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lubdubology · 7 months ago

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Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too.

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave.

One month.

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away.

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist.

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help.

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves.

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart.

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features.

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further.

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips.

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it.

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway.

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter.

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.”

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence.

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver.

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft.

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin.

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind.

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you.

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus.

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile.

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence.

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into.

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity.

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity.

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips.

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt.

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry.

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative.

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing.

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls.

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper.

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured.

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say.

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go.

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin.

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense.

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack.

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart.

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole.

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.”

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you.

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features.

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is.

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase.

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock.

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering.

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm.

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him.

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release.

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well.

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent.

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture.

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony.

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him.

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you.

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you.

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees.

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose.

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat.

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips.

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet.

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit.

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist.

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you.

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close.

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him.

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease.

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his.

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan.

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life.

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter.

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

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ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

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Error 404: Spin-off

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Update: Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized (That's it, that's the plot). Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, slight crack (literally. lmao, you’ll see), FLUFF! A/N: Finally starting the spin-off! Hello again 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 I’ve got a rough outline for the flow and a few key chapters mapped out, but I’m keeping it flexible for the most part. This isn’t gonna be a full structured story, so think more like vignettes of their life, w/ some world-building here and there (laying some groundwork for future chapters hehe). Come thru if you wanna see what error!Sylus and our lil player are up to post-reality jump 🙂‍↕️🙏🏼 Also: no posting schedule! I’m treating this like a chill side project I can pick up whenever, so not every part’s gonna be lengthy/that polished hehe. Mostly short snippets, unless the chapter calls for a longer one. (P.S. Just send a DM if you want to be taken off the taglist lol. I just assumed you guys would still want to follow along, but no pressure at all if you don’t! 💕)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

You keep waiting to wake up.

For the sound of your phone alarm to blare somewhere beneath the covers, forcing you to fish it out at seven-thirty-something in the morning. For this absolutely wonderful, absolute mindfuck of a dream, to end—and for the real world to set in.

For another uneventful day to begin, the way it usually does after a short reprieve from the hustle and the bustle of life.

From behind the bathroom door, the sound of the shower cuts off.

You scramble to open the cupboard overhead, grabbing the pepper shaker from the first shelf. You do four rotations over the half-cooked omelette before flipping it over with a rubber spatula, trying not to lose your cool. Or what’s left of it.

Three days. It’s been three days since it dawned on you that Sylus has actually managed to cross the threshold – through a tiny, impossible fissure in the fabric of reality – just to get to this dimension. Your dimension.

Three days since you locked eyes with the other half of your soul from across a room, no screen separating the two of you for once. No physical barrier to stop him from catching you as you ran toward him past the counter, just as twilight kissed the sky goodnight, sobbing at the first touch of his skin—electric against yours. The taste of his lips, the bittersweet notes of extant longing and pure bliss blooming on your tongue as he captured your mouth in his; the two of you lost in each other, uncaring of anything beyond that precious, shared moment.

And three days for your mind to finally catch up to the sheer impossibility of it all.

As far as your Sundays go, you’d say this one takes the cake.

He’s been staying in a modest little rental just a couple of blocks away from you. Nothing extravagant – just a transient house he’s leased for the week. Not that you’ve technically been inside to know; he only pointed it out once, the single-storey residential from across the main street, as the two of you were heading back home—your home. To your little studio apartment.

Him. Sylus. In your condo. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it.

You know that he’d just arrived in town two days before that fateful encounter at the bistro. That he’d already done his research to know exactly where you were going to be during that hour, and that he’s been here, on Earth, for quite some time now. Even before meeting you.

But past this knowledge, you haven’t actually covered much of anything, really. Just this little awkward dancing around you’ve been doing since you’ve been together.

And you know you should ask, probe, have him break down the hows of his existence to you, a clearer timeline of exactly when he popped into this world, what he’s been up to in all the time he’s been here… and why he’s even waited so long to come to you directly.

You’re painfully aware that it’s just you who’s keeping yourself from getting the answers you want. You’re the one making this harder than it needs to be. You can’t help it.

There’s no manual to tell you how to deal with your emotions when your virtual lover appears in front of you, in the flesh, miraculously defying all laws of physics in the process. No handbook telling you what to do next when something you’ve been wishing for every night before going to bed – for the past two years – actually manifests into being.

Someone you’ve always longed for, staked deep within the confines of your heart, but never truly imagined the consequences of until your wishful thinking bled into reality.

And now he’s here.

All things considered, you think you’ve done an okay job at acting like everything’s normal. Mostly. Probably.

