill me up so good."

He held to your waist as if he was scared you were only a figment of his imagination as he gradually started to move his hips.

You were putty under his ministrations, holding on for dear life and he fucked you nice and slow.

"Kento," you panted, tilting your head back as he kissed down your throat. He ground deep into your cunt, grunting as you tightened around him.

"You're doing so good for me, my love."

The room was hot and sticky, your bodies moving in tandem. Your little sobs with each new thrust like music to his ears. More than heaven, Kento felt home and, given the chance, he would spend the rest of his life worshipping you. He was so fucking close, but he needed you to cum alongside him.

You cried when he adjusted the angle, "fuck, keep going. Right there!" You supplicated.

Nanami complied, hitting that same spot with hard thrusts and a precision that upheld his title as the 7:3 sorcerer. His hand found your clit again and your breath hitched. He sped up then, hitting your sweet spot again and again and again until you're nothing but a drooly mess.

"It's like you were made for me," he whispered reverently and the praise was all you needed as his next thrust shoved you over the edge. You clamped down around his cock crying out.

When you came, Kento groaned into your skin, working you through it until he felt you go lax. He slid He slides his hands under your ass, lifting you as he shuffled onto his haunches, and he sunk impossibly deeper into your pussy.

"Ah. you're so fucking deep," you panted, completely at his mercy as he began to rock you on top of his cock.

"You're talking me so well,” He promised, watching his cock disappear inside your dripping cunt, lost in the pleasure of being inside of you.

His eyes flickered to yours, an angel spread on his bed for him and moaned. Not even his sweetest dreams could've conjured such image… such feeling.

"I-I think I'm close again. Ken, I'm- Oh, fuck! Yes! Please, please, don't stop!"

Kento clenched his jaw and tightened his grip, bouncing you on his dick with such force you could do nothing but holding on for the ride. He groaned, pistoling his hips up, barely holding onto his own release.

"Think you can come again for me?"

You nodded feverishily.

"Then rub at your sweet little nub for me," he commanded in between grunts and shaky breaths. You did as you were told, rubbing at your clit using your mixed juices until you see stars.

Nanami thrusted a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled you down hard, hitting your cervix and that was enough for you to come, mouth agape in a silent cry as your head fell back, body convulsing and walls fluttering around his cock. With a low groan of your name echoing in the room, Kento felt his cock pulsing, painting your walls with his hot cum. He rocked into you a few more time until you stopped shaking and let the both of you fall back to the bed, mindful not to crush you under his weight.

You sighed, caressing his back as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on your heaving chest, both of you basking in the luxurious bliss of an orgasm.

You didn't know it then, but at that moment Kento decided you would be the woman he would marry, no matter how long it took for you to see it as well.

taglist: @madamechrissy @elliehenry24 @vivivillian

a/n: idc, consent is hot.

#mavi writes #nearly 4k words of pure filthy #this is why I struggle with writing smut #I always make it so much longer than it needs to be #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #kento x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you

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notlongtolove · 1 day ago

Text

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for?

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me?

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable.

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were.

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see.

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it?

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?”

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact.

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team.

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.”

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker.

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way.

He doesn’t.

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow.

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing.

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous.

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure.

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been a cup of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course.

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do.

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.”

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale.

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this.

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe.

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it.

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing.

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it.

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle.

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it.

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—”

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all.

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—”

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out.

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully.

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—”

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity.

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze.

Anything but Spencer. Not right now.

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—”

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you.

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all.

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?”

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself.

“She told you?”

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out.

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that.

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer.

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present.

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?”

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head.

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand.

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.”

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.”

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.”

The word "choice" feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin.

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose you to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.”

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw.

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall in love with you more and more with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.”

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again.

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes.

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet.

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you.

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

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luminiamore · 1 day ago

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my love, mine all mine.

eren yeager x black female reader (bestfriend)

warnings: oral sex, fluffyness, jealous eren, soft sex, eren is kinda a nerd, creampies and a tight grip super soaker

enjoy and happy late valentine’s day!! :))

You were buried in your textbooks at your campus library, the various pages spread out before you. Psychology. An interesting major if you say so yourself. You thought it’d be simple enough: learning about how the human mind works and what makes people tick. It was fascinating, really.

And yet here you were, hunched over on the slightly uncomfortable chair, trying your hardest to remember exactly what your professor meant by “cognitive dissonance” and how it related to human behavior. You could feel your mind starting to wander as you tried to read through this particularly dense section.

Your focus was absolute, trying to absorb as much as you could for your upcoming midterm. The world outside this small corner you had found didn’t exist—just you and your thoughts. The peace and quiet here were comforting. It was rare that you could study without distractions and were determined to take full advantage of it.

You sighed and momentarily leaned back in your chair, the quiet hum of the library your only companion. The chair creaked slightly as you stretched, glancing out the window. Students were scattered everywhere, likely heading to their next class. The soft light from the afternoon sun cast a gentle glow through the glass, and you found a certain beauty in it.

You’re about to head back to your studies when something interrupts you. Someone, actually.

A shadow loomed over your desk, casting a slight imbalance in your peaceful space. A little startled, you looked up to see a tall figure standing beside you. You didn’t need to look too hard to recognize him—Eren—your best friend since grade school.

You blinked, a bit caught off guard. He wore a white wife beater that clung to his frame a little too tight. His jeans looked worn, with traces of dirt hinting at a long work day. A mechanic’s job was never exactly pristine, you guessed. He must’ve just gotten off his shift.

“You studying?” his voice smooth like it always was when he was trying to get your attention.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes softly. “What does it look like?” You gestured to the open textbooks and scattered notes with a slight flush. You mentally, thank God, it wasn’t visible. “Psych is kicking my ass. I’m starting to wonder why I thought this would be easy.”

