#friends go and idk are like on the nose of how I feel most days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jiminrings · 11 months ago

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

#HOW R WE FEELING TARGET AUDIENCE!!! :O #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

1K notes · View notes

sundaycentric · 1 year ago

Text

⌢ ⌢ yandere choso x gn reader

␥ content — yandere, sfw, headcanons, stalking, choso is weird idk, dependency?, mentions of babytrapping, mahito jumps u btw, mahito warning, general obsessive and possessive behavior, possibly ooc?? idk i wrote this for my own pleasure ... 1.3k words

— Choso has only cared about 3 people in his life. His late brothers, and his alive half-one. Not even his "colleagues" that he has to work closely with on their schemes. Outside of his family, nobody else mattered. At least, that's how it was. Choso doesn't consider you family, so why is it that he seems to care so much about you? It angers him. Has he lost loyalty to his brothers?

Choso tended to avoid you at first, paying you no mind like the rest that surrounded him. The most attention he'd allow himself to give you is subtle glances or the occasional hand when you needed help. Nothing more, as you were nothing to him. Except you were.

Choso realized his feelings, despite not being able to tell exactly what they were, pretty quickly. The weird beating of his heart when you were around, how his hands got shaky, and how he could feel the sweat trickle down his neck as he spoke to you, nervous that you wouldn't approve of him somehow. He became a bit more conscious around you. He wanted you to like him.

Choso thought these weird, firstly platonic feelings towards you were because you were family. Perhaps Itadori wasn't his only half-sibling. However, thinking about it like that made Choso feel awfully weird. You weren't his family, as it made his stomach churn to think of you as such. So, what were you then?

— Choso didn't care what happened to the people of Shibuya during that incident. When planning it out with the other curses, he felt no sympathy or worry for the people who would be present. Yet, upon hearing that you could possibly be in Shibuya on the day on the attack, Choso almost completely forgot about everything else.

Choso had separated from the others to look for Itadori, to try and get his revenge. While walking around Shibuya, he passed many of the trapped people within the veil. They spoke in hushed, worried whispers which Choso paid no attention to. Their conversations did not matter to him, who was focused on something else already.

Choso then heard your name fall from someone's lips. The voice sounded familiar. He turned around to verify, and it was one of your friends. Choso had taken a liking to 'watching' you as you went about your day, so it was no trouble recognizing this person you frequently saw and spoke with. Suddenly, he started paying a bit more attention to the conversation.

Choso listened as the person spoke. He knew he was wasting his time he could be using to search for Itadori, but he couldn't bring himself to move. From what he heard, you might be in Shibuya right now, specifically in a location near the veil. Without a second thought, Choso set off in another direction.

— Choso felt pure rage like this only once before in his life: when he found out that his brothers were dead. He had made it to the edge of the veil to see Mahito toying with you. It made Choso sick to even see you crying for a split second. Without thinking, he stepped in and used his curse technique to force Mahito to step back.

Choso looked furious. His eyes furrowed, brows pulled down in a sharp V. His fists shakily clenched onto your clothes, pulling you up into his grasp. All the while, his shrunken pupils glared at the curse in front of him. A few drops of blood fell onto you from the mark on his nose. Choso made no effort to clean it.

Choso frowned even deeper as Mahito laughed, questioning his behavior. He gritted his teeth together, the grinding sound rough. He wasted no time in telling Mahito off, claiming that you were his and that Mahito needed to go somewhere else. Mahito only looked confused since Choso seemed so occupied with you, what about hunting Itadori down?

Choso breathed a deep sigh of relief as Mahito left, deciding that this wasn't worth his time. After all, he needed to find his natural enemy before Jogo did. Choso watched as Mahito skipped away before looking back at you. How shaken you were, some stray tears still dripping down your cheeks. You looked so fragile, like a doll. Choso, after seeing you almost get into serious trouble, decided then that you were too weak to be out on your own. He'd protect you now, and he wouldn't fail loosing you as well.

— Choso lovingly ran his hands through your hair, the fingers playing with your locks. He had you resting in his lap, consoling you and making sure to wipe every tear that formed at your waterline. He might not know exactly what he feels, but he knows that protecting you is just as important as protecting his brothers.

Choso wouldn't allow you out of his grasp, let alone his sight. However, you are a bit confused because this man is a stranger, but he did save your life. You could tell he was strong, so it was best to stay with him. He tried to be soothing and gentle as well, but it was a bit difficult for him: Choso knew humans were more fragile than curses, and he didn't want to get too happy to finally be in contact with you.

Choso noticed that you began to calm down as he petted your hair, but you were still shaken. He couldn't blame you: Mahito was terrifyingly sadistic. However, he was glad he was able to intervene before things spiraled. He gently pushed your head against his chest, cradling you as he would do to a young child.

Choso began to speak, trying to calm your nerves even more. He apologized for Mahito, reassured you were safe, and even made some subtle comments about some things you liked. You didn't pay much attention to the fact that he shouldn't know those things since you had bigger issues to worry about. Like your friend, who Choso overhead and you knew was in Shibuya.

— Choso blankly stared at you when you inquired about your friend's whereabouts. He shook his head before shushing you. Your friend was in the main building, there was little likelihood of their survival. But why did that matter to you? They weren't your family. Choso's chest felt weird. You shouldn't care about your late friend. You are here with Choso right now. Why are you worrying about another?

Choso felt jealous. Light jealousy, but still jealousy. That's when it finally clicked for him. No, you weren't family. But you were his. When he said you were his to Mahito, he hadn't even realized what he said. However, now he finally realized what he said, and what it meant. He loved you.

Love was such a strange concept. He stared down at you, his hand playing with your hair without thinking. He was in love, with you. His grip on you got slightly more tight as his thoughts wandered. He had saved your life. Did you love him back for that?

If you didn't, that'd be okay. Choso prefers if you love him back, but you'd learn to either way. He needed you. You and his family were what he loved. But what if you and him had a family too? He knew his mind was going too far too soon, but he couldn't shake the idea of having kids with you. Maybe that'd be another way to get you to stay. That sounded like a good idea.

— You gazed up to Choso, who had gone unresponsive while thinking. You frowned slightly, a bit worried. Gently, you tapped him, and he seemed to wake back up. He stared at you silently for a few more moments before fully hugging you. His mouth was close to your ear, hot breath tickling you, "You'll be perfect."

1K notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

Note

mille-fuelle (idk how the fuck to spell it) with a side of vodka shot pls! make it verstappen pls!

the bakery menu!

there is still tons of sweet treats on the menu at the bakery! submit your own order!

mill-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + vodka shot (rough sex) served to you by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, praise kink, (loosely) translated dutch, handcuffs/bondage, (low) doggy style, (slight) dom/sub

the off season was tiring. despite it being the off season. most used it as a chance to catch up on much needed sleep or go on a vacation. some even just laid in bed for the first week of the off-season to just relax.

you and max had different plans.

after the first week of the off season, max had turned of his phone and put it on the dining table, to be left there for a day or two. you did the same, telling your friends and family that you and max were going on a boat trip for a few days.

you didn't want anyone to worry, especially when you knew that you'd be limping by the end of your little escapade. sparse visits over the year have left you both painfully pent up, it felt like over the season the only time you two saw one another was for cute photo-ops, there was very little room for intimacy between your career and his. so the off-season, nothing else mattered except for scratching that itch.

max made sure that you got a meal in you, he wasn't going to neglect your needs because he needed to get his cock wet. he even took the lead and made you breakfast (he really did miss you). While the eggs were perfect, the bacon was a little more crispy than you liked it.

"it's amazing." you giggled as you took another bite. max lingered against you like a shadow, his arm slung around you as he kissed at your neck a little. you turned your head to look at him and he kissed you on the lips.

"i'm excited."

you reached to him and cupped his face, then looked into his blue eyes, "well, hold your horses, i have a surprise for you." and then let go of him so you could quickly finish.

you didn't see max's curious expression at the surprise you had for him. he still followed you while you cleaned up, those large hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. you could feel his clothed erection up against your backside,

"so what's the surprise?" he asked as he held you as you put the plate in the drying rack.

you looked over your shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, then said, "surprise, verstappen." once you were done cleaning up, he followed you into the bedroom.

you apologized to the cats as you closed the door to the room. you could tell that max was getting antsy, why wouldn't he be? he had another stellar season but at the cost of being away from his woman.

"mooi meisje, waarom laat je me wachten?" he asked softly as he sat on the bed you two shared. his cock was pressed against the front of his loose shorts.

you turned away from him and went to your underwear drawer, as you dug around in it you responded, "omdat sommige verrassingen de moeite waard zijn om geheim te houden."

he sighed through his nose, his cock throbbed in his pants. dutch may not be the most sensual language, but he cursed the day that he decided to painstakingly teach you the language. it was almost like second nature to you, and it made his heart beat faster. he leaned back on his hands and watched you pull out a pair of Velcro wrist restraints.

using handcuffs seemed a little cliche, and the idea of losing the key and having to figure out how to get max out of them wasn't something you were interested in. they were softer around the wrists and easier to get out of.

"liefde?" he asked with a bit of concern.

you approached him and placed them in his lap, "if you don't want to try it, then say it. if you want to, tell me." you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

his face felt hot as he said, "i'm guessing you're wearing them?"

you smiled, "next time you can wear them." and could feel your boyfriend's burning gaze as you got out of your sleeping clothes. which was honestly just a ratty red bull t-shirt and slightly too big sleeping shorts. your sports bra and panties were off as well and when you looked at max once more, he had his shirt off and his cock in his hand. his shorts were pushed down and his gaze was heavy.

"you look good." he said, his words heavy on his tongue.

you came of and straddled his waist for a moment, his cock brushed against your pussy but you never sank down on it. you could see his jaw tense.

you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tender kiss. you felt his hands on your hips, he was threatening to pull you right down on his cock. the kiss quickly parted and you got up from his lap and onto the bed. max was close to you once more with teh cuffs in hand.

"i guess we need a safe word."

you were already one step ahead, "red bull."

he got you onto your hands and knees on the bed and slowly got your arms behind your back. it was then secured by the cuffs. max could've lost it in that moment, the site of you was erotic. his naked girlfriend with her arms tied behind her back. he couldn't wait any longer, it was driving him up the wall.

he got his shorts full off and his hand on your hip. it wasn't hard for him to sink his entire length into your aching cunt. he held the chain that connected both of the cuffs to the center of your back, you weren't going anywhere.

you groaned when you felt his cock deep in your cunt, the stretch was amazing. while it left you a little tender for days after, it was the type of ache that stirred your stomach.

the sex was rough, there was little tenderness. and max at least tried to be romantic when he pleasured you, but this carnal need was driving both of you. your heart thumped in your chest, the rush of pleasure made your head throb.

his pace was quick and feral, his grip was tight on you. he wanted to make sure you didn't go slipping away. as if you ever would. he ran his fingers through his hair while he still held you down. he could feel the sweat on his body begin to form as the bedroom became hotter.

the morning light shined through the open window as the two of you fucked with a hot passion. it felt like striking hot iron with the sparks that scattered as a result.

"that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl." he panted heavily in your ear as he kissed your temple. you moaned in response and he pressed his nose into your hairline for a moment as he had you practically bouncing on his cock.

you whined, "shit, max, ah!" each thrust felt like a short circuit to your brain. his words were filthy, his voice was hot and low. you could feel him rearrange your guts.

the bed creaked against the wall and you felt the air leave your lungs. sometimes it drove you crazy how intensely max's cock made you feel. before sex was just a fun past time with a partner, but with max is made you ache inside and out.

he rutted up into you, his cock gave a small twitch inside of you. he could hear you sweet little pants and moans into the covers. you looked like a fucking dream, his beautiful girl.

"you're so good for me, my love." he groaned, "you feel so fucking tight around me and i don't know what to do with myself. you drive me mad. i want you all the time." he panted heavily, "it was all i could think of during the races, your tight pussy around my cock. i always wondered if i could get you to fit in the car with me, bounce you on the my cock while the engine rumbled. you'd like that, wouldn't you, slet."

you swallowed, while the idea was probably unrealistic, the thought of it was rather erotic. the almost claustrophobia of being so close to him in a tight space.

you didn't have to respond for him to say, 'i know you'd hate it, right? because you're my good right, correct?"

you nodded and moaned a little louder as you felt the thrill of lust climb through your body. you squirmed under the restraints, it was a little bit of tension on your shoulders but it did make you core ache. you panted dumbly against the covers as he fucked you with a heavy heat.

"pretty fucking little thing." he growled as he pushed your top half further into the soft mattress. the angle gave him the best place to cram his heavy cock into your sweet cunt.

you felt the moans fold off your tongue as you felt the pleasure capture you whole and climax crashed down on you. it felt like your earth was shattered when it grabbed hold. you whined, "holy shit, max."

he chuckled and felt the wetness between your legs only grow more, he doubled down his thrusts and left you totally pinned under him. he rutted into you like an animal in heat, even as your pathetic little moans rang in his ear.

"honey, ah. that's a good girl. fuck you're mine." he groaned as he bottomed out into you. his cock nudged against your cervix and spat cum against it. while made your back arch.

"fuck." you panted.

he pulled out and quickly, without much through took off the cuffs. he took you in his arms and laid down beside you, spooning you. his larges hands massaged your wrists. even though they didn't hurt.

he peppered the back of your neck with kisses. so loving, so kind despite how rough he was moments earlier. max worshiped you, praised you like the sun.