(You haven’t.)

The day after he showed up at your proverbial doorstep, you almost couldn’t believe everything that had transpired a mere twenty hours ago was even real. That maybe your brain had just gotten creative enough to invent a Hallmark-worthy scene to win you a one-way trip to your therapist—and that, maybe, you’d conjured him up simply because you missed him and you’re so down bad, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you.

...which nearly had your soul catapulting out of your body at the sight of the—extremely corporeal, extremely attractive—raven-haired (!) man moving through your kitchen the first morning he stayed over, wearing a black V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants, ambling barefoot like he already knew the place by heart.

You suppose he does, you allow cautiously, an odd sort of warmth blooming in your chest at the thought. Of course he would.

Still. It didn’t erase the surrealness of seeing Sylus, the Sylus—mortal, perfect, wonderfully alive—brewing you a cup of coffee at nine in the morning, your brain failing to fully comprehend the image of his towering figure working your faulty, secondhand De’Longhi like a pro.

"Are you," he started, eyes zooming in on the spot between your thumb and forefinger, mouth twitching like he's trying not to laugh, "pinching yourself?"

You had quickly withdrawn your hand, schooling your face into a poor attempt at nonchalance as you reached for the steaming blue mug he was holding out to you. "...No."

You can't help but hover around him, like some weird satellite desperate for orbit. You find yourself sneaking glances every five seconds—and more often than not, he meets your gaze with a wayward look of his own.

He never calls you out on it; he just gives you an infuriatingly impish smirk that sends your heart into overdrive, making you feel younger than you are.

You’re still stewing over the events of the past few days, absentmindedly worrying whether the eggs needed more salt, when you hear the bathroom door open.

You whip your head around, and all systems crash to a stop.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

He’s standing there—all six-foot-five of pure, lean muscle, like sin sculpted out of marble and left to walk your unvacuumed parquet wood floor without so much as a care for the cluttered little living space he’s in, looking completely at ease. Fresh from the shower, steam rising lazily from every inch of bare skin laid out in front of you, and it’s like The Neuron™ in your brain activates. The towel slung low across his hips leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, reducing your thoughts monosyllabic, like some half-evolved primate ready for mating season or whatever. Hot man. Hot man shirtless. Involuntarily, your eyes track a stray rivulet sliding down; right where the faintest suggestion of a happy trail (!!!) begins and ends… and you’re gone. Lost in some kind of trance.

Utterly hypnotised, you watch as it soaks into the edge of the borrowed sage green terry cotton, faintly wondering if what’s beneath it could soak you the same way, shit—

A strangled noise slips past your lips.

It’s terrible. You sound like a dying cow. Hot man’s fault. Bad.

A snort breaks you out of your shameless ogling.

Your head jerks up like you’ve been caught red-handed doing something you're not supposed to, guiltily meeting his eyes. You see Sylus already watching you wryly, the heavy drag of his half-lidded stare rooting you in place.

Your face starts to flush red with embarrassment, heat climbing all the way up to your ears.

He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe; arms crossed loosely over his chest, completely relaxed, and clearly getting a kick out of whatever expression you’ve got at the moment. His gaze doesn't waver, stuck on you like glue, drinking in every flustered reaction with quiet amusement.

You swallow nervously. His eyes flicker down, tracing the movement of your throat, and his lips tug up into a semblance of a smile.

Fuuuuck.

"You already started on breakfast without me, sweetie?" He tuts in mock-disapproval. "I told you it’d take me less than twenty minutes to shower."

You don’t manage much in response, just a dumb, garbled, "mhm, s’okay."

You're completely blanked out at this point—bluescreen dead if you will—except for one panicked thought flashing through your brain: Holy shit, he's practically naked. Sylus Qin from Love and Deepspace is practically naked in my house.

Then, not long after, a chorus of, “oh my god oh my god oh my god” starts looping in your head, overriding what little composure you had left like some raunchy PSA warning you about the dangerous rise of moisture down south.

Sylus cocks his head slightly, sending you a sly, knowing look—one that says he knows exactly what's going on in that overstimulated little brain of yours.

Slowly, he pushes himself off and saunters closer to where you are, taking his time crossing the distance with easy, measured steps. As if he’s in no rush at all to get to you. As if he’s merely curious whether you’ll combust just from him shortening the proximity between your bodies.

(You think you just might.)

And when he’s standing barely a few inches away – close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him – Sylus leans down, effectively trapping you between the counter and the solid wall of his chest. Between granite and sinew.