He leaned against the edge of your table, his arms crossed. His recent gym visits have been seriously paying off, and it’s impossible not to notice. You look away from him and face your laptop, determined not to let him catch you staring. “Maybe you thought you could magically understand the human psyche,” he’s teasing you like he always does.

You shot him a half-smile, unable to resist his charm. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” sarcasm dripping from your voice. “But I’m pretty sure I’m about to fail the midterm at this rate.”

He stifles a snicker. “Nah, you’re too smart for that.” He pushed himself off the table, walked around to the chair next to you, and sat down casually. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

You tried not to let his proximity distract you, but it was hard. Downright impossible. His scent—a mix of motor oil, the fresh air from his work, and something else uniquely him—was all around you now. It was distracting. Stubborn that you are, you brush it off. Doesn’t mean anything. You shifted in your seat, pretending to focus on the words on the screen. Focus.

“So, what exactly is giving you the most trouble?” his gaze never leaving you.

You exhaled deeply, closing your textbook with a slight thud. “Theories of personality,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I just can’t wrap my head around it. Freud and Jung… are so complicated. Like, how are we supposed to remember all this?”

He gives you an uncommitted hum and starts explaining it to you. Eren had this ability to make anything he said sound convincing, even if it was complete bullshit. You suppose it’s his confidence.

He was close. Too close.

He leaned in when describing Freud, his arm brushing against yours as he pointed at your notes. The warmth of his bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to focus on the words he was saying and not the way his voice sounded when he spoke so close to your ear.

His eyes stayed on you even as you stared down at your notes. They were sharp as if he were studying you more than the material before you. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your lips parted in thought, the way your fingers tapped absently against the notebook as you processed what he had just explained.

He always thought you were beyond beautiful.

“You just need to simplify it,” he interrupts his own thoughts from going further.

He never hesitated to break the invisible barriers most people respected. You had never minded before. At least, you told yourself you didn’t.

When he finally finished his explanation, you blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by how easily he made it all make sense. For a second, you forgot how smart he was.

“Okay, that helps,” you murmured, scribbling down his words before they slipped from your mind. You could still feel his gaze on you, but you kept your focus trained on the paper in front of you, trying to ignore how your fingers suddenly felt clumsier holding the pen. “I forget you have an almost 4.0.”

Eren leaned back, stretching lazily, the movement drawing your attention to the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt. What is wrong with you today? He simply shrugged, “I’m just that good.”

That twinkle in his eyes—that mischievous glint he always had after saying something cocky—made your stomach flip in a way that annoyed you. You were used to it, used to him, but lately, it felt different. Lately, you were noticing too much.

His voice softened just a little as he added, “But, seriously, you’re gonna ace this thing. I believe in you.”

You forced yourself to roll your eyes, but the small, grateful smile you gave him betrayed you.

“Thanks, Ren,” you said quietly, tapping your pen against your notebook, something you picked up as a nervous habit. You cleared your throat, needing to shake the feeling away. “I trust you or whatever.”

“Good,” he replied instantly, watching you a beat longer than necessary. “But if you fail, I’ll take the blame.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Sure. I’ll blame the nigga who cheated his way through high school but somehow knows more about psychology than I do.”

His smirk widened, and instead of arguing, he gave you a wide smile, looking way too pleased with himself.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The library had started to empty out after a few hours, the quiet hum of students packing up their things filling the space around you. You sighed, stretching your arms over your head as you finally closed your textbook. “I think that’s enough psych for one night,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

Eren, who had been scrolling through his phone while waiting for you to finish, pushed off the table with a lazy grin. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, stuffing your belongings into the LV monochrome bag Eren had gotten you for your birthday last year. He sees it as a way of staking his claim on you. He fell into step beside you effortlessly as you walked out of the library, the cool evening air from the hallway AC brushing against your skin.

“You actually gonna remember any of that next week?” he asked, nudging your shoulder.

You huffed. “I’d like to think so.”

He snorted, shaking his head, but before he could get another jab in, a voice called out your name from just ahead.

You both turned in unison.

A guy. From your psych class—tall, almost matching Eren’s height, though not quite—was making his way toward you. His curls were neat, framing his face in a way that made him look effortlessly put together. His skin was fair, and his smile was easy and friendly.

He was dressed in a fitted long-sleeve shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to suggest he worked out but not in a way that screamed it. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that were toned. It was paired with gray sweats. He was cute.

His hands were shoved into his pockets, his stride unhurried as he approached, like he had all the time in the world. His gaze flickered between you and Eren briefly before settling on you, his smile widening just a touch as he finally spoke.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to catch you before you left.”

You blinked in surprise, vaguely recognizing him in lectures from a few rows ahead of you. He was one of those students who always had the answer, constantly engaged in class discussions. A teacher’s pet almost. You never really talked outside of the occasional group work.

Your best friend shifted beside you. His arms remained loosely crossed over his chest, but there was a new stiffness in his stance, as if he was suddenly more aware of his own posture. His weight shifted slightly from one foot to the other, his jaw ticking just the slightest bit. You didn’t think much of it at first—Eren was always fidgeting in some way.

You tilted your head slightly, blinking up at the guy. “Oh—what’s up?”

He hesitated just a second as if gathering the nerve, before rubbing the back of his neck with a small, almost sheepish smile. “I, uh… I’ve seen you in class a lot, and, well… I was wondering if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime? Maybe this Saturday?”

There was a beat of silence.

Your brain took longer than usual to process what he said. It wasn’t like people never asked you out, but something about this moment—maybe the unexpectedness of it, maybe the presence of Eren beside you—had you hesitating.

Your best friend, however, didn’t hesitate at all.

You felt the way his jaw tightened, just a tiny twitch, but you noticed it because you always notice things about him. His stance changed, going from casually relaxed to something more grounded, like he was unconsciously bracing himself. Learning Psychology does pay off in some cases.

His voice, when it came, was firm.