"my beautiful girl." he sighed contently.

"the cuffs felt good." you responded, your legs tangled in his.

he kissed under your ear and said quietly in your ear, "maybe next time i need to tie you up fully." he chuckled a little as he held you in his arms.

it was good to be home. <3

#bunny writes #the bakery #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 smut #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max smut #max verstappen x you

658 notes · View notes

httpiastri · 11 months ago

Text

sweet 20 – pa17

genre: hmmm kinda fluffy a lil suggestive, idk

pairing: reader x paul aron

warnings: mentions of alcohol.... idk anything else

word count: 1.3k

author's note: hmmmm idk about this one 😭 writer's block has been so bad recently and when i pressure myself to write, it all just gets so bad. idk. also ive had such a long day and i just wanna get this out before the day is over..... and it's only been proofread once 😕 anyway, hbd again paul <3

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎

"where did the birthday boy go?" dino's loud voice meets your ears over the blasting music and you turn to the side, seeing the swede making his way to you. "i almost mistook the two of you for siamese twins, seeing how close you've been all night."

he is right – paul has been pretty much attached to your hip for most of the evening. his hands have been on you at all times, fingers constantly dancing across your skin or along the fabric of your dress. even in a club filled with his friends, with people who would love to spend some time with the birthday boy, he still wouldn't let go of you.

"he needed to use the bathroom," you tell him with a chuckle. "i just barely managed to pry his fingers off me so he could leave me here, i didn't really feel like being pulled along."

dino laughs. "good call. the bathrooms here are pretty nasty..."

"yeah, i've seen the women's bathrooms, so i can imagine what the men's is like." he gives you an acknowledging nod. silence falls over the two of you for a moment as he just sips his drink, but then you speak up. "hey, good job at planning this all. paul was really surprised-"

"what was i surprised about?" paul's voice echoes from behind you, and just as you're about to turn to look at him, you feel two strong arms wrap around you, keeping you in place. "hm?"

"this surprise party," you tell him. "you really had no idea, did you?"

"no idea." he rests his chin on top of your shoulder, leaning his head on yours slightly. his voice grows quieter. "i missed you, you know."

"you missed me? when, now?" paul nods against your shoulder, and you look to dino with a grimace. he answers with a shake of his head, rolling his eyes at his best friend. "you left to go to the bathroom about two minutes ago."

paul hums. "but i still missed you."

you've almost never seen him this clingy. it's only when he gets a couple of drinks down that he's like this – and tonight, he's definitely had more than his share of the open bar. the strong smell oozing from him signals that the hangover will be bad. hopefully, it's worth it.

"i'm going to go find gabriele," dino says to excuse himself, disappearing in just a second.

you turn around in paul's arms, a smile creeping onto your lips when you see the very hazy expression on his face. "hi there," you say, pressing a quick kiss to his nose.

"hi there."

you pause for a second, but then you get an idea. you move your hands to wrap around his forearms. "i want to dance."

he shakes his head instantly. "you've seen me dance before, no way am i embarrassing myself in front of all these people."

"come on," you groan, pulling yourself out of his embrace to take his hands in yours. "it's your birthday, so you have to dance." he's about to interject, so you cut him off, beginning to back towards the dance floor. "i'm not taking no for an answer."

his mouth opens as if he has something to say back, but then he closes it, thinking better of it. he allows you to pull you with him, and the music envelops you the moment you step onto the dance floor. you can feel the bass inside your bones, and the lights overhead flash in an array of colors, casting a vibrant glow over the crowd. paul follows you reluctantly, his expression a mix of hesitance and amusement. after all, a gorgeous woman is dragging him with her to dance with him. how can he not be at least a little intrigued?

the atmosphere out there is contagious, and you can't help but caught up in the energy. moving with the flow of the crowd underneath the lights feels so natural to you – but paul isn't the same. he loves partying, sure, but the dancing itself...

he doesn't even notice his own lack of energy before you reach up to give his face a playful slap. "hey, ease up."

his eyebrows rise. "lead me, then..."

you can't help but let out a giggle at the request; underneath this tough, firm exterior hides a soft, sweet guy who's so insecure about his dancing that he freezes like this. of course, you help him out – it's your duty as his girlfriend, you think – and you place your hands on his shoulders. "grab my hips," you tell him. "and relax a little. this can't be any worse than driving your racing cars."

"it sure feels like it."

you shake your head. "now, just... move."

and that's what he does. you're not sure if it's because of the alcohol, or because his favorite the weeknd song is blasting from the speakers, but he's moving much more smoothly than he usually is.

or maybe it's your sweet smile that's encouraging him to keep on going.

as the song progresses, and then melts into another, paul seems to let go more and more. he actually dances surprisingly well – at one point, he even spins you, and you can't help but laugh at the unexpected skill.

the way that his hands move up and down your sides, sometimes slipping behind you to give your butt a quick squeeze, combined with the intoxicating scent of his cologne, makes your heart flutter even further. it seems to have an effect on paul too, because he pulls you closer to him. your eyes meet his, and for a moment, it feels like the world slows down. the desire in his gaze is unmistakable, and the intensity of the connection between the two of you is easily noticeable to anyone within a mile's radius.

he leans forward, lips grazing your ear as he whispers to you. "let's get out of here."

you lean back with a frown on your face, looking at him like he's crazy. "this is your party. all of your friends are here-"

"fuck my friends, i don't care about them." you slap his shoulder playfully, a gasp passing through your lips. "all i want is you."

"you're insatiable, you know that?"

he shrugs. "what can i say? you're irresistible."

you shake your head. now it's your turn to lean forward and whisper into his ear. "later," you start, giving his cheek a little kiss. "patience, my dear."

he groans. "i can't be patient. i think you know that by now."

"too bad. you haven't even had any cake yet." you grin. "or opened your presents."

"i only know of one gift that i want to unwrap..." he says, fingers reaching traveling lower on your dress and eventually reaching the hem, giving it a slight tug.

yet another giggle slips past your lips, but then you catch a glimpse of something behind him – and your gaze is different when you look back at him. you lean in closer, pressing your body up against his as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. your lips brush against him once, ever so slightly, and his breath hitches in his throat. is she actually about to give in?

"sorry to disappoint, but..."

timing has never really been on paul's side; he's always been unlucky in that way. even on his own birthday, things don't seem to work out for him – because just as he thinks he's getting somewhere, you suddenly pull away. his confusion only grows when the music is shut off and replaced with the sound of the entire club singing the birthday song. you point behind him, and he turns around to see a few of his friends carrying a big birthday cake, twenty lit candles perched on top of it.

"happy birthday," you whisper, and he shakes his head when he looks back at the teasing grin stretched across your lips.

"you're killing me. you know that, right?"

655 notes · View notes

thewritetofreespeech · 2 months ago

Note

Can I please request Astarion with a flirty yet oblivious plus size Tav? In the way that they do flirt because it's fun and light like their companions/friends with benefits thing, but they think that their feelings are unrequited (because of some slight insecurity about their size) until Astarion is like I actually like you and Tav is like '???' (Idk if that makes sense lol) Thank you!

-------------------------------🩸-------------------------------

“So, Astarion, what is your actual type?”

“My ‘type’,” Astarion repeated at Shadowheart’s question as they traveled, “is such a broad prevue. I can’t think to narrow it down to just a single collection of words.”

“That’s a unique way to say you’re a trollop.”

Tav snickered at Shadowhearts retort, getting a stern glare from Astarion. “What? It was funny?”

“Pft. And here I was going to say you, my dear, but if you’re going to be so incredibly cruel.”

“Aw shucks. Always a bridesmaid I suppose.”

During their journey together, Tav had grown very fond of Astarion. He was a little shit, but deep down he was very funny and undeniably charming (although not for the ways he tried to be). The two of you had picked up a friendly banter over your time together, sometimes even flirty, but only that. And Tav was fine with that. Well aware that a handsome rake like Astarion could have his pick of the litter, and they were just happy to be considered a friend.

Later that night, while everyone was finishing their day and slinking off to bed, Astarion came over to Tav by the fire to sit with them. “You know I really meant it earlier by the way.”

“Meant what?” Tav asked. Lost, by this point, on what he was talking about.

“That you’re my….‘type’.” He seemed loathed to use the word. Even scrunched his nose. Tav just laughed.

“Yeah. Right. I’m sure.”

“No, really, I mean it.” He insisted.

“Come on Astarion, the only way you’d be interested in me is because I’m a a keg instead of a flagon.” Tav gestured to themselves and their full frame. “I have ample blood to spare.”

Astarion frowned. “Yes, your blood is certainly a bonus, but that isn’t why I care for you.” He huffed and crossed his arms dramatically. “Honestly, why does everyone think I’m not being serious when I am?” Astarion asked with a bit of flabbergast. “Is it something about my expression?”

Tav looked more than a bit flabbergasted at his remark. They didn’t really think they liked them….that way. Friends sure. Allies, of course. But romantically? “You…really have feelings for me?”

“Ugh! What is it with you new generation and wanting to put a name to everything?” Astarion bemoaned. “Feelings. Type. Can’t we just enjoy this for whatever…this is? All I know is that out of all the people in this whole wicked world I would want to be stuck with, it’s you.”

“Gee, that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” Tav teased.

Astarion frowned again, but then leaned in close to Tav so all they could see was his piercing red eyes. “I could wax poems for you, if you’d prefer. How your eyes are the stars. How your curves are roads I would never get tired of roaming. How your ample bosom feels like a place to call home. All true, but you’re so much more to me than that.” He moved back to sit in his original spot. Wrapping his arms around his knees at his chest as he looked into the fire. “You’re the first person I’ve trusted in…well ever. You mean more to me than just your body. Though, again, that is certainly a bonus. I had hoped….you feel the same about me.”

Tav blushed, but then quickly gathered their voice and told him, “yes! Of course.”

Astarion seemed relieved. Then leaned over to give Tav a simple, sweet peck on the cheek. “Good. Now, get some sleep. We’ll probably have a completely eventful day tomorrow as well. You’ll need your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course. I’ll keep watch until the morning.”

Tav smiled, blushed again, and then went to their bed roll. Tentative in accepting Astarion’s confession & feelings, but hopeful it was all true. Perhaps, for once, they could really be the bride instead of the bridesmaid.

187 notes · View notes

machveil · 4 months ago

Note

Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

#I hope this is good lol #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #ghost headcanons #hit post

400 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 10 months ago

Text

red blazer (c.s.)

pairing: coryo x fem!reader

wc: 2k

tags/warnings: reader is arachne's "little sister" (they're like, a year apart lol but she GIVES little sister), sexual content if you actually squint, arachne is mean but in a big sister way, otherwise it's just cute and kinda funny. idk. enjoy!

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav / coriolanus snow masterlist

a/n: omg second ever coryo oneshot from me. LISTEN- i know i should do more of these BUT i loveee doing series for him bc his personality is SO fun to work with. anyway lol, check out my coryo series'.

"Maybe if you spent less time annoying me and my friends you would make some of your own." Arachne hums, sensing you standing in the doorway to the dining room where she and her friends were apparently working on some kind of assignment.

"I didn't even say anything!" You whine. "I was literally just coming to say hi."

"Well, don't. No one wants to say hi to you."

You pout, staring at her and crossing your arms. "Can I sit? Just for a few minutes? I won't even say anything. I won't bother you, I promise." There was an extremely tempting empty seat across from your sister and next to her friend Coriolanus that you'd been eying since you walked in.

He was just so pretty, so well composed, so tall, you were in love. Your crush on him had been lifelong, and with him only thirteen months older than you, it wasn't at all weird or totally unattainable. That's what you'd been telling yourself, anyway.

Arachne rolls her eyes, slamming her pen down on the table. "I already told you, the fact that you even exist is annoying to me. So, no. Go. Away."

"Arachne, it's fine if she sits for a few minutes." Clemensia cuts in, eager to just be polite but it makes you smile, nodding excitedly.

"Yeah, not everyone is as easily distracted as you are." Your heart flutters in your chest as Coriolanus comes to your defense, and you're already across the room and sliding into the seat next to him.

"You underestimate how annoying my little sister is." Arachne mumbles through gritted teeth, already looking back down at her textbook.

Coriolanus looks over at you and smiles, making the butterflies in your stomach erupt into a panicked frenzy.

"Hi." You whisper, cheeks flushing red.

"Hi." He replies quietly, his tone apologetic.

To Coriolanus Snow, Arachne's little sister was an outlier to her incredibly stuck-up family. She acted out often, was no stranger to commanding the attention of every room she entered, and to him, was the most beautiful girl to ever walk the academy halls.

So every time a group project or paper was assigned, he was forcing himself into the seat next to the oldest Crane daughter and requesting that they work together.

"Maybe at your house? Like usual?"

And it worked, one hundred percent of the time.

"What are you working on?" You whisper, leaning your elbow on the table and looking at the books he had laid out in front of him.

"Nothing fun, I assure you." He chuckles quietly, and you ignore your sister's glare that you could feel burning into your forehead.

"That's boring." You sigh quietly. "What's your favourite class?"

"Law."

"Law?" The way you scrunch up your nose and question his answer makes him smile. "I am sorry for you."

He laughs even though you weren't joking, about to ask what your favourite class was when he's stopped by your sister shouting.

"Mom! Y/N's annoying us, make her go away!"

In a flash, you're shoving the chair back and darting out of the room, disappearing down the long hall of the penthouse.

You were adorable. He knew at that moment that he had to have you.