You lose all capacity to speak.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out a hand to shut off the burner stove behind you with an easy flick of his wrist, the brief brush of his arm sending a shiver down your spine. Then, with maddening tenderness, he pinches your cheek between two fingers—his thumb caressing the spot right after.

In a voice filled with faux sympathy, he coos, “What’s got you all distracted, poppet?”

He’s teasing. You know he’s teasing.

He’s done nothing but tease you with his devastatingly good looks, his overwhelming presence, and syrupy words spoken so sinfully in that low cadence of his voice, ever since he arrived. And, oh, you’re not sure whether to scream or kiss the smug look off his face silly.

You’re so bad at being subtle. You always have been, especially when it comes to him. And you know you can’t hide anything from Sylus – from the smallest flicker of microexpression on your face, down to the shortness of your breath. Both of you know this. Both of you painfully aware of the effect he has on you.

And just as much, you know he’s been holding himself back—that no matter how flirtatious he gets, he’s still keeping enough control to pull away whenever you start to get too overwhelmed.

Despite his provocations, Sylus never pushes. He waits, patiently. Giving you the space to volley back if you want to. And if you don’t, he backs off in a second, with the same effortless ease he uses to tease you. Leaving you room to breathe again.

Rinse, repeat.

It’s almost as if you two are playing a game with poorly drawn rules. You don’t know who’s winning.

The little spell breaks when you feel a disgruntled meow against your shin; it's immediately followed by a cat headbutting you, twice in succession, with a surprising amount of aggression.

"Not used to sharing your mother, are you?" Sylus sighs, pulling back from where he’d been caging you in—his movements slow, reluctant.

A warning hiss rises from below. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back to a safer distance, just out of swiping range.

"Yes, yes. You win,” he grumbles in acquiescence at the testy feline, a comically put-upon look on his face. “For now.”

You pull your eyes away from his bicep—look, you're just a girl, okay—to blink down at the temperamental little creature who’s now self-appointed himself as your personal foot guard.

He’s making some vague, cryptic noises, something between a purr and a growl, while keeping his eyes locked firmly on Sylus’ leg.

"He–um, he might just be hungry," you manage to mutter. A quick glance at the food bowl says otherwise. "...or not."

Sylus huffs under his breath, a low sound, equal parts understanding and mildly affronted. He tilts his head – eyes narrowing at the untouched kibble, then to the small furry menace claiming your feet like a jilted lover.

Unfortunately, Maru’s reception to the new person has been... less than cordial.

From the moment Sylus walked in the apartment, Maru had hissed at him as if to say: There is no reason for a Man to be here, before darting beneath the coffee table – tail lashing with all the theatrics of a petulant child. The churlish product of a mother who's been single for far too long, that he’s decided he’s the only boy she’ll ever need.

It strikes you as a little odd. He never usually gets antsy around guests, and you'd even thought he and Sylus got along—or at least, back when the man in question was confined to mere pixels on screen.

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted on that.

Sylus, to his credit, hasn't once tried to close the distance or force a peace treaty. Amused, definitely; the way his eyes glint whenever Maru glares at him could almost qualify as charmed. But since stepping into your home, he’s been mindful about giving the creature a wide berth, moving with the quiet understanding that respect here is sacrosanct, something to be earned. That he’s the one imposing, and the truce between him and the (true) man of the house is a fragile, delicate thing.

You honestly haven’t decided if Maru’s behaviour is because he’s protective... or just pissed that someone else is hogging your attention.

"It’s alright, sweetie," Sylus—your son’s chosen rival—soothed you reassuringly; his hand rubbing a slow, comforting circle over the small of your back when he caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. "He’s just feeling territorial about his space right now. Give it some time."

“I’ll get dressed,” Sylus murmurs. “Don’t start on the coffee without me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another between your brows; the casual, freely-given affection leaves you warm and gooey inside. He turns toward your vanity, where his black duffel bag rests on the small plastic saddle chair.

You watch his retreating figure for a few seconds—long enough for him to glance back over his shoulder, one brow lifted in lazy inquiry. And the look is so familiar; so painfully reminiscent of the one he gives you in-game, right after you’d deliver a ‘slap’ to his ass, that it knocks you a little off-kilter.

… Which might explain why you don’t react fast enough when his eyes flash with mischief, and he casually undoes the knot of his towel.

The fabric drops.

You catch a glimpse—more than a glimpse, hello—of the perkiest butt you’ve ever seen in your life, and you spin around so fast you slam your elbow into something undoubtedly solid in the process.

A half-pained, half-mortified wheeze escapes your throat.