“Sorry, we have plans that day. Don’t we, (꣑ৎ)?”

Your eyes flickered toward Eren, surprise flashing across your face, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze remained locked on the guy in front of you, his expression is unreadable. His green eyes, usually lazy and half-lidded with amusement, were hardened now in a way that sent a clear message. She’s unavailable.

It seems the guy wasn’t so easily deterred. He hesitated only for a second before his strained smile returned, a little tighter than before. “Oh. Sunday, then?”

His voice was lighter, forcedly casual—like he was only picking up on the tension in the air.

You barely had time to open your mouth, to form even the beginning of a response, before Eren spoke for you. Again. Are you just invisible?

“No can do,” his tone leaving no room for argument. “She has a midterm coming up that she needs to study for.” His head tilted slightly, almost like he was appraising the guy in front of him, before adding, “Speaking of, you should be catching up on that too, right?”

The question wasn’t really a question, that much you knew.

The guy stood there, blinking, an almost shocked look on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. His mouth opened slightly before closing again, and for the first time since approaching you, he seemed genuinely unsure of himself.

Eren, more than satisfied with that reaction, barely gave him another second to recover before turning toward you. “We’ll be leaving now,” he said simply.

And just like that, he placed a hand against the small of your back, steering you down the hallway without so much as another glance at the guy he had just dismissed. You walked in silence, your mind racing, but you held your tongue, deciding to wait until you reached your dorm room before you interrogated him on whatever the hell just happened.

The soft click of your shoes echoed in the otherwise quiet hallway. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that Eren had done more than step in to save you from a potentially awkward situation. The way he responded, the way he shut it all down before you even had a chance to speak—it wasn’t the usual playful teasing that he was known for.

As you reached the door to your dorm, you couldn’t hold back anymore. You turned to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, what the fuck was that?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Eren didn’t even flinch. His posture was relaxed as if he already knew you were going to challenge him, as if he was waiting for it. He didn’t even look at you when he spoke. “What are you talking about?”

You raised an eyebrow, the frustration in you bubbling to the surface. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You practically scared him off and answered for me like I couldn’t say no myself.”

Eren pushed himself off the doorframe right then, he didn’t wait for you to catch up—he just walked into your room, leaving the door hanging open. “I just did what needed to be done,” he shrugged.

His back was still to you, and you couldn’t entirely ignore the way his long, dark hair—extensions, you’d noticed before—swung just below his shoulders as he moved. He always looks so pretty with his hair down.

You followed him inside, refusing to let go of the subject.

“What needed to be done? Are you serious? Eren, you shut the guy down before he could even finish his sentence. I barely had a chance to say anything.” You stopped in the doorway, trying to keep your voice steady before you slammed the door shut.

Eren turned to face you, a grin slowly spreading across his face, like he found it all amusing. His eyes got slightly hooded as he eyed you up and down. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, and all he could think about was.. How could he let anyone else have you?

“Why are you upset? He was making you uncomfortable. It’s my job to step in when that happens.” His gaze flickered over to your face once more, almost like he was daring you to argue.

Before you could respond, he adds, “Unless… you wanted to go out with him?”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief, dropping you bag on the nearby desk before turning back to face him, “I wouldn’t even know, cause once again, you didn’t even give me a chance to respond!”

He groaned, the sound almost exaggerated. His eyes rolled dramatically, like he was irked that you weren’t just agreeing with him. “Oh please, girl. He wasn’t even taller than me. He looks scrawny as fuck. He looks like a pussy. You deserve someone better than that.” He practically waved the whole thing off with a flick of his hand.

You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words.

“And what? That someone is you?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted how it sounded—like you were baiting him.

Eren stepped closer to where you were standing, closing the space between you. His body was warm, his scent—it was clouding you as he looked down at you. There was a beat of silence.

His response comes out slow, “Could be,”

Your breath hitches, almost caught in your throat. You mind can’t understand what is happening, it never can when Eren is this close to you. His eyes are dark, more intense than they’d been a moment ago. Your pulse quickens, and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking down at his lips for a split second before snapping your gaze back up to his eyes. With the way your mouth opens and closes repeated, it was clear you didn’t know what to say.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Eren’s voice was barely a whisper now, his breath warm against your lips, his hand tentatively grasping your waist.

“Nothing,” you manage to whisper, your voice coming out shaky, unsure if you even believe your own words.

Eren’s lips twitch upward at your lie, you’re so cute sometimes. You’re fucking gorgeous all the time. His grip gets slightly tighter when he feels you don’t push away. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch, from leaning into how the heat in your chest turns into something that pools low in your stomach.

“You’re lying,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. His thumb traces mindlessly circles on your skin, and you find yourself losing all self-control.

Your heart is racing, but it’s not from fear. Far from it. It’s from the way he’s making you feel alive in a way that only he could do. You can feel the uncomfortable stickiness pooling underneath your skirt.

His other hand moves up, cupping your chin gently but firmly, tilting your face upward to meet his gaze. There’s no mistaking the way his eyes flicker down to your lips again, and there’s a certain hunger in them.

His voice carries that commanding tone you’ve always known too well. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his thumb gently grazing your bottom lip, making you inhale sharply. “Lemme help you get the words out. That okay?”

And when he does lean in, it’s not like anything you ever felt before. His lips brush against yours gently at first, being the tease that he is. Then, without warning, he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming up to slide into your neatly done butterfly locs, gripping it just enough to tilt your head back slightly.

You’re desperate, and your best friend knows it—the way your fingers clutch at the thin fabric of his shirt, practically begging. He pulls away just long enough to yank it over his head. The string of spit still barely connecting you makes something dark flicker in his eyes, his restraint snapping completely. The next kiss he goes in for is more forceful.

You try to push eren back, just a little, but he barely budges—barely even lets you catch your breath. The taste of him is overwhelming, as you manage to get the words out between shallow breaths. “Ren, Are you—Are you sure about this?”