Being Arachne Crane's "little" sister was a nightmare all on its own. She was annoying, she hated you or at least acted like it, and despite being the baby of the family it felt like every day you were making desperate attempts to claw your way out of her and your brother's collective shadow.

Maybe that's all this was. Did you really like Coriolanus, or did you just like annoying your sister?

The thought crossed your mind only momentarily before Coryo tugged gently at your hair to turn your head so he could detach his lips from yours only to move his kisses and gentle bites to your neck.

Nope, there was no way this had anything to do with your sister.

You let out a soft sigh, holding his shoulders to support yourself as you straddle his lap on the edge of your bed. "Coryo..." You whine, pouting because you know he only has so much time before his absence from the dining room would be truly noticed, and he was dragging this out more than he probably should.

"Tell me what you need, pretty girl." He hums into your skin, his hold on you shifting your hips and tightening over the waistband of your underwear- the only remaining article of clothing on your body.

"Hurry." You mumble, tilting your head down to capture his lips again.

"I told her I was leaving." He tells you between kisses. "We have all the time in the world." You can feel the smile on his lips against your own, and you match it in excitement.

By now, you'd been sneaking around for months. It had been fun, but certainly exhausting.

Worth it. One hundred percent worth it. You think to yourself as he lifts you to turn you over and lay you back on your perfectly made bed, leaning over you and reattaching his lips to your neck.

"How will you leave?" You ask breathlessly as his large hand finds your waist again, gentle but firm in its hold.

"We'll figure it out." He mumbles, clearly very far from concerned about it.

You're almost too caught in the moment to hear the banging on your door that causes you both to freeze, heads snapping in the direction of the sound.

"Y/N! Where's my shirt?! I know you took it!"

Arachne.

"Shit, shit, uh-" You panic as Coryo very quickly jumps off of you, tumbling loudly off the bed and onto the ground getting caught on the edge of your duvet.

"What the hell are you doing? I'm coming in-"

"No!" You shout, panicked as you look around. "Uh- one second, I'm naked!" Not entirely a lie. While Coryo gathers his academy uniform that's scattered across the floor, having left him only in his black boxers, you pull a towel off the back of your door and wrap it around yourself.

You have to hide him. Quickly scanning the room, you have three options: your walk-in closet, under the bed, or in your bathroom.

"Get in the closet." You whisper, quickly shoving him toward the door.

"I don't care, I need my shirt!" Arachne says, the sound of her opening your door masking the sound of your closet door closing.

Your chest is rising and falling quickly as she marches in, immediately looking around. "God, what took you so long? You look like you're having a heart attack." She mutters, digging through the laundry basket that was yet to be taken by the house staff.

"I was about to have a shower." You answer, forcing yourself to not look in the direction of the closet.

"Right." Arachne rolls her eyes, stomping into the bathroom to begin looking there.

"Why the hell are you showering at six pm? We have dinner at the Creed's in an hour." She calls out.

"That's obviously why I'm having a shower." Honestly, you had totally forgotten about dinner.

"Yeah, you probably should. It stinks in here."

You roll her eyes at her comment, but they widen in horror as her warpath begins toward the closet. "No! Wait!" You stop her, clutching the towel to your chest as you step in front of the door to stop her. "Uh- what shirt are you looking for?"

"Which shirt? The white one, with the lace trim collar. Oh my god, do you have more than one?" She asks angrily.

"Oh, that one is in the laundry. They took it yesterday." You lie and she groans, walking back toward the door.

"I hate you! God, you make everything so difficult." She mutters, stopping on her walk back to the door and looking at the few articles of clothing scattered around your bed. You follow her gaze, biting your tongue and internally cursing when you notice Coryo's blazer that was dropped haphazardly on top of the pile. She picks it up, looking it over with a furrowed brow. You watch as she looks over at yours, which is neatly pressed and folded for the morning sitting on your desk chair.

"A men's medium." She says as she reads the tag, pausing before turning back to you slowly, this time, with an off-putting smile on her face. "Who's in the closet?" She whispers, and your face burns more than it already was.

"No one." You answer quickly, possibly too quickly.

"You're lying." She states, and you shake your head quickly. It doesn't go over her head that you look like a deer caught in the headlights. "Then you won't mind if I..." She says, starting off slow before breaking into a run toward the door which you instinctively block with your body, gripping the towel with one hand and holding out the other arm to block her while you fight for the door handle handle.

"I knew it!" She hisses, finally giving up and pointing a finger right at your nose. Quickly, she looked back over her shoulder toward the open door to make sure no one else was around before she spoke again. "Is it Allium?" She asks quietly, for some reason suddenly interested in who you spend your time with, and if it's with that boy in your year who continually gets on your nerves.

You shake your head again, swallowing thickly.

"Tell me who it is."

"No one!" You lie, already knowing the bit was up as she tosses the blazer back to where she found it.

"Ugh, you're no fun." She rolls her eyes, shoving you gently before turning to leave. "Whatever. I don't care. Just don't get pregnant- I know you're stupid and all but Mom will skin you alive."

"Get out!" You snap, walking over and shoving her out the door before slamming it behind her.

You hear her laugh as she walks away, steps receding down the hall back in the direction of her own room.

You let out a tense sigh of relief, waiting a moment to hear her door closed before going over to the closet and opening the door.

Coryo is still laughing to himself as he buttons up his shirt and tucks the back of it into his pants. "Stop!" You exclaim in a whisper, giving him a gentle smack on the shoulder but you can't help but laugh as well. "It's not funny!"

"It's pretty funny." He says lowly, leaning down to kiss you softly.

"It's not that funny." You roll your eyes playfully. "We could get in serious trouble, sneaking around like this! God- it's crazy." You sigh, shaking your head as you step back into your room, suddenly serious.

He follows, sensing your worries as you drop the towel with your back facing him, quickly pulling a t-shirt on to cover up. "We can't- we have to stop." You shake your head, talking mostly to yourself.

"Hey, woah, that's a little rash, don't you think?" He asks as you turn back to face him.

"I don't!" You insist. "I mean, it sucks, but this is far too risky. We're done with... whatever this is."

Coryo shrugs, clearly unaffected by your concerns. "Let's just... next time, let's just go for dinner or something."

You tilt your head at him. "What? That's not, we can't-"

"Why not?" He asks, closing the space between you and reaching his hands out to grab your waist. "Your sister will suck it up eventually. Once she realizes how in love you are with me."

"I- I am not in love with you!" You protest, cheeks flushing pink again. "And even if I was, which I am most definitely not, she would scalp me. She doesn't care, I can't date one of her friends."

"Let me handle her." He insists, once again shrugging it off. "I'm being serious. I really like spending time with you, would it be the worst thing if we were together?"

"Wait, like, you're asking me out?"

He gives you a quick nod, still smiling at you.

"I- I mean sure, if that's what you want." You nod, blush spreading evenly across your nose. You had to blink a few times to confirm you were awake and that this was real.

"I'm asking if that's what you want." He chuckles.

"Yeah, yes. Of course." You shake your head, trying to get your thoughts straight and pull yourself together. "I would like that, Coryo."

taglist: @keziahcore, @soulessjourney, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @rororo06, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @slytherinholland, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @darlingisntit, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world, @that-veela-girl

493 notes · View notes

spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 4 months ago

Text

Pillow Talk

Pairing: Evan (Buck) Buckley x Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: So like is anyone else wanting the iPhone 16? Like I do but also my 14 pro max is still a bit better than the base model. Maybe I’ll look into it more idk

Plus size requests are absolutely always okay and also most of my girlies are plus sized in mind

Buck had been rambling on and on about his day as he laid in bed watching you get ready for a girl's night with Hen and Athena. He was picking at the little fuzzies from the blanket while talking about how Eddie had heard from his cousin that her best friend was secretly sleeping with her other friend’s boyfriend and that she didn’t know yet.

“And like Eddie said that she needed to tell the other friend and personally I agree because-“

He stops as you toss aside the 6th dress you tried on. Normally you were good in two or three, he looked over at the pile of shoes on the floor and at the even bigger pile of discarded outfits.

“Baby?” He looks up, his head propped on his elbow

“Hm?” You stand in the mirror holding a shirt in front of you and immediately frowning at it before tossing it aside. He watches you go through the pile again and hold up more outfits becoming increasingly upset.

“Hey…hey what’s going on?” He says softly, as he sits up and comes to the edge of the bed, and reaches for you. You shake your head as he tries to pull you onto his leg and he stops as you push his arms away.

“Whoa, shit okay” he puts his hands up in defense “Not cuddle time I understand, backing off”

You throw the shirt down and pull at the roots of your hair a bit and he stands up, smoothing his hands over your arms and taking your hands.

“We don’t pull remember? We express our feelings. We breathe through it-“ He nuzzles his nose against yours and you sigh, smiling a little “And we talk about it” he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tightly against him while rubbing your back.

“Alright, out with it”

You sigh and hold onto his shirt, rolling your eyes as you look up at him, placing your chin on his chest.

“You’re gonna be mad at me”

“No I'm not,” he says quickly, cupping your face in his hands “I promise I will process what you say first and react accordingly. Now spill” he kisses your forehead and you pull away a little, looking into the mirror.

“I’m not… I’m- it’s just one of those days… one of those days when I look at the internet and know that I don’t look like those girls. Like- why do I have to be… bigger? You know? Why can’t I go shopping at a store not online! And literally, why does the plus size section have to be in a totally tiny different area you know??”

“Why would I be mad at you for that?” He tilts his head and you bite your lip a little at his cuteness

“Because… I know you don’t like it when I’m hard on myself like this”

“I mean of course I don’t like it… but we all have our insecurities baby girl and some days they get the best of us. You think I love this scar every day of my life?” He points to his head and you walk back over to him, gently kissing it

“No?” You ask and he puts his hands on your hips

“Exactly… sometimes I just need help to be reminded that it’s part of what makes me so damn fine”

You giggle and shake your head, running your fingers through his hair

“My insecurities feel kind of overwhelming right now… I don’t- I don’t know if I want to go anymore”

“Do I need to play the song” Buck lets go and walks away from you, ignoring your little tears for a moment and you snort, wiping at your eyes

“Don’t you fucking dare”

“She has a point” He grabs his phone and starts scrolling as he connects to his speakers. Honestly, he’s hoping this is what you need right now, he just wants to make you happy again.

“I will literally-“

“I seem to remember the last time you felt this way? I specifically said I was going to do this”

He turns on his “baddie” playlist that he’d specifically made for these moments and turns his lights down low. He grabs your waist, yanking you against his chest, and slides his hands over your plush curves.

“This isn’t a club!” You laugh as he grinds into you, moving your bodies to the beat and feeling you up

“You remember the first thing Eddie said when I met you?”

You roll your eyes and smile as you start to dance a little with him and he grins widely. Your hips move against his, more grinding than dancing really and he groans softly, keeping his hands on your body, grabbing and touching whatever he can like he can’t get enough of you, like he can’t breathe without you in his arms.

“Come on sweet thing, talk to Daddy”

You elbow him when he says that, your cheeks flushing “So you’re the girl Buck’s in love with” you say softly and he kisses your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume, his touch starting to become overwhelming in very, very good ways.

“Mhm.. “in love” with” he whispers in your ear

“That has nothing to do with this” You lean into his touch as his hands trail up your body and squeeze your breasts.

“And what did I say the first night I was drunk and I showed up at your door?”

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met in my entire life” he turns you both so you’re looking in the mirror and he smirks.

“And?”

“There’s no fucking way I’m repeating that”

“Oh come on! I meant it!”

“Buck!!” You squeal and he turns you around in his arms, smushing you against his chest and he holds your ass in his hands

“I believe I said something like- I want to be smothered by your thighs and-” he starts giggling as he thinks about it.

“Don’t-“ you beat on his chest in an attempt to get him to shut the fuck up.

“Suck on-“ He’s trying so hard to get it out, as he wheezes and holds onto your hips “Your gorgeous mommy milkers”

“No god fuck no!” You cringe as you shove him back on the bed and he falls easily, laughing his ass off. He rolls over and laughs into the pillows like a hyena and you get on the bed and start slapping him.

“Why would you say that?!?!”

“Why did I say that?!!!” He rolls onto his back with the pillow over his face, kicking his legs and you grab your own pillow and start beating him with it

“I’m never going to let you forget that” You yank the pillow from his face and he grins up at you.

“And I hope you never do 'cause it’s embarrassing as shit but fuck did I mean it” he reaches out and grabs your tits again, squeezing them and you shove him away.

“Quit it you pervert!”

“Hey! I’m just trying to objectify you here” He laughs as he sits up “Trying to remind you how fucking hot you are. Even if it is in a silly way” He nuzzles your nose again and you smile a little

“It might have worked a teeny tiny itty bit” you mumble and he cups your cheek with his hand, kissing you softly.

“Would telling you you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of loving in my entire life help? Or that I think you’re absolutely flawless the way you are? And that Meghan Trainor was literally so right I do like a little more booty to hold at night. Especially when it’s your booty”

You kiss him back, pulling him down by his shirt as you fall back into the bed. He eases open your legs and settles between them, his hand pulling your thigh up and around his waist as he kisses you.

“Thank you for loving me at times that I can’t love myself,” you tell him and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

“Thank you for being with me even after I said mommy milkers”

You groan and he laughs as he cups your breasts together and buries his face in them

“So warm and big and perfect” he moans and your mouth drops open

“Buck!”