"Careful," he calls out to you—and though amusement colors his voice, there's a real thread of worry beneath it, enough to make you want to slam your head against the counter for some inexplicable reason. "Don’t feel the need to grant me modesty on my behalf, kitten."

"Kitten’s about to kill herself," you lament with a whine.

It earns you an unimpressed scoff.

“I just got here, my love,” he deadpans without missing a beat. “Daddy’s gonna have to ask you to hold on a little longer.”

You choke on nothing but air. Critical system failure.

Buffering… buffering… buffering…

You inhale sharply.

"Okay, pause," you beg, a slightly hysterical edge to your tone as you claw your way back from a full-blown breakdown. In an attempt to divert the topic, “D’you–uh, do you want anything on your eggs? I’ve got ketchup, hot sauce... barbecue sauce..."

"A proper chef now, are you?" And oh, the next thing you know, he’s right behind you again. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your shirt.

He smells faintly like your body wash, like Dove nourishing coconut and your calendula shampoo, a heady mix of something sweet and herbal.

The thought of him—of the both of you—smelling the same, actually makes you feel giddy.

What a stupidly trivial, novel thing to find joy in.

Snap the fuck out of it, it’s just soap, you chide to yourself.

You don’t even notice you’re trembling until Sylus curls a large hand around yours; steadying the shaky fingers reaching for the bottle of Cholula on the condiment tray, while his other hand gently cradles your hurt elbow.

Your breath hitches when he presses a kiss to your temple.

"Oh, sweetie," he murmurs, and it’s the way he says it—low and unbearably fond—that loosens some of the tension on your shoulders. "You’ve wound yourself up."

"I'm good," you mumble, though your voice betrays you, thinner than you mean it to sound.

"It's just me," he says, his tone as gentle as the breeze slipping through the open window, ruffling the choppy bangs that frame your face. "Nothing so different from how it’s always been, hmm?"

And you know he’s right. It's just him. Just Sylus. Your Sylus. No different from the one from two years ago.

"I know," you sigh, finally turning to face him, having to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes.

His expression is softer now, the type of softness reserved solely for you, something that never fails to make you ache. The teasing is gone, tucked away for the time being.

"I just need a little time to wrap my head around this," you admit, voice quieter now. "Is that... is that okay?"

The greys of his eyes melt into something silvery, moonlit—impossibly tender.

In one smooth motion, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and steps between your legs, closing what little space remains between you. You yelp in surprise, but before you can react, he’s already leaning in, stealing a kiss from your lips. Just a quick one, like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed a taste to hold him over. He chuckles when he sees your wide-eyed look.

"Of course, my love," he says, voice wrought with promise—in love with the way your lips part, bitten pink and unsure, as he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. "We’ll go as slow as you want. Forever, if that’s what you need." Forever, as what you two have.

…

For over a year, you’ve learned how to enjoy the small things alone. And you did—enjoy it, you mean. Once, almost a lifetime ago, you took for granted the quiet joys of a slower life. But you learned to take it day by day. One hour at a time, minute after minute.

It made room for reflection, and it moulded you into something stronger, and softer, all at once.

But this—with him—brings you back to another time. A sweeter time; the dog-day summer of your life.

The morning hums with a kind of quiet normalcy you’ve grown accustomed to. You’re used to the sunlight spilling through the linen curtains, lining the floor with streaks of honey-gold, soft as a happy memory. Used to the noise of the outside world bleeding through the walls, a constant presence you’ve long since accepted as a permanent fixture in this tiny apartment, like a second heartbeat.

He’s right, in a way.

This isn’t so different from the mornings you once shared with the same man—back when he wore a different face and led an extraordinarily polarized life, completely at odds with yours. The ones spent laughing into a screen, your fingers ghosting across glass, desperate to grasp something you never could.

That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone lonelier.

So, no. Maybe not quite the same – maybe not even close.

–

You finally allow yourself to give in; to sink into the warmth of him, folding yourself smaller in his embrace like a tired bird nestling into a safer sky, your heart fluttering wild and restless against your ribs. Too big for your body, too full to contain. Here – tangled together in this sliver of morning light – everything that has hurt you feels small in comparison. You were never alone to begin with. But with Sylus in your arms, the world feels brighter than you ever remembered it could be.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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wcters · 4 months ago

Text

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH LANDO

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: little snippets into what your relationship with lando would be like

warnings/contents: some swearing, lotsss of fluff

author’s note: in a headcanons mood so here you are 😚 well i was when i wrote this

- you look at each other as if they hold up the world

- you guys are the walking example of ‘the look of love’

- your eyes soften and your shoulders become less tense when you catch a glimpse of the other