“Never been more sure about anything in my life.” He moves fast, tugging the strings of your white top, pushing it down until it slips from your shoulders, falling to the floor. His lips stay on yours, the sweet taste of your strawberry lip gloss making him crave more. He feels like he might cum, just from kissing you—embarrassing as that is.

You’re the one more concerned, your voice faltering, “But what—Ah! I don’t want to ruin our friend…ship.”

His lips wander further down. Pressing feather-light kisses to the crook of your shoulders before he moves back up to where your sweet spot is. He doesn’t hesitate to harshly grip your beautiful breasts, pulling at both of your brown nipples the best he can while his mouth and brain are preoccupied. The moan you let out is sinful, staggering, really, as you find your brain getting more hazy with each move he makes.

You think he hasn’t heard you when he doesn’t answer right away. Eren gently pushes you back, guiding you to the chair by your desk. He makes you sit with a firm hand and then drops to his knees in front of you, his gaze intense as he speaks again, “You really wanna stay just friends after this?”

He sucks at the skin of your soft thighs as his hands work to slip your boots off. Your eyes widen when he unbuttons your shorts, prompting you to slightly lift up to make it easier for him to slide it off of you. Before you can answer his previous questions, he’s interrupting you, “No bra or panties? Were you expecting this to happen (꣑ৎ)?”

You release a pathetic whimper when he moves closer to your sopping core, taking a deep inhale like he’s trying to commit your scent to his memory forever. You shake your head at his accusation, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe you when he takes two of his thick fingers to spread you open, revealing your tiny clit barely hidden behind its hood.

“You’re making a mess, baby. You need my help to clean it up?”

He needs to shut up. His words, his voice, do nothing but make you wetter. Eren slowly starts rubbing your clit, barely applying enough pressure to give you the stimulate you need and it’s starting to get you frustrated. “Answer Ren, baby. Do you need my help?”

You let out a cute squeal when he blows on your mound, and you’re too depraved to do anything but listen. “Yes! Yes, please help me!”

And nothing if not devoted to you, he listens. Eren places a wet, open-mouth kiss on your twitching pearl. He’s slow with his movements, savoring the honey-like taste of you that’s just pouring into his awaiting mouth. He moves his tongue in slow circles, up and down, drinking the juice coming from your slit.

You’re struggling to breathe, the pressure that’s building up all too quickly is too overwhelming. He’s not just eating you out. Eren is making love to your sweet pussy. It’s breaking you apart.

His ministrations on your dripping sap continue for a minute before he gets impatient and slips one long finger inside of you. And God, you’re tight. Gripping onto his finger so firmly, it’s almost like you never want him to leave. He begins pushing them in and out slowly.

You breathe out, “Eren! Oh my- Goddd.”

The squelches your pussy was singing become louder and more obscene. Your best friend considers that as his starting point to add another finger that is equally big and long. They both curl up to reach your G-spot instantly. The minute he found it, he just didn’t let up. Despite his slow pace, he continues to abuse your sensitive area. You’re gonna cum.

“Are you gonna cum? All over my ‘pretty’ face?” He’s throwing your own words right back at you. You were never shy about telling Eren how good he looked, and maybe that’s exactly how you ended up here.

You’re quick to nod, unable to keep silent as broken moans escape from your mouth, “M’gonna c-cum! Right there- Oh!”

How quickly your release hits you is unexpected. You gush. Streams of squirt land all over Eren’s fingers, and his face even lands on his hair, leaving it a bit damp. He gazes in astonishment as your eyes roll in the back of your head during your dramatic convulsions, and he groans into your essence. He looks down to look at the mess you made and— Oh. You creamed, too.

Fuck. He loves it. He loves that he’s the only one who can make you do that. He loves you. He also realizes that he needs to be inside you. Now.

The movements he makes, from removing you from the chair to your single bed, are hazy. You’re not sure how you got there; your brain is still trying to process the most intense, body-curling orgasm you’ve ever had in your life. But you’re quick to feel something wide and heavy pressing at your still-gushing entrance.

“M’gonna put it in now, kay?” Eren figures giving you a warning is the least he could do before rearranging your guts and mushing your insides.

You beg him to fuck you already by whining and grinding on his leaking tip. After laughing at the sight, he leans in to give you a deep kiss. You’re gasping and mewling in his mouth as you finally feel him push in.

He’s gasping in your mouth. Feeling his mind starting to scramble at the feeling of suffocating cunt. God, you’re perfect. “Is it- Is it in yet?”

He snickers. God, you’re just so cute. “No, baby. Not even halfway.”

You’re whimpering, hiccuping as small tears start to pool in your lower lash line. You’re clenching around him so tightly, and the more he pushes in, he is trying his best not to cum so quickly. He decides to plunge the rest of his eight inches in one go. Fuck you’re so loud, sputtering and wailing at the feeling of being so.. Full. You’re so full.

“Move- Move, please. Oh my-”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He steadily drags his cock away from your cervix, pulling out all the way before he pushes back inside again, hard. He repeats this. Once, twice, thrice more, and God, you “Can’t take it-it.”

He shushes your whines, kissing the tears falling down your cheeks, reaffirming you, “Of course you can, baby. I’ll even help you, yeah?”

His attentiveness is entirely too much. You’re babbling when his hand reaches in between you both to rub your swollen clit in rapid circles. A complete contrast to his way of fucking you.

The pressure in your lower abdomen is building at such a fast speed. Every harsh thrust against your cervix is painful like he’s trying to prove a point. But it feels oh so good.

“You feel so fucking good. I want you to cum, baby. Make a mess, just like you did on my face. Can you do that for me?”

You’re nodding and spluttering incoherently about how you can, how you will. You’d do anything for him. Both of your holes are releasing the most beautiful sounds. Eren presses a messy kiss onto your plump lips without waiting for you to respond, causing drool to escape from both of you. The sheets below you are feelable because of your wetness.