“Say my name just like that baby” his lips move against your breasts with each word as he kisses them, leaving behind light little bite marks. His lips wrap around your nipple and he sucks, grinding against you gently as his eyes roll back.

“Maybe I haven’t been worshiping your body enough lately” He pulls away for a moment and you look up at him as he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side.

“I’m pretty sure you ate me out for two hours straight the other day” You remind him and he scoffs.

“That’s weak. You know I only stopped because Eddie came over” He sets you up on the pillows, making sure he has the perfect view of your pretty face he loves so much. He tears your panties off and tosses them into the bin before lying on his stomach and burying his nose against your clit. He inhales slowly, nudging at it and your head falls back, sighing in satisfaction.

“Oh I’m going to take my fucking time” he murmurs, grinding his hips a little into the mattress and moaning into your clit, the vibrations shoot straight to your core and you sigh deliriously as you sink into the blankets and grab his hair, pulling his face into your pussy

“Right there baby” You mutter breathlessly “Right fuckin there”

The taste of you sends deep shivers down his spine, and he can't help but groan in appreciation. His own arousal growing, the desire for you consuming him. He gets off on your sweet little pants and sharp intakes of breath when he does something right

"You're so beautiful," He whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You're all I can think about. I’m obsessed with you”

His hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as his tongue explores you deeper, tasting your sweetness. He can feel the way your body arches into his, your fingers tangling into his hair more, urging him on.

"Oh god Buck" you moan, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation and it nearly sends him over the edge as he slides his fingers inside you.

His lips and tongue work you in tandem, teasing your clit, dipping into your wetness, savoring every moan and whimper you let out. He wants you to know just how much he craves you, how you set his body on fire, and how he needed you just as much as you needed him.

He knew just how to push your buttons, how to make your body quiver and shake. He wanted to remind you of your worth, of how much you meant to him, and how he couldn't imagine his life without you. He groans deeply, slurping your pussy messily and lapping at your clit, and fully enjoying how loud you’re getting. He should have opened the windows, he thinks. So 4B could hear what a goddess you are.

He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your breathing becoming more erratic. He knows he’s getting you close, and he desperately wants to hear you scream his name as you come all over his face.

"That's it, sweet angel. Let go for me. Let me hear you." His fingers and tongue work in perfect harmony, driving you over the edge.

Finally, you arch your back, your body convulsing as you reach your peak and scream out his name. He holds you tightly through it, his mouth still working your clit as you ride out your orgasm, grinding against his mouth and practically drowning him. He pulls back with a wide grin on his face and watches the way your body shudders after. He lays his head on your thigh, nuzzling it softly and teasing your clit with your thumb, his chin soaked with your juices.

“Love the way your body shakes…. I haven’t even gotten to the main event”

“I- I have to get ready” you pant softly, shaking your head as Buck wipes his face and goes to ease his boxers down his thighs

“Oh? But I thought you didn’t want to go anymore, I thought you wanted to stay at home with Daddy Buck”

“Please stop calling yourself that” You giggle and he swats your thigh, getting on his knees

“You have the audacity to be saying that. When I seem to remember two nights ago when I was absolutely putting you through the damn mattress you were crying “Daddy please slow down” He says in a high-pitched voice “Oh fuck daddy please”

“Wasn’t that the same night you were saying you’d be mommy’s good boy if I let you cum?” you tilt your head and he looks at you for a moment, biting his lip

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Oh? Really?” You sit up “You don’t remember being in a vibrating cock ring and literally on your knees begging me to let you cum?” You reach for the bedside table where you keep it and he puts his hands out in front of him

“Okay, okay shit okay I remember… hey we’ve kind of lost the narrative here young lady. I’m supposed to be making you feel good” He goes to ease you back down but you stop him, blushing a little

“You know what really made me feel good?” You ask quietly, your cheeks flushing a bit. Your hand goes back to that drawer.

He watches you intently, internally battling with himself to just give in to you because he knows what made you feel good and he also knows that maybe it didn’t feel so bad for him and that he fucking loves begging you. He loves whining and whimpering for you and watching the way it melts you when he’s so submissive. Nothing gets you off more than a strong man on his knees and nothing gets him off more than how wet you get and the sounds of him thrusting in and out.

But he seriously hates that stupid thing, because it constantly stops him from turning you into his sweet little cream pie.

“On one condition” He stops your hand for a second and you smirk

“Sure”

“You let me cum sooner than you did last time! By at least 10 minutes!”

“Deal!” You grab your phone from the nightstand and call Hen, apologizing because you won’t make it tonight. She tells you to take it easy on Buck this time and bursts out laughing as you splutter in response.

Damn, 24 hour shifts.

You hang up and Buck gets on the bed, lying on his back and folding his hands across his torso while crossing his ankles.

“I’m yours to do with as you please, pretty baby”

You grab the cock ring from the drawer and smile, prepping it and turning to him.

“You know how much I love you right?”

He reaches up and holds your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb over your cheek soothingly.

“And you know how much I love you? How much I crave your very being” He mumbles, looking up at you like you’re his entire world, and you are, you know you are

“You’re beautiful baby, and I hope you remember that”

You smile and take his cock in your hand, stroking it slowly to get it nice and hard for you, it doesn’t take long and he blushes sheepishly

“I know baby boy” You whisper as you bend forward and kiss him, he whimpers a little when he feels the cool silicone slide down around him

“I know”

#words by rhys #911 x reader #rhys writes #911 fox #911 show #evan buckley #911 abc #evan buck buckely #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #buck x reader #Rhys requests

177 notes · View notes

airaibunny · 11 months ago

Text

momo x reader - “it’s you” (warnings: smut[dom reader], angst with happy ending, sexual boundaries being pushed, crying, self deprecation, fingering, oral, heavy jealousy, spanking, cursing, degradation, slight praise, i feel like i’m forgetting something else…)

a/n: req!(“I’m obsessed with concept of being friends with benefits where the reader or member secretly has feelings for the other and gets jealous. If you could, could you do another friends w/ benefits but with Momo?”)okay, idk how this turned into angst like literally i went into it just wanting to make it rough sex. i rolled with it though, if it sucks pls tell me to stfu and stick to smut. hope you like this train wreck, mind you this was entirely written in 2 hours on a plane so like🙏

HEAVY HEAVY CONTENT WARNING, TAKE THE TAGS VERY SERIOUSLY PLEASE

word count: 2.3k

low moans fill your dorm room as the sweat makes your hair stick to your forehead. with your face between her thighs, momo’s sickeningly sweet scent engulfs your nose. you praise her every sound, “just like that, you sound so pretty,” you coo, “you’re doing so well for me.”

her release comes with a gasp and you greedily lap up everything spilling out of her. your tongue glides up and down her folds, devoted to letting her completely give out.

you come up, wiping your mouth with your fingers and licking her off of them. “you were wonderful as always.”

“hm.” she’s still not thinking clearly, her attempt at a response coming out as a moan. you laugh and get up to find your clothes.

“are you leaving?” she sits up in bed, wiping her hair out of her face. “we’ve been in here too long, they’re going to wonder what we’re doing.” she flops back down. “i’ll be out there in a few.”

after you put all your clothes on, you walk to the door. your hand lays on the doorknob motionless for a few seconds, deciding on whether it should turn it or not.

if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t want to leave.

momo completely consumes every one of your thoughts. there’s not a single event in your day that you don’t connect to her. you can’t wait for the one or two hours a day you get to have her all to yourself, even if she just sees it as sex. when you’re with her, you swear the world outside could end and you wouldn’t notice. she has become your everything, but you’re not the same to her.

to her, you’re just a friend she casually fucks. nothing more, nothing less. of course you feel incredibly lucky that you at least get to have this, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t yearn for more.

you want to tell everyone she’s yours and only yours, on all fronts.

but you can’t just bring it up to her, you would never be able to move on if she rejected you. even on days when she’s especially clingy and really makes you think she wants the same thing, you still tell yourself you’re over-analyzing.

“did you freeze?” she asks from behind you. you push the door and walk out, not making eye contact with her.

you start making your way to the kitchen to drink water and run into dahyun on the way there. “do you know if momo is in her room?” “she is.”

she walks away, but turns around again before leaving. “is she alone?”

‘why do you care?’

you think to yourself, of course you don’t respond with that, but it takes a great deal of self control not to.

“yes, she is.” you give her a fake smile and continue on your way to the kitchen.

“you’re so great at hiding when you’re angry.” mina teases as soon as she sees you. you roll your eyes at her and grab a glass of water. “were you with her just now?”

mina is the only person you’ve told about you and momo, your feelings for her included. it’s not that you don’t trust your other members; you just trust mina the most. with the others, there’s always a possibility that they might let it slip when they don’t mean to, but you know mina it’s ditzy enough to do that.

“yes.” you take a sip of your water and look down, trying to avoid mina’s gaze. “i’m tired of speaking to you about this, you know you’ll have to confess eventually. you’re destroying yourself, y/n.” she might not be telling anyone, but she sure as hell loves to hammer you about it.

“i know,” you sigh, “but how?” she walks beside you and pulls you into a hug. “you know what i have to say to that.” “yeah, yeah, whatever ‘it doesn’t matter how.’” she’s right, you’re very aware of that, but can’t bring yourself to do it.

“i’m going with everyone else, you coming?” you tell her you’ll be there shortly and let her leave. you stay sitting and contemplating your situation for a few more minutes until you decide to join your fellow members.

as soon as you walk into the living room your eyes dart towards momo, curled up next to dahyun. it instantly makes you see red, and very noticeably apparently because mina shoots you a knowing look.

you sit right across from them, glaring at them. you grit your teeth every time dahyun rubs momo’s leg or turns to whisper in her ear. you know that you all have a very close bond, and this is by no means out of the ordinary, but you can’t handle it when it involves with momo.

you also know she’s allowed to be with other people if so she desires, but if that’s what’s happening, is she really that shameless?

“y/n!?” jihyo yells beside you and you jump. “are you listening or just sitting there?” you are, in fact, not listening, too focused on the two people in front of you.

“sorry, i’m listening.”

“so what do you think?” you stare at her in confusion and your lie becomes evident. “ugh, never mind. i was saying that…” you tune her out again as you watch momo toss her head back in laughter at something dahyun said.

nothing could possibly be that fucking funny.

an hour passes of the same thing; momo and dahyun’s antics being met with your cold stare. that’s why you don’t waste a second when momo gets up and heads to the bathroom.

you make sure nobody can see down the hallway and follow her. she almost shuts the door, but you push it pack and step inside with her.

“oh sorry, i didn’t notice you.” she says, a fake pout on her lips.

“save it.” you walk closer to her, pushing her back until her ass hits the counter. “do you get off by being a slut on display, huh? does having people watch you be a whore turn you on?”

she smirks at you, acting like she’s completely unaware of what you’re saying. you see right through her, her rosy cheeks and labored breathing tell you she’s already dripping.

“what do you mean, are you jealous because of dahyun? do you not like seeing her touch me?” she gets really close, you can feel her breath on your neck.

fuck, even if you can tell what she’s doing, she knows how to push your buttons.

you grab her waist and turn her around, slamming her hips against the counter. she lets out a whine, but you’re too deep in your head to worry about whether it was in pain or pleasure.

“me, jealous?” you laugh, holding her in place, bent over the counter for you. “i just feel so bad for you. are you really that desperate? one girl isn’t enough, you need two?”

you rip off her shorts and panties, delighting in their soaked state. as soon as her ass is exposed, you land a hard hit on it. her back arches and you spank her again, harder. she whimpers with each slap and you can see her pussy growing wetter.

“that gets you really excited, look at that.” you dip your fingers between her folds, a silky string of her glistening slick attached to them when you take them off.

you grab her wrists behind her back, pulling her up by her hair at the same time. you think maybe you’re being a little too rough for a second, but your jealousy completely blinds you.

you shove her once again, against the door this time. you angrily let go of her hair and your hand flys to her ass, spanking her again. your own pussy throbs when you can perfectly make out your hand print on it.

“ow, y/n…” a tears rolls down her cheek and you chuckle at her. “oh c’mon, i thought you liked being treated like a bitch.”

another tear comes, then another. you’d normally ask her if she was alright, but you’re truly not yourself in this moment. seeing her so close with dahyun awakened something you didn’t know you had in you.

you fingers dive right into her entrance without teasing or warning, making her cry out.

“y/n, that hurts!”

her tears don’t stop. you’ve never been this way with her, but now you’re thinking you should’ve done this sooner. she looks absolutely stunning breaking down for you.

“crocodile tears, you know you love this.” she sobs, whining every time your fingers harshly re-enter her.

“they’re not, please…”

you hear her, but you don’t process what she’s saying. “oh shut the fuck up, whore.” another slap on her ass, right on top of the red handprint from before.

“stop, please, stop!”

only when she’s repeatedly begging you to stop do you remove your fingers and ease up, realizing you were basically cutting off her breathing with how hard you were pressing her against the door.

her legs immediately give out on her and she nearly falls to the ground, but you catch her before she does so.

you’re still in shock at what you just did, muttering countless apologies to her. she doesn’t react, just cries.

you hurriedly put her clothes back on and lead her to her bedroom, looking down the hallway to make sure none of the other girls can see you.

you lock the door when you step inside and carry her to the bed. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” your own tears form in your eyes, you feel like a monster. why are you crying? you’re the one who did this to her. if you love her so much, why’d you do this?

“momo, i’m sorry.” her sobs keep coming, each one deepening your wound even more.