With a few more strokes, your body convulses once more. This time, your best friend has an up-close view of how beautiful you look in your most vulnerable state. Your orgasm gets even stronger when you feel Eren whimper against your lips and his own release, caused by the feeling of your spraying all over him.

His thrusts don’t change its pace as he stuffs you full of his seed. Your eyes look dazed, your makeup slightly ruined, and your lip combo nowhere to be found. He still can’t help but think you look just as gorgeous. He places one final peck on your lips before he speaks once more,

“I’m taking you out on a date this Saturday.”

Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said you two had plans that day.

🏷️: @keraawrites

#eren yeager smut #eren jeager #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #aot eren #eren smut #eren #eren aot #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager fluff #eren yeager x black reader smut #aot smut #aot fluff

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mydearestbeloved · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 25 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: The last scene (Igris p.o.v.) contains some elements of gore—this is a work of fiction and I do not condone or glorify violence in real life.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

"(Name)?"

Jinwoo’s voice pulled you back to reality, the ethereal images of your mindscape dissipating into the humid air of the jungle. The ghost of a father’s warmth vanished entirely, leaving behind an ache that felt too deep to name.

Under a canopy of branches and leaves shielding you from most of the rain, you sat perched on the uprooted trunk of a tree, the poor thing yet another victim of the battle that had raged mere moments ago. Its splintered roots protruding like skeletal fingers.

Your gaze trailed over the battlefield, past the litter of corpses sprawled across the muddy ground. The heavy downpour diluted the blood pooling in the soil, streaking crimson rivers through the uneven terrain. The dungeon’s boss laid lifeless in the background, and the shadow soldiers wordlessly harvested magic cores from the fallen. Even with the restrictions of a Red Gate, they worked tirelessly, ensuring nothing of value was wasted.

The quiet crunch of footsteps tore your eyes away, lifting your head just in time to see Jinwoo approaching.

"Ah, done already?" you asked, forcing out something that barely passed as casual. The scepter in your hand dissolved into the usual flurry of tiny luminous butterflies, the warm glow flickering briefly before vanishing entirely, tucked away in your pocket space of an inventory.

Jinwoo said nothing at first. He simply plopped down next to you on the fallen trunk, shoulders brushing against yours. The words were forming on your tongue before you even realized it.

“Jinwoo, I—”

Jinwoo’s eyes widened and he instantly caught you before you could completely double over, his hands steadying you by the shoulders.

“Hey…” He whispered worriedly when he saw your scrunched up expression, your lips glued tight.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was slow, careful, as though afraid that saying too much would only overwhelm you further. However, his expression darkened when he saw how your hand instinctively shot up, pressing lightly against your neck.

{The meeting with character < Sung Il-Hwan > cannot be shared.}

“It’s the system again, isn’t it?”

You nodded pitifully, eyes squeezing shut against the growing discomfort.

Jinwoo didn’t like this. Didn’t like seeing you in pain. Didn’t like seeing you hurt. The vulcan incident was a dead giveaway.

His grip on your shoulder unconsciously tightened, his fingers pressing down just a little too hard.

You flinched—just barely, just a small, involuntary reaction—but it was enough. Jinwoo’s body tensed, the barely-contained wrath inside him threatening to spill over.

He inhaled sharply.

Exhaled.

Pulled back just slightly, loosening his grip, his thumb instead beginning to trace light, soothing circles against your arm. Slowly, your breath steadied.

And yet—

When you lifted your gaze to meet his, the guilt was plain in your eyes.

That was when Jinwoo truly felt it. The unmistakable churn of fury rising in his chest.

Why?

Why were you looking at him like that?

“Sorry—"

“Stop.”

Without hesitation, his hands slid to your waist, pulling you into him. The movement was fluid, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if this was simply where you were meant to be.

Your heart lurched at the sudden proximity, but Jinwoo only exhaled, resting his head against your shoulder.

He sought warmth.

Not just any warmth—yours.

The warmth that had always been there, always within reach, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

And how funny, really.

Here he was, seeking comfort from the very person he was supposed to be comforting.

Because he knew—he knew that if he let his frustration take over, if he allowed his rage at the system’s interference to boil over, it would only hurt you more. And that was the last thing he wanted.

"Whatever it was that you were going to say, stop." he murmured into your shoulder, voice quieter now, "The fact that you still, always, try to tell me first—even when you can't in the end—is enough."

You fell silent at his words, thoughts hidden in depths of your mind.

Before you, the system’s interface flickered to life, displaying a tally of the experience points earned from your support during the raid. You ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of Jinwoo’s breath against your skin, his damp hair brushing against your neck.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, tilting your head just enough to allow him more space. Your hand found its way to his back, resting there in a quiet gesture of reassurance.

The sound of rain filled the silence between you.

And then—

You hummed.

A quiet melody, soft and familiar, barely rising above the rhythmic patter of water against leaves.

“That tune,” he murmured slowly. “You’ve sung it to me before.”

You blinked.

“I did?”

The memory surfaced before you could even search for it.

A bleeding hunter in the abandoned corner of a dungeon.

His head resting on your lap as you healed his wounds.

“…Oh.” Realization dawned. “I guess I did.”

“Wait.” Your head turned to him, the motion almost robotic, though the position only allowed you to see his dark strands. “You were conscious?”

A slow, almost sheepish exhale.

"Barely."

There was a pause. Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

“You have a nice voice.”

Heat crawled up your spine before you could stop it.

Jinwoo shifted slightly, and the gesture was like he was nuzzling into you.

"What song is it?" Jinwoo asked, as if nothing had happened. "I can’t find it anywhere."

Your lips parted slightly.

"You searched for it?"

“Scoured.”Your heart tripped over itself when Jinwoo felt the need to emphasize. "I thought finding the song was the closest I could get to hearing you again."

“I—” Gosh. Did Jinwoo even realized how adorable he was being?

"It’s a song I also heard in passing… Can’t remember exactly where." A small, hesitant pause. “Maybe it just stuck with me.”

It was a song from your world.

“Mm.” Jinwoo scooted closer, if that was even possible. The front of his chest was already pressing flush against yours.

“Can you sing it again for me?”

Wow. Just… wow.

“Please?”

You yielded.

Your lips parted—

And you began to sing.

-----

Jinwoo’s gaze followed your hovering finger over the golden screen, observing as you clicked a dotted button. A new page overlaid the main menu.

“That’s new.”

“Nope.” You popped the letter ‘p’-sound. “It’s my second, and apparently the last, ascension quest.”

You scrolled through the <Final Ascension>’s list, skimming past the check-marked objectives: <Reach Level 200 – (200/200)> and <Ascend your summons to the final stage and maxed out their level – (8/3)>.

At the bottom of the page, an entry caught Jinwoo’s attention:

{ 3rd Requirement: ???

Progress: ---

Status: ---

Note: The last requirement will be revealed in due course as you continue your journey. }

“That’s vague.” Jinwoo huffed.

You just let out a sigh, flicking the interface away with a gesture. “Your <Key to Cartenon Temple> wasn’t exactly clear-cut either. At least the system isn’t playing favorites this time.”

His lips quirked into a brief smile, but it faded as you continued. “Besides, it’s not the first time the system’s pulled something like this. That first ascension quest was in the middle of our fight with Baran—”

You stopped mid-sentence as you felt Jinwoo stiffen beside you. The angle still prevented you from seeing his face fully, leaving only the top of his head and the curve of his ears in view. His sudden rigidity made your chest tighten.

“Jinwoo?” you asked gently, concern lacing your tone.

He didn’t respond, merely shifting closer, as close as possible, to ground himself in this quiet moment with you.

You lifted a hand to pat his cheek lightly, coaxing him to lift his head. When he did, you brought your other hand up, cradling his face gently. Leaning forward, your forehead pressed softly against his, your gazes locking for a moment before his shifted to where your hand rested against his skin.

“That time,” he murmured, voice low, “the black marks…”

You understood immediately.

“They were the result of contamination in the mana flow,” you explained, your tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Even after I managed to filter it out using the flowers, there were remnants left behind.”

It truly broke your heart when he tried not to flinch, eyes snapping to yours so briefly before looking at your hand again, while his voice held a note of incredulity, mixed with something deeper—hurt, perhaps. “You knew?”

“That absorbing it would cause my body to shut down? Not quite.” You admitted. “While I suspected something might happen, I didn’t anticipate the accumulation having such an effect. On our first trip there, the black marks on my hands didn’t do anything.”

Sensing the protest forming on his lips, you instantly added, “Precisely because they didn’t show any effect, I didn’t consider it urgent enough to mention.”

There were more important things to worry about—was what you thought, remembering his mother.

Jinwoo’s lips fell into a thin line, jaw tight.

"I made a promise to protect you."

“And you did,” you replied firmly, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “The best you could.”

You wasted the <Holy Water of Life> on me.

You didn’t remember it being mentioned that Jinwoo used all six of the elixir in the original story, only thrice. So, at the very least, you could rest easy knowing that you didn’t take the life of some character meant to be cured via that one bottle you had consumed.

“Not enough.” His eyes darkened, frustration seeping into his tone. “If I were stronger—”

“Would you say I’m a deadweight, then?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than intended.

His gaze shot up, horrified. "No! Why would you—"

“Because my powers are essentially halved—can even be less than half—in places like that.” Your gaze bore into his, unyielding. “I can’t change that. Neither could you.”

Your voice echoed faintly in the rain-drenched jungle, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, he bit his lip. His expression remained a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, and a lingering vulnerability he seldom let surface.

“Jinwoo,” you said softly, your tone more tender now, “you’re doing more than enough.”

His lips parted as though to argue again, but you stopped him. “I was the one who decided to trust the system and go through with it.” Your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within. “It was a risky, split-second decision, yes, but it was worth a try to hijack Baran’s mana reserve.”

You would’ve succeeded even without my help—you wouldn’t doubt yourself like this if I’m not here.

“The system wouldn’t have given me the quest if completing it meant I would die, remember?” You tilted your head slightly, meeting his conflicted gaze. “If it didn’t need me anymore, it would’ve left me alone instead.”

Strange... ̶̧͗ ̶̖̫̔̾ ̵̧͗̊h̷̺̆̅ȯ̴͓̥̆w̵̘̿̒ ̵̫̂͘ͅc̴͍̼̃́o̷͔͉͑̓ȗ̵̯l̸̯̊d̸̘̫̊͘ ̸̫͓̏I̴͖̻͗̓ ̴̮̱͊̉b̶̤̝͌̀e̶̯̦͆͝ ̸͚̓͂s̴̖͝o̷̮̍ ̷̢̆s̸̗͙̾ṷ̸̜̓r̵̞͌e̴̹̽͜ ̵̣̇ͅȏ̵̰͎͝ḟ̵̪̤ ̷̣̯̈t̵̥͑h̸̝͌͋a̴̝͋́͜t̴̨̯̓?̶̩͆

{ . . . }

Jinwoo’s hands clenched faintly in his lap.

“We don’t know exactly what would’ve happened.” And you pushed aside the intrusive thought. “We don’t know how much it would take.”

“Jinwoo.” You gazed upon those kind, caring, stormy greys. Offering a small smile, gentle and reassuring. "We're in this together."

Don’t blame yourself.

The silence between you thickened, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His eyes searched for answers in yours, and whatever he saw seemed to soothe the storm within. You watched as the tension in Jinwoo’s face began to melt away. The faint crease in his brow smoothed out as he exhaled a long sigh. The tight line of his lips softened into the faintest of smiles. The frustration that had etched itself into his features ebbed away like the receding tide. The weight on his shoulders seemed to lift slightly as he brought his hands to rest atop yours, still cupping his cheeks.