“why were you like that?” she asks, wiping some of the still cascading tears from her face. you stay silent, too ashamed to give her an honest reply. “i don’t deserve an answer?”

“i went too far, i’m sorry.” you turn away, not wanting her to see your tears. she pulls your shoulder and makes you face her. “but why?” your heart breaks as you get a good look at her beautiful eyes completely bloodshot, and her rosy cheeks red and sticky with tears.

“because i’m a fucking idiot, and i kept things in for too long, and i just let them all pour out in the worst way possible. i’m sorry momo, i’m so, so sorry.” you break down, sobbing just as hard as she is. “i’ve,” you think about your next words very carefully, “i’ve loved you for so long, momo. i didn’t know how to say it. my incompetence just ended up hurting you, i’m so sorry.”

you feel even worse as her hand trembles on your cheek, wiping away the tears. you take it into your own, turning your face to kiss it.

“you’re not incompetent,” you cut her off. “no, don’t console me, i’m not the one in need of that.” she moves closer to you, settling in on your shoulder and grabbing both of your hands in hers. you can still see the tears falling from her eyes and onto her lap, only serving to make your own sorrows multiply.

“i haven’t been the brightest either.” you turn your face to look at her and she does the same. “asking you to just have sex with me seemed easier than asking you to be my girlfriend.”

you’re in utter shock for a few seconds, her sentence hitting you like a train.

all of this performing and going around in circles you’ve been doing for so long because you thought she didn’t feel the same way, you could’ve skipped all of that?

you should be ecstatic about this, but you won’t let yourself. you hurt her, you hurt her really bad. how could she ever forgive you?

“i’m so sorry i didn’t say anything sooner.” she starts audibly crying again and buries her head into your neck. you lift her face up, holding it in your hands. “why are you apologizing? don’t do that, please, don’t apologize to me for anything.”

for the first time in however many months this has been happening, she crashes her lips into yours. kissing always felt like a thing for couples in a weird way, which you both stressed you weren’t.

“momo…” she closes the distant between you two again, making your lips connect. you don’t try pulling away this time, you let her take the lead. the kiss is deep and passionate, perfectly matched to her lips. right now, her lips feel infinitely better on your own than they do anywhere else on your body. she’s heavenly; too good for you.

“momo, i’m so sorry.”

“i forgive you, y/n, i’ll always forgive you.”

more tears spill out of your eyes, how could she forgive you? “you can’t do that.”

her own tears still stain her face as she grabs your shirt into a fist, making you foreheads touch. “you do not get decide that for me.” she pauses to kiss you again. “i want you, i want you so bad, and you’re not going to pull away now that i know you feel the same way.” she sniffles, looking into your eyes while coming up with her next words.

“please don’t pull away.” you take her into your arms, you both still gasping for air from crying.

“i won’t.”

you wipe the hair from her face, wanting to admire every little detail.

“i love you so much, i’ll never make you feel like that again, i promise.”

she looks at you with pure admiration in her eyes.

“i love you too, and i believe you.”

418 notes · View notes

rabesbabe · 7 months ago

Text

Silver Soul

Jackie Taylor x Fem!Reader

part one ➴ part two part three

Summary: You accidentally injure Jackie one day during practice and your relationship with her starts to bloom.

A/N: Jackie is such a cutie and she literally did no wrong the entire series (fight w me idc). But I’m hoping YJ tumblr is still alive idk? Enjoy this fic tho ! (Not proofread)

“Oh my god.”

Your mouth is agape as you watch the ball you kicked hit Jackie Taylor straight in the nose.

The whole team stood and watched in shock as the ball coming from the complete opposite end of the field smacks her straight in the face.

The best way to describe Jackie in your words was perfect. And you weren’t jealous of her or anything. You liked who you were and all but it was just true. Jackie had amazing grades, she was the captain of the soccer team and, from what you knew she came from a good family.

Even though you had been on the same team as her for two years now, you guys never really became anything more than acquaintances. You waved at her in the halls and she did the same but that was kind of it. You guys had different social circles and shared a few classes but never talked in them. She wasn’t anything to you really besides your teammate.

You ran as fast as you could to the other side of the field to help Jackie who was now clutching her nose and wincing in pain.

“Wait, Y/N!” You heard Natalie call out to you. And as you were running you looked back to see what Nat was calling after you about.

When suddenly you ran straight into Jackie and you both fell to the ground.

You grab your head and wince. Jesus did you have to be this clumsy?

Opening your eyes you see Taissa offering you her hand and laughing while Van does the same for Jackie.

As you stand up, you look at Jackie, her face was red from the impact and her eyes looked glossy. You felt like the worst person in the world.

“Shit, Jackie, I’m so sorry.” You say.

She winced again as she looks at you and tries her best to smile through the pain. “It’s totally fine. You didn’t mean to.”

Still feeling like satan himself you offer to take her to the nurse.

“Yeah that’d be great.” She says.

As you and Jackie make your way to the side of the field Nat catches up with you.

“Way to go Y/N,” She says, teasing you.

“Now, is not the time to be an asshole.” You say to her halfway joking.

You and Nat had been best friends since practically the first day of kindergarten. You had caught her outside throwing rocks at kids during recess, and since that was right up your alley, you joined her. Ever since then you guys have been inseparable. And constantly being menaces towards everyone together.

Nat waves you off and walks back to the field. You turn your attention to Jackie and stop her so that you can move her hands from her face. You Inspect her nose and it was most definitely bleeding but, it looked okay. You were shocked at how powerful you could kick.

“It should be fine.” You say smiling a little at Jackie.

She nods not seeming to believe you.

The walk to the nurses office was filled with awkward silence. You had no idea what to say to her. You just kicked her in the face and then basically tackled her. You were shocked she didn’t hate your guts.

As you walk to the door you realize that since it’s after school the nurse isn’t gonna be inside the office.

“Uhm. I kinda forgot that she wasn’t gonna be here.” You say awkwardly to Jackie who somehow, was giving you her award winning smile even though her nose was literally bleeding onto her jersey.

“It’s fine I can just get ice when I get home.” She says, shuffling her feet.

“Or I could get us into the office without a key?” You say smirking.

She looks up at you, her hazel eyes glowing with disapproval. “There’s cameras? Don’t you think they’ll see us.”

“So what? Are they gonna give us detention for stealing an Ice pack?” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

The corner of her mouth turned upwards and she smiles a bit but still looks worried.

“Come on Jackie, live a little.” You look down at the lock and grab a hairpin.

In about 3 minutes you were into the office.

Jackie looks at you her mouth slightly open.

“Wow, you didn’t think I could do it did you?” You look at her with a fake offended face on.

“No I definitely didn’t. But, you did.” She says giggling.

Still feeling very responsible for her obvious pain you say, “Here sit on one of the beds I’ll grab the ice pack.”

Looking around the nurses office you find the freezer and grab some ice. You put it into a plastic bag and wrap a paper towel around it.

“Scooch.” You say and you sit next to her on the nurses bed.

You gently grab her chin and inspect her face noticing that the bleeding stopped.

“Wait.” You say getting an idea. You go into the bathroom get some tissue and wet it with cold water.

When you get back over to her you notice she’s already shifted back into where you were sitting.

You playfully roll your eyes at her. “Cmon, schooch again.”

You sit back down and grab her face again. This time you move closer your faces are only inches away from each other. You gently wipe the blood off her face. Her breathing starts to falter a little and you look her in the eyes. “God, the ball must’ve hit you hard, you can barely breathe from the pain.”

Her cheeks go a light shade of pink that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close to her. “Uhm. Yeah it hit me pretty hard.” She says.

“Sorry again.” You say.

A little out of it from the throbbing coming from her face and her proximity to you at the moment, Jackie bursted out laughing. Very confused since nothing funny happened, you look at her.

“What?” You say starting to laugh a little yourself.

“Nothing,” She says trying to catch her breath. “You’re just like the clumsiest person i’ve ever met.”

“Asshole,” you laugh out.

“I’m the asshole? You’re the one who kicked me.” she exclaims, attempting to stifle her laugh.

You narrow your eyes at her playfully and hand her the ice pack.

“Now you’re back to the beautiful normal Jackie,” You say. “All that blood was not doing you justice.” You joke.

She blushes at your words slightly and you notice but brush it off as her face just being red from earlier.

Getting up from the bed she looks down at her wrist, checking the time. “Practice is probably over now.”

“Yeah. We should go and get changed.”

-⚽️-

After changing and showering you walk with Nat to your car. You guys stop there for a bit and chat.

“Is she coming over here?” You say furrowing your eyes and looking into the distance.

Across the parking lot was Jackie, smiling at you and Nat, in her perfect little outfit.

“You kick a girl in the face one time and now she’s obsessed.” Natalie says smirking while taking a drag from a cigarette.

You elbow Nat in the side at her sarcasm causing her to drop her cig. “Ouch?!” Clutching at her side she looks at you. When Jackie reaches your car she stops right in front of you and Natalie.

“Uh hey Jackie.” You say weerily.

“Hi.” She says, giving you that smile she gave everyone when she wanted something. You had seen it before a million times. And it worked every single time.

“Did you need something?” You ask.

“Yeah actually, I was wondering if you could drive me home?” She Bats her eyelashes at you innocently.

Nat gives you a confused look and you shoot one right back at her. Why was she suddenly talking to you?

You try to think of an excuse to say no. You had a routine after school. You got coffee at your favorite place and studied. Sometimes Nat came along if she wasn’t working. And then after school you’d watch movies or hangout with friends and smoke. Driving Jackie Taylor home was not apart of that routine.

“Doesn’t Shauna take you home? I thought you guys always like hungout after practice or something.”

“It’s totally fine! She’ll survive one day without us hanging out. Plus you owe me after today.” She smiles at you again.

Nat buts in. “Yeah you owe her Y/N, drive the nice girl home.” She says trying to annoy you.

You look over at Nat and give her a look that she immediately understands as “I’m literally going to kill you if you don’t leave right now.” Nat laughs and walks to her car. “I’ll call you later Y/N.” She yells to you before getting in.

You flip her off and yell back, “Please don’t!”

Jackie looks at you again and asks, “So are you gonna drive me or not?”

You just sigh and open the door for her.

She squeals and gets in.

“Oh, by the way I usually stop for coffee so I guess you have to come with me.” You say starting the car up.

“Fine by me.” She says.

You guys pull out of the parking lot and drive for a while in silence. You notice Jackie looking over at you every now and then and you try your best to ignore it.

“So, are you gonna play music?” She asks looking at you expectantly.

“If you want,” You shrug. “There’s a few cassettes in the glove compartment right there.”

She opens the glove compartment and gasps. “The Smashing Pumpkins!”

You look over at her doubtful. “You know them?”

“Duh.” She says rolling her eyes. You laugh and she puts the tape in.

1979 starts playing and she rolls her window down poking her head out.

Finally, you both make it to the coffee shop. You park and walk in.

Jackie looks around seeming to be impressed by the place. “This is really nice,” She says. “You come here everyday?”

You nod. “Yeah basically, I just come here to study for tests and things.”

You get to the register and tell the barista your order and so does Jackie. You go to pay for the coffee when Jackie grabs your hand. “Something wrong?” You say confused.

“My treat!” She says smiling. You step back and let her pay.

While Jackie waited for the coffee you grab a table. She sits down and hands you your coffee. “Thanks for paying by the way.” You say and smile a little at her.

“Anytime!” She says enthusiastically. She was constantly happy it was almost annoying.

You guys study for a while talking about random things. Jackie gets silent for a bit and you look up at her. She looked like she was super deep in thought about something.

“So are you like dating anyone?” She asks avoiding your gaze.

You look up confused as to why she wanted to know but you answered anyway. “Uh no not technically I guess.” You said. You weren’t really lying. You and this girl talked on and off but nothing ever really came of it besides a few kisses at parties every now and then. Your love life was practically nonexistent.

Jackie nodded. “What about you? Aren’t you seeing that dude. I can’t remember his name isn’t it like Jack?”

She chuckles. “Jeff. And no we broke up while ago.”

“Oh,” You say. “That sucks.”

She sips her coffee. “Yeah it’s whatever I don’t really like him anyways,” She looks down. “I don’t know if I ever did to be honest.”

Now you were curious. You look at her and notice she’s doodling on her hands. “What do you mean?” You inquire.

“Well, I don’t know.” She sighs. “It’s nothing.” Her hands start fidgeting with her pen and she breaks eye contact with you.

You were shocked by her mood shift. You’d never seen her look unsure of herself before. The only Jackie you’d ever known was the confident self-assured one.

“Well whatever it is, I’m sure your feelings are valid. Relationships are complicated. And any guy is lucky to have you Jackie.” You smile at her trying to make her feel better.

She looks up at you and smiles. “You’re not so bad yourself Y/N. Any guy is lucky to date you too.”

You almost spit out your coffee at her words. “Guy?” You say laughing.

She looks at you confused until it clicks and she widens her eyes. “Oh! I- Sorry I didn’t know.”

Laughing you say, “I’m surprised you didn’t?”

“Does everyone else know?” She asks baffled.

“Basically. And Im not the only one on the team you know?” You explain taking a sip of your coffee.

“What?!” She says, “Who else?”

You rest your head in your hand as if trying to recall who else. “Well, Van, Taissa, Nats Bi, and so is Lottie.”

She looks at you, her mouth agape. “Am I really this blind?”

You giggle at her “I guess so.”