His skin felt somewhat cool against yours, a contrast to the warmth radiating from your palms. His fingers curled lightly over your own, as if anchoring himself to you, unwilling to let go just yet. Then, he closed his eyes, his expression becoming more relaxed, almost serene.

It was a rare sight—Jinwoo letting his guard down entirely. The tension that so often coiled within him like a tightly wound spring had loosened. He looked utterly vulnerable yet so at peace. There was something heartbreakingly endearing about it, the way he melted into your touch with such quiet trust.

A soft giggle almost escaped you; the sight was just too adorable. His usual guarded demeanor giving way to something boyish and sweet. The great and mighty Sung Jinwoo, leaning into your hands like a content cat basking in the sun. The temptation to tease him was strong, your palms pressing lightly against his cheeks in jest, but before you could act, he opened his eyes.

What greeted you made your breath catch.

His half-lidded gaze was heavy, made his pupils seemed dilated, irises that ethereal shade of bright blue. The droopy edges made him look drowsy, lazy, yet his focus was unwavering, almost hypnotic. There was a strange, dazed quality to his expression, as though he’d been lulled into a rare state of peace, so utterly content that he hovered on the edge of slumber, yet fought to stay awake, unwilling to look away and miss even a second of the sight before him.

It was as if the only thing tethering him to the present, the only thing he wanted to see in that moment—was you.

And oh, how that look did something to you.

A rush of warmth spread through you, feeling as if your body might catch fire. You instinctively tried to pull away, head leaning back just enough to create some distance, desperate for an escape. But before you could retreat entirely, Jinwoo’s hands tightened gently over yours, keeping them firmly in place.

Your eyes darted away, hoping to regain your composure, desperate for a distraction. They landed on the littering corpses of magic beasts scattered across the muddy ground. Before you could utter a single word in your attempt to change the subject—

“You don’t need to ask for permission,” Jinwoo beat you to it, his tone soft but certain. “They’re your spoils as much as they are mine.”

Your head snapped back to him, and you instantly regretted it.

Why? No, not just because of the whiplash you were experiencing. But also, because he was still looking at you like you were his haven. Achingly tender, almost worshipful. His gaze hadn’t softened; if anything, it had grown heavier, more intoxicated on you.

You thought this would end when he closed his eyes, but then he proceeded to shift his head just slightly to the side, tugging on your hand with just enough force to bring it closer. His lips brushed lightly against the inside of your palm, unhurried, halting your thoughts.

Then, with deliberate care, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right above the spot where your pulse thrummed. Jinwoo took his time as though savoring the contact, the faint rhythm beneath his lips. When he finally lifted his gaze, glowing eyes locked onto yours once again.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Dangerous.

“Mother.”

You jolted, your hands yanking back so quickly you feared you might have pulled Jinwoo along with them, or worse, accidentally scratched him in your haste. Relief washed over you when you realized you hadn’t, ignoring the brief glimpse of disappointment in his grey eyes. As you cradled your hands against your chest, your fingers instinctively brushed over the spot he had kissed.

The palpable pulse was louder now, faster under your fingertips.

“Sire.”

Your head turned to see Red standing nearby, her posture straightening from a curtsy after greeting Jinwoo as well.

Jinwoo nodded in acknowledgment, though you didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, you made the discreet gesture of fanning yourself with one hand, trying to cool the rising heat out of view. Your other hand remained pressed against your chest, feeling your drumming heartbeat as it slowly steadied.

That was too much.

Red’s perceptive gaze lingered on you, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her timely interruption. This composed child of yours had always been uncannily the most attuned to you among the others.

“Mother, may we begin <The Feast> ?” Red’s calm composure betrayed nothing, her tone remained measured, though the knowing glint in her eyes suggested she had seen enough.

My sweet, sweet child, you thought with fond exasperation. I’m going to spoil you to bits once we’re back home.

A private tea party with you would suffice, Mother, came the unspoken reply.

“Yes,” you answered, finally finding your voice. “Yes, you may.”

-----

Jinwoo was, understandably, a little unsettled.

It was just a flash of something sharp peeking past Red’s lips, glinting in the dim light, made all the more unsettling by the sudden, ignited hunger in her eyes at your simple permission.

He thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, some illusion caused by the jungle’s shifting shadows. But the smile that followed, fleeting as it was, left no room for doubt. If asked to describe it, Jinwoo would struggle between words like “alluring” and “unnerving”. It was a look that sent goosebumps rippling across one’s skin, like staring too long at a blade glinting in sunlight.

And as it turned out, that was only the beginning.

-----

Igris was, understandably, a little unsettled.

He was not a shadow who easily found himself at a loss for words. He had faced countless enemies, stood beside his Liege through most harrowing of battles, and witnessed displays of power that would render lesser beings trembling in fear.

Then again, this could very well be one of those newer experiences.

The shadows had just about completed their task of collecting magic cores for their Liege. Each of them was accompanied by your summons, the usual pairing: a soldier and a butterfly, the latter usually a personal dedicated support for that one shadow—a formation established early in their Liege's cooperation with you and maintained ever since.

As the last shadow soldier stepped away from a lifeless corpse, the number of red butterflies increased. This was not unusual. In most cases, the red ones were the most diligent in storing and distributing the energy gained from the living and the freshly defeated. Igris had learned this firsthand through observation during joint operations and later confirmed it through the many conversations his Liege had with you.

From a shadow’s perspective, these butterflies, when at work, siphoned an essence often resembled near-transparent wisps drifting from their targets’ bodies until none remained. Typically, the targets were already dead by this point, and since his Liege could still call upon their souls without issue, it became clear to Igris that souls were not exactly what the butterflies were feeding on.