You both stayed in the coffee shop longer than you normally do. You and Jackie actually got a long very well and it came as a shock to you. You were still a little confused as to why she even was hanging around you but it was refreshing. And you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. Her naturally gorgeous hair, which seemed to always look like it was freshly blown out, the curve of her nose, her beautiful big eyes.

That night when you got home Jackie infiltrated your thoughts. You thought about her while eating dinner, while showering and, while you went to bed. You couldn’t get her off your mind and you already knew where this was going. You spent one day with her and now you had a crush on her. Was she really that intoxicating?

#yellowjackets #jackie taylor #Jackie taylor x reader #Jackie Taylor x Shauna #jackie taylor x shauna shipman #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie x lottie #lottie x reader

386 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

Note

Tbh I'm starting to suspect that most of my asks for you are just going to be me affectionately yelling at you.

Because you've given me so many ideas???? And now I'm faced with the constant "LEMME GIVE THIS READER A FRIEND PLEASE LET ME BE HER FRIEND"

Dukedom AU? Congrats, Reader now has a friend who's father was Riley's and Price's general and while she has no doubts about Reader's husband, they haven't seen each other since Reader's parents practically forbid it in their teens and- actually, isn't Duke Riley still friends with Duke Price? And unmarried? ... She has a letter to write. Short and simple should do it. (And maybe her and Reader resume their queerplatonic relationship- the Friend is devoted to the Reader like a cat returns to the same home that lets it chase the rats)

Shifter AU? Here, Reader's friend is a demigod (Zeus' kid who begged for Hera's forgiveness and bound herself to the goddess in blood and ink) who works nights and lets it known exactly how she feels about her friend being taken without letting her know first via lightening storm over the whole fucking city until she knows Reader is safe. (And maybe she's slowly becoming a minor deity herself. Maybe Soap gets a whiff of hair bleach when she's pissed, or tattoo ink when she's cackling, or antiseptic when she's offering comfort).

Fertility God AU? The deity of death visits sometimes, calm and quiet and peaceful- a reminder that it is dying that's painful, while death itself is nothingness. She never picks the plants herself, merely grabs the flowers Reader picked already and uses that to tap noses. Okay I might actually just take the idea of 141 serving their war god and the war god being slowly brought to his knees and going a whole other direction with it.

Just. Let me give these soft Readers Fierce Friends who'll take one look at these military men and be like "Bitch you still have an Achilles tendon, I will cut you down if you hurt them." And maybe that's a turn-on for a couple of them, idk it could happen.

So. Many. Ideas. And I'm like, buzzing with insecurity about writing them because they weren't mine to start with and tbh Tumblr is really the only way I know these characters? And also I appreciate it if you made it this far through my word vomit thank you for your time and have a good day!

As long as the yelling comes from a place of love who am I to complain? 😌💕

Also omg yes every reader needs a friend. A good, dependable friend that lessens the angst just a little.

Also omg yes?? If Friend manages to even convince Simon to marry her, with the promise that she wants nothing romantic with him just a way to be close to you again, then she’d also solve the rumors that still spread about Simon’s unmarried status even with the general fear of him. And you get your darling Friend close again! Win-win, and the 141 get to see you exceptionally happy and excited.

Friend looked away for just a short while and then returns to learn your shitty boyfriend has cheated on you with your other shitty friend she never liked, you aren’t anywhere in your home and you haven’t gone to work and you have been kidnapped by some pack of shifters- personally, anyone would be fucking pissed too ngl. Friend probably smells the loveliest when she’s with you, though, when she sees you happy at last.

Now the Fertility god au I’m gonna need more from you babes you can’t just leave me hanging here 👁️👁️ /nf

And yes. Like I said all readers deserve a fierce friend it’s not a law but it should be and yes to that too i need them to blur the lines between friends and lovers just a lil too. Life’s more that way, me thinks.

Also no please don’t worry, fandom spaces are shared and new writings are always welcome 😭🫶🏻 i haven’t laid a single finger on any of the games im just rawdogging it too dw so you should absolutely write if you want to without fear!! Thank you for this wonderful ask I loved reading it!

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod #cod x you #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x you #cod imagines #poly!141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly!141 #poly 141

89 notes · View notes

mortallydeepestobservation · 1 month ago

Text

The holiday pretense -2-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, idiots in love, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, they are absolute idiots. like, there is no way about it. pure idiots. anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 2-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: We’re already in December. Damn… Enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: here

Namjoon peered down at your sleeping form, his tired eyes tracing the soft, quirky murmurs that drifted from your lips as you burrowed deeper into his chest. What started as a faint whimper blossomed into a quiet, endearing snore, drawing a gentle smile from him.

He hadn’t planned to wake this early, but sleep had eluded him for the fast few hours. These quiet pre-dawn moments usually brought him peace—a hushed pause before the day took over. Today, however, his mind was restless, skimming over scattered thoughts until it inevitably circled back to you.

You looked like a dream. The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, bathing you in a warm, golden glow even as you nestled deeper into his body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the delicate lines of your face. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your lips—the same lips he’d kissed just hours before…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize how intently he was staring, until your eyes suddenly fluttered open. Instinct kicked in, startled, you both reacted at the same time, and you jumped up just as he tried to lean back. The both of you groaning in unison as you cradle your forehead, which had slammed painfully against his chin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you cry, urgency quickly replacing the sleepiness in your voice.

“You were snoring. I’m sorry,” Namjoon defended, rubbing the spot where you collided.

“I don’t snore!” you glare up at him, eyes finally focusing enough to see the blood gushing from his nose. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You leaned over him to grab a napkin from the bedside table. But still half asleep, the hand you’d placed between his legs couldn’t support your weight, and you crashed right onto his belly, eliciting a loud “oof” as he fell back on his pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your face smushed against him as you struggle to grab a napkin. In your frantic attempt, you knocked the tissue box off the table, sending tissues whirling to the ground.

“Just- ow!” He winced when you pressed the napkin to his nose, confusion evident on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected blood or to be in such a vulnerable position so early in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the third time, slightly loosening your grip on his face.

“Stop apologizing,” he mumbled “It’s my fault too.” Namjoon took the tissue from your hands and pressed it harder against his nose trying to suppress the stinging sensation.

You lingered there for a moment, captivated by the tissue grazing his lips, until the warmth of his skin under your cheek snapped you out of it. His shirt had ridden up in the altercation, baring a sliver of his toned stomach, now conveniently pressed against your face.

As if sensing your awareness, Namjoon furrowed his brows and gave you a quizzical look, prompting you to sit upright, the blanket trailing behind you like a cape.

“Yes, it is! What’s wrong with you?” You scolded. “Do you always stare at people when you sleep next to them?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Namjoon’s head shot up; his voice defensive but laced with amusement. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” you shot back, despite having no evidence to support your claim. You struggled to untangle yourself from the blanket, nearly tripping in your haste to escape. The bathroom door closed with an accidental slam behind you, leaving you momentarily alone with your spiralling thoughts.

Leaning over the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, the chill biting at your skin and grounding you—if only for a moment. Yet your heart refused to cooperate, its erratic rhythm spiking again when you heard the faint shuffling from the bedroom, followed by a soft, frustrated “Damn it.”

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, meeting your own wide-eyed, dishevelled stare. Tangled hair perfectly framing your flushed cheeks, the hoodie you’d borrowed from Namjoon sitting askew on your shoulders and remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to your face.

Charming. Just the image you wanted to project.

Then, your gaze drifted to the mint toothpaste sitting on the counter, and a fresh wave of emotions washed over you. It hit you all at once—His lips pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the look he’d given you after.

The way he looked at you…like he was searching for something. Or maybe you were imagining it. God, you hoped you were imagining it.

You gripped the edge of the sink, leaning into it as embarrassment burned its way down your spine.

But deep beneath the flurry of second-guessing and distress, you manage to find a crumb of courage while quietly going through the motions.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright and finished the small, familiar task of brushing your teeth. As you twisted the faucet shut, you stole one last glance at your reflection, your eyes searching for reassurance.

With resolve that felt both flimsy and monumental, you stepped back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

Namjoon was still lying on the bed, a new tissue pressed against his nose. He looked up as you enter, and an unexpected flicker of self-consciousness crept in, making you hyper-aware of every step you took.

“Are you okay?” You asked, attempting a softer tone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the napkin to inspect the bright red spot there. “Just a bit of a love tap, you know?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you shoot back, but the words only made him laugh softly, easing some of the tension in your chest.

You grab a clean tissue and lean in closer to inspect the damage. "I'm really sorry," you say, perching on the edge of the bed. You take the napkin from his hands with little resistance and replace it with your own. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies, his voice soft. "But next time, maybe warm me about the snoring.”

"I don’t snore!" you exclaimed, the defensiveness in your tone spiking and earning another heartfelt laugh from him.

“Okay, fine. You don’t,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But just as you were about to relax, he added under his breath, “Next time, I’ll record you.”

You narrowed your eyes and considered actually pinching his nose.

“You’re impossible.”

Namjoon only grinned, dimples deepening, as you carefully pulled the tissue away to dab the remains of the nosebleed. The softness of your touch seemed to quiet him; his teasing replaced by something warmer. There was a tenderness in the way you focused on his injury, small lines of worry forming on your forehead. He wanted to laugh, seeing as you dealt with more dramatic injuries in the past, yet he didn’t want to disturb you as you carefully touched his cheek with your free hand. The warmth of your palm contrasting sharply with the chill of the morning air.

As if you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, you look up, meeting his eyes.

“You’re blushing again.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, your cheeks heating further as you refocused on his nose, cleaning the surrounding area as if he were made of porcelain. You kept your attention on the injury, desperate to ignore the proximity—and the gentle warmth of his breath against your skin and the inexplicable tightness in your chest.

“There,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the stillness as you placed the tissue aside. “All better.” To diffuse the tension, you gave his cheek a light pinch before standing up to tidy the room.

Turning your back to him, you busied yourself with cleaning, scooping up the crumpled tissues littering the bedside table. But Namjoon’s eyes never left you. He watched the way you moved, the way your hair caught the light, and the way you scrunched your nose in irritation when you realized how much of a mess you’d made earlier.

When you bent down to retrieve a stray napkin from under the bed, you caught him staring again. This time, a soft laugh escaped him when he realized he’d been caught red-handed.

Before he could say anything, you grabbed the discarded blanket and tossed it at him.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked quickly, moving toward your suitcase and fumbling with the zipper, your voice a little too casual.

“I’m taking you to a bakery,” his voice was muffled as he poked his head out from under the covers. “And my dad asked us to pick up a Christmas tree.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a Christmas tree. Even though the holiday spirit felt far away in this moment, a surge of excitement stirred in your chest. “A Christmas tree?” You echoed, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice with an air of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his messy hair. “I thought we could decorate it together tonight.”

“You hate decorating the tree.”

“True,” he chuckled, “but I’d rather suffer through it with you than alone. Besides, my parents have some ornaments that I think you’ll like.”

You paused, makeup bag in hand, feeling his words settle over you. In the two years you’d lived together, Namjoon had never once shown a shred of enthusiasm when it came to decorating the apartment. He was more the type to lounge on the couch with a book or a video game while you tangled yourself in string lights and sparkling baubles, only for him to chime in at the end with a “You missed a spot”. Still, he always helped place the star on top —mostly because you couldn’t reach it, and he was taller.

“You’re volunteering for your own torture?” You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised, just as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms high above his head.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning back, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the muscles flexing underneath. The morning sunlight steamed through the window, contouring his skin with an irresistible golden hue.

Quickly you turned back to your makeup bag, rummaging unnecessarily for a lipstick as warmth crept up your neck and onto your cheeks

“My mom will force us either way.” He declared, the faint defeat in his tone punctuated by a dramatic sigh ash he strolled towards the bathroom.

You let out a small laugh at his resignation, but it got caught in your throat when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing in onto the bed.

Your gaze betrayed you for half a second, flickering toward him before you could stop yourself. The lean lines of his back, the soft stretch of his shoulders, the way his skin gleamed faintly in the light—everything you weren’t supposed to notice left an imprint far too vivid in your mind.

Heart pounding, you forced your eyes back to your bag, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. But it was too late. You were certain he’d seen your reaction.

“See something you like?” His teasing voice reached you just as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Your face flamed, and you whipped around, glaring at the now-closed door. “You’re impossible!” You called out, loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the running water.

~~~~

The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as you stepped out of the room, mingling with the faint hum of life coming from the kitchen. The soft click of the bathroom door shutting behind Namjoon grounded you, though your thoughts still spun wildly. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, but the sound of running shower only stirred your imagination further—steam rising, droplets tracing the contours of his bare skin. Heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head sharply, chastising yourself. Get it together.

In a desperate attempt to regain control after the completely unfair sight of your sun-kissed, shirtless friend, you decided a little distance might actually do you some good. Grabbing the first cozy sweater and pair of jeans within reach, you tugged them on and practically bolted out of the room.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself firmly, though the mantra did little to steady the pounding heart in your chest.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Kim and Minhi were seated at the dining table, morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The golden light bathed the cozy space, catching on the delicate wisps of steam curling up from their teacups.

“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Kim greeted warmly, lifting her head to meet your gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, pushing away any lingering thoughts from earlier, and took a seat at the table. “Yes, thank you,” you replied, carefully avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.

“Is Namjoon taking you out?” Minhi asked, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity over her teacup. You could almost swear there was a hint of a smirk forming on her lips.

You confirmed with a shy nod, but a new wave of heat crept up your spine, igniting your ears as if someone had turned up the thermostat.

Mrs Kim’s face broke into a broad grin. “Do you want me to whip you up something to eat first? Coffee or tea?” she asked, already rising from her chair.

“No, no,” you quickly interjected, waving your hands “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Namjoon’s just getting ready.”

Naked in all his glory in the shower…

You forced your mind back to the present as Mrs. Kim’s kind gaze lingered on you. Smoothing down your sweater, you took a steadying breath, doing your best to appear collected. You really had to pull yourself together.

“Is he taking you to Ajumeoni’s bakery?” Mrs. Kim asked, settling back in her chair with a huff. “At this rate, he’s paying for her grandkids to go to college.”

“C’mon Mom,” Minhi piped in. “The strawberry tarts are just-” She closed her eyes and inhaled dramatically, as if savouring the scent of sweet pastries. “They’re heavenly, I swear.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Mrs. Kim merely waved her off.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, her own smile softening the mock exasperation in her voice “Just be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded dutifully, resolute in your mission to be the perfect pretend-girlfriend today —a supportive friend, and nothing more.

“Jackson’s picking them up after work, mom, don’t worry.” Minhi said, her laughter cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“He is?” you asked, blinking in surprise but taken in by her contagious laughter.

“Did you think you’d carry the tree in the metro?” Minhi giggled, her gaze flicking to the hallway as hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Moments later, Namjoon appeared, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.

“Good morning!” he called out, running a hand through his freshly styled hair, the effortless charm in his voice matching his appearance. The brown sweater he’d chosen hugged his tall frame perfectly, drawing your attention to the way it accentuated the broad lines of his chest. The golden necklace at his collarbone caught the soft morning light as he bent down to plant a sweet kiss on his mother’s cheek.

Then, his eyes found yours, playful and warm before winking your way. “Are you ready?”

You fought to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks, admiring him for a fraction too long. The vivid memory of his shirtless body flashed in your mind, and for a moment, words seemed to escape you.

“Hey, yeah, I’m all set,” you finally managed.

Namjoon’s smile just widened, a teasing softness in his eyes as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne, fresh and warm, mingled with the aroma of tea as he leaned down toward you.

“You look really good.” He said, his voice low and sincere.

All your mental preparations evaporated.

You glanced down at your grey sweater and jeans, disbelief flickering in your mind. Were you two looking at the same thing?

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” You replied, attempting a casual tone, despite yourself, but you’re certain your tomato red face gave you away.

Minhi and Mrs. Kim were shamelessly observing, their amusement barely concealed. Minhi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, while Mrs. Kim hid her laugh behind her teacup.

“Are you two going to stare at each other all day, or are you leaving?” Minhi nudged, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin.

Namjoon chuckled, breaking the moment as he pulled back slightly. “We’re going, we’re going,” he assured, offering his hand to help you up.

As you stood, his palm rested briefly on the small of your back, sending a warmth through you that lingered. He shot his mother a cheeky smile as he led you toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” he added with mock innocence, ushering you down the hall, and earning himself a pinch to the side form you.

~~~

The morning light was bright, yet it did little to chase away the frost in the air. All bundled up in your puffy winter coat, you walked through the bustling neighbourhood streets, the wind nipping at your cheeks as sunlight glinted off fresh snow. Beside you, Namjoon strolled at an easy pace, his tall frame hunched slightly against the cold.

The shop windows glittered with seasonal displays- strings of lights, shimmering ornaments and snowy landscapes. Every so often, Namjoon would break the silence with a light-hearted comment or snippets from his childhood- stories that warmed you despite the cold.

“Look at that,” he nodded towards a window filled with beautifully wrapped presents underneath a grand Christmas tree. “I used to think those were real. I’d stare at them for hours, hoping someone would let me take a peek inside.”

You giggle, picturing a younger Namjoon, starry-eyed and full of wonder. “Did you ever get to sneak a peek?”

He shook his head, the soft pink on his cheeks deepening in the cold. “No way! My mom had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. She always caught me.” His warm laugh carried over the frosty air, lifting your spirits even as the chill settled in your bones. Without thinking, his hand found, fingers curling gently around yours as he led you down the street.

A little later, he stopped again, his gaze stolen by a snug bookstore with a charming display in the window. The small shop exuded warmth, its large front window showcasing a centrepiece of fake snow, big red bows and a collection of carefully arranged books. His eyes lit up as they landed on a particular title propped up prominently in the centre.

“Would you mind if we go in?” he asked, nodding towards the book, excitement brightening his face.

You followed his faze, your heart sinking and cheeks flooding with heat the moment you recognized the book. Panic sets in as your mind scrambles for an excuse. It was a book from a Korean author who had recently burst onto the literary scene, earning praise for their intricate storytelling and philosophical metaphors. Naturally, Namjoon had fallen in love with their work, dissecting every layer of meaning in conversations that you secretly loved, but teased him mercilessly for.

You had heard so much about the author, that when you saw the newest release weeks ago, you knew it was the perfect gift for him.

“No!” you blurted out quickly, voice sharp enough to startle him.

“What?” He turned to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because…” you hesitated, heat still rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find a good enough reason. But after a few seconds, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms. “Because I already got it for you. You can’t buy it.”

His expression softened, a big grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer to you. “You got it for me?”

“Yes,” you muttered, averting your eyes as your blush deepened. “So, you can’t ruin the surprise. Keep walking, Kim Namjoon.”

He chuckled, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance as he gave your arm a playful squeeze, holding you in place. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you see the decorations?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in the topic and followed his gaze. He was nodding toward the shop entrance, just a little further away, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and festive greenery. Your eyes drifted upward, landing on the small spring of mistletoe dangling above the doorway. Its pale berries glinting like snow in the soft light.

His hands burrowed deeper into the pockets of his coat as he tilted his head toward it, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Better be careful with that,” he teased, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the delicate plant sway slightly in the winter breeze. “It’s bad luck not to kiss under it,” Namjoon clarified, watching you with a hint of challenge in his expression.

“Since when are you so superstitious?” you asked, a laugh escaping you as you shook your head in disbelief.

“I’m not,” he admitted with a shrug, though the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips made his intentions clear. “I just like covering all my bases.”

Before you could answer, Namjoon leaned closer, his breath a soft warmth against your skin. His lips brushed your chilled cheek in a quick, fleeting kiss—a touch so warm and unexpected it made the cold air around you feel sharper by comparison.

You stood frozen for a moment, your cheek tingling where his lips had been.

Namjoon pulled back, his grin deepening, dimples carving into his cheeks. “There,” he said lightly, straightening his coat as if nothing had happened. “No bad luck now.”

Normally, you’d brush off his antics as harmless teasing meant to get a rise out of you. But this time, it managed to frits your brain. You stare at him, a mixture of indignation and disbelief sparking in your chest. “Kim Namjoon, you-”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, already stepping back towards the bakery door he’d been guiding you all along. “Don’t blame me, blame the mistletoe,” he quipped, holding the door open for you, the bell above it chiming softly.

Your cheeks still burned as you stepped past him, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.

Inside the bakery, the scent of sweet cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The bell above the door chimed softly again as Namjoon followed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain mugs.

The interior was just as inviting as the aroma —a rustic charm, with walls lined with wooden beams and subtle golden accents. Twinkling fairy lights cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the rows of pastries displayed behind a pristine glass countertop.

Puffed-up croissants sat beside glistening hotteok, their caramelized centres looking absolutely delicious. Spiralled kkwabagi dusted with sugar and candied sweet potatoes. And then there were the cakes — delicate, crowned with fresh berries and swirls of vanilla cream, their perfect edges almost too beautiful to disturb.

Namjoon walked over to the counter, his tall frame leaning slightly as he studied the pastries with an almost childlike delight. The faint flush on his cheeks from the cold only added to his charm, softening his sharp featured and making him just the more endearing.

You couldn’t help but watch him, captivated the way his eyes shone with delight. There was something so disarming about his enthusiasm, so pure in its simplicity, that it made the flutter in your chest impossible to ignore.

“Will you let me order for you?” He asked, suddenly interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, of course,” you smile, the slight flutter in your stomach making you laugh softly. As he turned to the counter, his brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, you couldn’t help but admire him anew. Namjoon has always been thoughtful, but this moment felt particularly tender, as though he was putting in the extra effort to make it memorable.

The bakery was alive with the bustle of other patrons, their laughter interlaced with the clinking of kitchen utensils in the back. A barista was busy steaming milk for lattes, while the warmth of the oven diffused toward you, chasing away any lasting chill from outside.

Namjoon finally ordered a selection of absolutely mouth-watering cream filled croffles and piping hot coffee. The lovely old lady at the serving counter lit up when she recognised him, leaning over to pinch his cheeks playfully. She gushed about how tall he had grown and how handsome he was, even calling her husband from the back to see Namjoon after all these years. You giggle softly, enjoying the lively exchange as Namjoon laughed, clearly relishing in the attention while trying to dodge her affectionate teasing. In the end, he walked away with an extra serving of milk bread as a ‘parting gift’ which he gratefully accepted, beaming as he thanked her.

The table Namjoon chose was tucked in a quiet corner, its window overlooking the bustling streets outside. The festive neighbourhood, framed by twinkling lights and snowy sidewalks, looked like a scene pulled straight from a snow globe. And as you settled into your seat, snowflakes began to drift gently from the sky, only adding to the hallmark-movie charm that seemed to influence the day.

“Here you go,” Namjoon settled the croffle in front of you. It was golden brown, with a crispy exterior that cradled the rich cream filling inside, adorned carefully with gingerbread crumbs — arguably, it was a masterpiece on a plate. He didn’t sit down yet, instead turning to fetch the coffee from the café counter

“Kim Namjoon?” a voice called out, and you looked to see a beautiful girl with big doe eyes shining once she looked at him, her pouted lips curving into a charming smile “I’m Min Iseul, do you remember me?”

Namjoon seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, his smile widening as he replied, "Oh my god, yes, hi! How have you been?"

“You know,” she smiled “life in a small town tends to be quiet. But what about you-?”

You watched from the corner of the table, feeling a tightness in your chest as Iseul place a hand on Namjoon’s arm. A frown formed involuntarily on your face as a pit began to settle in your stomach. Their conversation continued, the sound of their voices becoming a distant murmur as you forced your gaze downward, glaring at the croffle on your plate.

It felt horrible to realize that the sudden pang was indeed jealousy —raw and undeniable, it seemed it had taken root in your heart without your consent.

What was happening to you? You had always viewed Namjoon as a friend. You had watched him flirt with countless girls without a second though, yet now, here you were, on the verge of snapping at the mere sight of a pretty girl touching his arm. And of course she was perfect for him. She looked up at him as if he single-handedly hung up the stars, with her perfect hair, perfect smile, and that perfect body that made even the bakery apron look like high fashion.

It wasn’t just about Iseul, though. It was about something deeper, something you couldn’t quite explain. It was about not wanting to be replaced and a fear that quietly whispered to you that perhaps, you already had been.

As they continued their chat, the world outside quietly transformed. The snow began to blanket the streets in a delicate layer, framing the moment like a quaint, picturesque postcard. Inside, however, it felt like a different story. You picked at the croffle, the rich cream suddenly feeling too sweet compared to the bitter twist in your mood.

Finally, Namjoon returned, coffee in hands, a bright smile still lighting his face. “Sorry about that! Iseul and I used to be in the same classes at school,” he said, then paused when he noticed your expression. His brows furrowing in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out, taking your hand in his.

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. “Yeah, just… it’s nothing.” You lied, tasting the bitterness on your tongue. God, you hated lying.

He studied you for a moment longer, and for a brief second, you swore you saw something shift in his eyes.

“Alright,” he said slowly, a hint of uncertainty lingering. “Well, let’s dig in! You have to try the milk bread. I promise it’s worth it!”

As you took a bite, followed by a big gulp of coffee, you resolved to push away your insecurity, even if only for today. After all, the reality of your friendship was simple: while you may never make his heart flutter like Iseul seemingly did, you could certainly raise his blood pressure.

Namjoon started a new conversation about the last book he read, and you fell into the familiar flow of dialogue as the snowy scene outside continued to unfold. But every now and then, your gaze would drift to the window, catching a glimpse of the town dressed in white. You found yourself wondering if it was possible to be both happy for him, and fearful of losing him, all while managing to still be his friend amidst the chaos of unbidden feelings.

“Do you remember Hoseok?”

You answered Namjoon’s question with a nod, seeing as he pulled you too abruptly from your thoughts. “He’s the pretty one that stayed over for spring break?”

Namjoon laughed, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable light that made your heart skip a beat —even as you fought against it. Usually, his laughter would unravel the tight knots in your chest, but now, it seemed to tighten them further.

You remembered the visit well — Hoseok rolled up all the carpets in your living room, turning it into an impromptu dancing studio. He was kind, like all of Namjoon’s friends, but he also ate all your snacks and took great pleasure in flirting with you every time you ran into each other, much to Namjoon’s discomfort.

“Yeah, you two broke my laptop,” you started, but he cut you off.

“And I got it fixed!” he countered, defending his clumsy actions, which only made you laugh.

Namjoon chuckled, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “He invited us over for a Christmas party tomorrow. It’s a little get together, if you want to go,”

“Definitely,” you replied, though your enthusiasm felt forced. The prospect of a party sent a thrill through you, but underlying that was a twinge of uncertainty. Would Iseul be there? Would it be just another night of watching Namjoon flirt with someone else knowing you’re just playing the part of girlfriend?