Thus, it was an unspoken certainty: once there was no energy left to harvest, the red butterflies would leave their targets untouched.

So, imagine his surprise at the scene before him now.

The first clue that something was different came with the sound. It was subtle at first, nearly swallowed by the rain—a low hum, rhythmic yet discordant, like paper tearing. Then, the scent: the iron-rich tang of blood, thick and pungent, saturating the air more potently than it had during the height of battle. The atmosphere itself felt heavier, the damp earthiness of the rain-soaked ground mingling with something raw and visceral.

From Igris’s vantage point, the kaleidoscope of wings shimmered iridescent as they descended upon the battlefield, resembling curtains falling to signal the end of a play. At first glance, their movements seemed no different from their usual post-battle routine—fluttering, siphoning, the eerie white wisps floating around them as expected. But as the swarm enveloped the fallen beasts, it became apparent that this was no longer a mere routine.

It was a frenzy.

Limbs that appeared delicate, outwardly made to only be strong enough to support their own body weight, moved with unnatural strength. They dug into flesh and pulled, tearing through skin and muscle with the ease of a blade slicing through parchment. It was as though the beasts’ bodies were the fragile ones, not the little summons. With surgical precision, they ripped through tissues and chipped away at bones, the gleam of their tiny proboscises betraying no hesitation.

Igris didn’t know how such creatures, originally built for a liquid diet, could dismantle corpses with such efficiency. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Monster consuming their kind, eating humans even, was the norm. Even the shadows were no exception—especially beast-type soldiers like the ants and bears still indulged in the habits of their former lives, tearing into their enemies without a second thought. Even the orcs partook in such practices from time to time. Though they no longer required such sustenance, some instincts proved difficult to erase.

So no, it wasn’t the act itself that disturbed Igris.

It was the way they did it.

The simple and gentle flutter of their wings, the precise and calculated movements of their limbs, the effortless grace of each bite—it was all too deliberate, too synchronized. Pattern of movements, solo and with another, resembled silhouettes of performers. Each motion mirrored a meticulous choreography, rehearsed and perfected for centuries. And yet, the reality of this elegant display was a savage massacre. No beast was spared, no corpse favored. All were stripped away from their most earthly possessions—their bodies, their physical existence—with the same ruthless accuracy as the butterflies did not just eat, but also play with their food.

Igris had never considered himself a connoisseur of art. He barely remembered caring for such frivolities when he was alive, save for the artistry of battle. But if there was ever a performance deserving of the name danse macabre, this was it.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Who would have thought those delicate creatures were capable of such a thing? Capable of stripping sinew from bone with such efficiency?

It was all too easy to forget that the very same butterflies that provided healing and support had stolen that energy from the living in the first place. That fact too be damned; on most days, the wisps they harvested looked like nothing more than soft clouds they played hide and seek with, or a shimmering mist they weaved through.

Now, those same creatures just painted a more vivid picture. The grotesque scene be the fine wine spilling onto the ground, soaking into the canvas. The severed nerves and veins be the strands of an artist’s brush dipped in ink—dipped in blood. The rainwater, far from washing it away, acted as a solvent, softening the edges and blending the red into the damp earth. The colors bled together in a masterpiece of similar hues, framed by the black of their wings against the dull, muddied backdrop. The light reflected on each droplet, all over the scene, cascaded down ethereal wings and gruesome carcasses, gave off that finishing polished look, just like what varnish would do on paintings well-done.

What incongruity. And yet, somehow, how fitting.

Igris, who had borne witness to countless battles and their aftermaths, had walked through desolation, through carnage and destruction, had stood amongst the living, the dying, and now the fallen. And yet, it was his first time seeing anything quite like this—as surreal and 'lively', like moving pictures.

The jungle’s muddy terrain had become their stage, where the grotesque and the beautiful performed a duet to the orchestra of chimes and tearing flesh. The corpses strewn about were no longer remnants of battle. They were offerings.

No—bouquets.

Thrown at the feet of the dancers by the audience.

This was not a curtain-call anymore, this was an encore.

And the audience were the shadows.

So at least, Igris was not alone on this thought.

A quick glance at his fellow soldiers confirmed that much. They had finished collecting the magic cores, their task complete. But not a single one moved to leave. Not a single one spoke. The sight before them should have triggered some primal urge to flee—some lingering instinct, no matter how faint, to recoil at the sheer wrongness of it. But they did not move. They did not look away.

They were mesmerized.

Igris’s sharp eyes caught the subtle tremors in some of them. The telltale signs of unease. Fear? He recognized the ones most affected—those often paired with the red butterflies in battle.

Under normal circumstances, he would have deemed this a failure. A soldier trembling at the mere sight of their allies? A disgrace. One that would merit a harsher training regimen to ensure they never faltered again.

But this time?

This time, he supposed he could spare them.

Because for all his experience, for all his time spent serving under their liege, he had always believed that the dead had but one thing to fear: their king’s wrath.

And yet, this—this spectacle that blurred the line between beauty and horror, that none could look away from—this thing that played at the edges of death’s dominion—

Perhaps it was not quite fear. Perhaps it was something close.

Close enough that it left them frozen in place, wondering. Wondering when they become a part of it.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [30/01/2025]

Okay, so, I'm not too happy with how this chapter turned out. But right now, I'm out of words and ideas on how to fix it. Plus, I wanted to proceed to the next few chapters which I find more exciting to write. And, I'm also entering a new semester on the 17th, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to write and post again.

Also, I wanted to ask you all: since this my first time writing something close to gore, I wanted to ask if this much is already considered as gore, mild gore, or not at all?

While this chapter might not be my best work personally, I hope it will do well nonetheless.

Oh yeah, since I didn't put any lyrics in here, the song TP!Reader sung to Jinwoo is open to interpretation. Personally, I was listening to Rise Up by The Fat Rat while writing the past scene mentioned (referring to Chapter 4).

Feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🙏💕

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