As you took another bite of the croffle, its sweetness still felt bitter, much like the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to be happy for Namjoon, wanting to fulfil the role you signed up for, but now, beneath your smile, there was a complicated mess of fear and longing. More than ever, you felt like all your walls might come crumbling down.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Namjoon’s voice cut through your thoughts again, concern lingering beneath his words “You seem distant.”

You force a smile, but the ache in your chest screamed at you to be honest, to share your doubts instead of masking it under a façade of indifference.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” another lie. How could you possibly explain the heaviness that sat at the bottom of your stomach, the envy bubbling silently inside of you, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breath?

Namjoon leaned back, his warm gaze unwavering, clearly unconvinced. But for the rest of the meal, he didn’t press further. You both continued to eat in comfortable silence, even as the air thickened with unspoken words.

The snowfall outside intensified, painting the windows with a blur of white by the time you were done, and you feared, once again, that the outfit you had chosen was ill-fitted for the icy weather.

Namjoon picked up a box of strawberry tarts for Minhi on the way out, and as he opened the door for you, you saw Iseul waving at him—a darling wave that ignited a firestorm of nerves deep within you.

In that moment, logic fled your mind. Without thinking, you grabbed Namjoon’s coat collar and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and confusion flickering across his face. The warmth of his body felt so close, yet the distance between you —created by your impulsive actions — seemed insurmountable.

You can’t believe what you were doing!

Namjoon was frozen for one second, but then he melted into the kiss. His free hand gently cupping your face, as if he were afraid, you’d run if he moved too quickly.

Namjoon’s lips were soft against yours, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and spreading through you like a slow burn. The world outside seemed to blur even more, the cold, the noise of the streets, the snow rushing into the bakery, it all faded into an unimportant backdrop. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours —gentle, hesitant, yet impossibly comforting.

For a moment, you almost didn’t regret it.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Namjoon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if seeking reassurance. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for something.

You felt the rush of heat flood your face as reality hit like a ton of bricks. What did you just do? The panic set in, an overwhelming wave crashing against your chest. You tried to swallow it down, but the vulnerability felt raw, exposed.

“I-I’m,” you stammered, stepping back slightly, your hands trembling as you pushed them into your coat pockets. “Mistletoe!”

Namjoon blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained where it was for a moment, as if unsure whether to pull away or reach for you again. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was grounding, but the panic in your chest made it difficult to breath. You could hardly believe what you’d just done, but somehow, you still managed to squeeze out the most absurd explanation you could think of.

“Mistletoe,” you repeated, almost too quickly, the word falling past your lips like the snowflakes around you, each syllable hanging in the frigid air like a whispered secret.

His hand dropped to his side, the warmth from his touch slipping away as a flicker of something—concern, confusion, or maybe disappointment—crossed his face. It was hard to pinpoint, but whatever it was, it left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then glanced at the mistletoe above the door. His expression shifted again, more uncertain now, and for a brief moment, there was a palpable silence between you, the world around you swirling in a soft flurry, but it felt like everything had stopped.

“Mistletoe?” he repeated, almost tentative. His eyes didn’t meet yours immediately; instead, they lingered on the mistletoe, as if searching for an answer in the small plant.

You nodded, fighting to keep your voice steady, but your throat felt tight, like the words were getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

“Yeah,” he concluded, “I guess we could always put the blame on the mistletoe…” he said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was still trying to grasp what had just happened.

You were about to argue further, to say something—anything—that would ease the tension building between you both, but just then, someone called out from inside the bakery.

“Hey! Make up your mind! Are you leaving or staying? You’re letting snow inside!” The voice was half-joking, but the discomfort in it made the moment all the more awkward.

Caught off guard, you and Namjoon exchanged a glance, and you both quickly moved toward the door, apologizing profusely to the patrons and the owners as you stepped outside.

“Sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to make a mess,” Namjoon said, his words coming out rushed as he quickly pulled the door closed behind you, sealing off the chilly gust of wind that had followed you out.

You stood for a moment on the snowy sidewalk, the light of the bakery still visible through the frosted windows. The snowflakes seemed to have grown heavier, each flake falling in delicate patterns, as if trying to make the moment less heavy. But it didn’t. The air was cold, the street quiet, and despite the wintery beauty around you, your stomach twisted further and your heart beat erratically. Now it was just you and Namjoon in the silence of the day, both lost in thoughts you wouldn’t put into words.

Namjoon shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the ground before speaking up. His voice hesitant, but there was an underlying softness to it that made your face heat despite the cold.

“So…” he began, trailing off as if searching for the right words. “No tongue this time?”

You blinked at him, your heart skipping over a few beats. The cold seemed to freeze in your lungs as you tried to process what he had just said. For a second, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. You turned your head slightly, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not, but his expression was unreadable.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your voice coming out in a small, nervous laugh. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he was just poking fun at you.

“I mean,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck, “if we’re going to blame it all on the mistletoe…” He trailed off, his tone playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, a flicker of curiosity behind his words.

That’s when you caught it. That familiar teasing glint in his eyes, the expression he had whenever he managed to make you fluster, and you huffed out in indignation, your breath transforming into a small cloud.

You crossed your arms, trying to gather your composure as you glared at him. The cold air biting at your skin, but the warmth of your embarrassment was far more overwhelming.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, your voice teasing but with a hint of defensiveness, as if you were trying to cover up how much his words had affected you. You couldn’t help it. The playful look in his eyes had a way of making your pulse pick up, and it didn’t help that every word he said seemed to sink deeper into the awkwardness of the situation.

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin on his face only growing wider “No, no! I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he said quickly, trying to reassure you, though the amusement in his voice didn’t quite match his words. “Just—y’know, I thought we were sticking with the mistletoe excuse. But, uh, it’s all on you now. You started it.”

“Me? I—” You opened your mouth, searching for a retort, but your brain was still scrambling to catch up with everything. Nothing coherent came to mind, and his look wasn’t helping in the slightest. “You kissed me first!” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, his smile turning smug. “Yeah, on the cheek,” he countered, giving a little shrug as if that settled the matter entirely. He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised as if he was waiting for your response, but when none came, the smugness in his expression only grew. For a moment, you considered whether it was worth the effort to argue with him. But then, his look softened, just enough for you to notice the shift in his expression —something that made your heart pick up again.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The absurdity of the situation—the way it had spiralled from a jealous outburst into whatever this was—left you feeling strangely vulnerable. His presence, so close beside you in the cold, seemed to magnify everything.

“Fine.” You finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, almost chasing the cold away.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened; the teasing look in his eyes returning full force. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “Is that you admitting defeat, or are you too cold to keep arguing?”

He collected your hand in his free one, leading you down the street towards the Christmas market.

You gave him a fleeting glare, narrowing your eyes. “Neither,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed the confidence you were trying to project. “I just don’t see the point in arguing with someone who twists everything to suit their narrative.”

Namjoon’s heartfelt laughter made any of the lingering tension dissipate, his expression taking on a look of sheer mock offence. “Twisting everything? Me?” He shook his head, his expression turning playfully solemn. “I’m just stating facts here. You’re the one who escalated things. I was perfectly content with a friendly mistletoe kiss. No drama. No tongue.”

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped at his audacity. “I did not escalate—oh my god, would you stop saying that?” you hissed, your voice low but filled with exasperation.

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining,” he replied smoothly, his voice softening just enough to send your thoughts spiralling. “But I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Gah! You’re insufferable!”

Namjoon’s grin grew as he watched you fume, his fingers tightening around your hand, as he led you down the snowy streets with easy confidence. The twinkling lights of the stalls cast a soft glow over the scene, the cold air whipped around you, but somehow, the heat between you kept the chill at bay, even if your cheeks were flushed from both the cold and the heated banter.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” you scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the way your beet-red face betrayed you. “I’m not jealous. I’m just…” you trailed off, realising you had absolutely no excuse lined up. The last part came out quieter than you meant, your voice showing more vulnerability than you were comfortable with, and you quickly buried your face in your scarf.

Namjoon tilted his head slightly, his smile not quite fading, but the glimmer of something more thoughtful flickering in his eyes. He slowed his pace, just enough to match yours, the quiet hum of the market and the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet filling the space between you.

"You’re just... what?" he prompted gently, his voice laced with curiosity and that familiar edge.

“Just acting like a good fake girlfriend would.” You concluded, trying to keep your tone casual, but you felt your stomach churn slightly as you lied, like you were trying to brush off something that had begun to feel a lot more real than you expected.

Namjoon’s expression shifted — just a little. His face softened as he thought it over, then he gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder, his voice light as he responded, “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll admit, you’re pretty good at it.”

His tone made your heart settle a bit, but you couldn't shake the underlying tension that had suddenly crept in. You hadn’t meant to sound so serious, and yet there was something in his eyes now that made you second-guess everything. He gave a small chuckle, the kind that felt like distance—just enough to make you realize he wasn’t leaning in any closer, but not pulling away either.

He let go of your hand for a moment, running it through his hair, then casually reached for it again, as if nothing had changed.

“Well, as long as I’m the good fake boyfriend, we’re golden.”

You nodded, still completely flustered, but grateful for the shift back to something a little more familiar. He wasn’t pressing anymore. He wasn’t trying to read your true intentions. He was just… being Namjoon, your friend, your roommate, the guy who could make you laugh and leave you absolutely wrecked emotionally.

The rest of the walk was quieter, but not in an uncomfortable type of way. He kept walking besides you, hands stuffed in his pockets, occasionally throwing out a random comment or nudging you along with him as you made your way through the busy market and to the small Christmas tree lodge.

You two picked a tree without much debate. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air as you threaded through the festive area, the twinkling lights surrounding you. Namjoon’s presence besides you was oddly comforting—like an anchor in the whirlwind of noise and flashing lights. As you both made your way to the tree lot, he casually pointed out the skinniest, most scrawny-looking trees, joking about how much he’d like to buy one just to see his mother’s reaction.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his commentary, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. The awkwardness in the air had faded, at least for the moment, and you were thankful for it, seeing as you didn’t need more things to overthink tonight.

After a bit of back-and-forth, you both finally settled on a tree—a little taller than you both had anticipated, but perfectly symmetrical, with just the right amount of fullness.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You two stopped to grab lunch at a modest-looking food stall, the inviting scent of fishcakes winning Namjoon over. You both enjoyed the warmth of the food as the wind continued to bite at your cheeks, the steam rising from your cups offering the briefest respite from the cold.

You tried mulled wine for the first time—warmed, spiced, with a tangy sweetness, but most importantly, warm—and to your surprise, you liked it.

The two of you wandered a bit more, chatting idly and laughing at each other’s jokes, not caring much for the crowds around you.

And before you knew it, Jackson had pulled up in his car to take you both home. The drive was quick and quiet, with the warm glow from the streetlights casting soft shadows across the interior of the car. Namjoon leaned back against his seat, looking content, while you sat in the front, trying not to overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours.

Namjoon teasing you about ogling his naked chest felt like it happened an eternity ago.

And now, here you were, getting ready for bed again.

The tree got decorated under Minhi’s careful supervision, looking more like a Pinterest masterpiece than a simple holiday decoration when she was done with it, and Namjoon, to his credit, managed to break only one bauble during the whole process.

The evening wound down quietly after the tree was finished. Minhi insisted on taking a dozen photos of her work, including some with the whole group in front of the tree. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery, while Minhi tried (and failed) to strike a serious pose before dissolving into laughter in his arms.

You stood off to the side, trying to figure out what to do with your hands, but Namjoon made the decision for you. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The flash went off, capturing the moment forever, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond the warmth of his body and the quiet weight of his laughter in your ear. It felt so unguarded, so easy, that for a fleeting moment, you could almost forget it was just pretend.

Later, Minhi pulled a mistletoe plant from her bag with an exaggerated flourish, announcing it was tradition. She delighted in the awkward reaction it drew from both you and Namjoon, who immediately avoided eye contact with each other, mumbling something about “respecting personal space.” But Minhi didn’t press too hard, instead planting a sweet kiss on Jackson’s cheek that had him grinning like a fool in love.

After that, their parents got home, dinner was served, and you finally got your turn taking care of the dishes.

You quietly tiptoed your way to the bed, shivering slightly once you felt the coldness of the room, but careful not to make a sound. Your nighttime routine had taken longer than usual, and you were doing your best to avoid waking Namjoon, who fell asleep while waiting for you. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the little reading lamp he left on for you, casting a soft shadow across the space.

Slipping under the covers, you turned off the light and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. But before you could settle, Namjoon stirred, and with almost no time to react, he turned around and wrapped an arm around you.

Your breath caught as he pulled you close, his chest warm against your back, his movements unhurried and natural, as if this was something he did all the time. You felt him bury his head into your hair, his voice low and groggy as he murmured, “It’s cold. Don’t stay so far away.”

The weight of his arm was grounding, but your heart was anything but steady. You lay there stiffly for a moment, your mind racing again. But his breathing slowed, steady and even, and the warmth of his presence started to seep into your bones, melting the tension little by little.

You didn’t move or speak, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over the moment. Instead, you let yourself slowly relax into his chest, his arm tightening slightly as if he could sense your shift.

The cold, the overthinking, the lingering awkwardness—it all faded, replaced by the quiet sound of his breath and the calm rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

You were absolutely hopeless.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon smut #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #the holiday pretense

117 notes · View notes