- just utterly captivated ❤️

- you guys have the same judging face

- can communicate through looks

- always has to be touching you

- whether it’s a hand around your waist, your legs on his and a hand around your ankle, pinkies intertwined, doesn’t matter

- you get ready together and go to bed together

- he’ll rest his chin on your head when you’re getting ready

- you have to swat him away to avoid getting your makeup ruined because he’ll start kissing all over your face

- he will wake you up with kisses all over your face as well

- and you will too the rare time you’re up before him

- lando totally naps on you during races where there are red flags or if it’s media day and he’s exhausted

- this is caught so often it’s become a meme

- it’s completely by accident . . . most of the time (he loves when you wake him up by kissing his face)

- when that happens you take soooo many pictures of him and send it to his family

- his siblings find them hilarious and tease him about it

- none of this stops him though, he loves you too much ❤️❤️

- this man is down bad and he’s not ashamed about it ‼️

- always talks about you on stream

- you’re also caught in the back of his streams a lot

- chat always BEGS him to get you on and max does too

- max being like your brother

- been with you through a lot of the hard times of your life and with your relationship

- you can come to him with problems and he’ll help

- if it’s about you and lando, he won’t just stick up for lando he’s your friend too and won’t be bias

- best friends with pietra ‼️

- talk shit about the boys all the time

- salon dates, spa dates, just dates between you two

- max and lando joke that they third wheel when you two are with each other

- which they do

- you guys always joke about running away together and ditching the boys 💍

- you’re friends with a lot of his friends, and the wags

- this includes his streamer friends . . . like morgan

- rivalry with angryginge ‼️‼️

- it’s a joke, of course (is it?)

- you guys would fight for HOURS on stream if people didn’t stop you

- you match his energy and attitude

- make faces and roll your eyes when he talks as if saying ‘this guy?’

- you love him though

- when you meet up for the video he’s in with lando (go read that if you want 😋) you’re both polite and have a good time with each other

- still have a rivalry after though

- clips of you singing karaoke in the car 🎤

- quadrant totally makes a video of you versus ginge

- he wins (you let him, he doesn’t know)

- you’re in a lot of quadrant videos actually

- you always team up with ria to beat the boys 👯‍♀️

- you actually teach her to drive outside of a video . . . or attempt to

- make her a little award 🥇

- you made sure she and all the boys were all right during the 24 hour karting video

- you offered to be in the background just make sure everything was okay

- everyone was grateful 🙏🙏

- kept making sure people were fed, hydrated, felt okay

- you made sure steve or max didn’t feel too pressured to carry the team and not go out there if they weren’t able to

- just kept the mood up and made sure they didn’t worry about filming and the video, that was your job

- treated them to a nice dinner a couple days later after they rested

- even though you’re not the oldest, you’re a mother figure in the group

- when people don’t know where something is or they can’t find it, they call you and you find it (like moms do 😌)

- you’re also a mother figure with oscar

- he’s your kid at this point

- he’s accepted it 🤷‍♀️ he gets to tag along with you and lando on trips and such

- you and nicole love each other and she knows she can trust you to take care of her son

- adoptive kid along with yuki

- you provide the internet with a daily dose lando

- pictures, videos, etc 📷

- it’s kind of like lily’s tiktoks with alex

- how could you not? he drags you EVERYWHERE with him

- you’re like his emotional support person

- you don’t mind, just sometimes he drags you to and makes you do stupid shit

- like jumping off of cliffs on vacation and trying weird and new things . . . except fish

- he still won’t go near fish

- you still tease him for that

- you have scared him with fish before, but that’s a story for another time

- . . . and yes you did catch it on video . . . and yes you did post it

- constantly wearing his clothes: hoodies, shirts, sweatpants, boxers, whatever you can get your hands on

- they go missing . . . it’s probably you 🤷‍♀️

- “hey, have you seen my blue quadrant hoodie?” “no . . . “ “are you wearing it?” “also no . . .”

- he says he’s annoyed at you when you do that but you both know it’s a lie

- he spoils you sooo much

- have a necklace with ‘ln4’ on it

- he loves that necklace . . . maybe a little too much

- buys you jewelry, dresses, bags, etc

- you tell him not too because you don’t need it but he doesn’t care

- flowers 💐

- always buys you flowers, on special occasions and randomly

- just to show he appreciates you ❤️

- you write him love letters

- every time you try to buy him a gift he gives you the money back through another gift or something like that

- so instead of buying things, you make things for him: love letters, food, crafts, etc

- he has a ring you helped make out of a spoon with both of your initials in it

- always wears it, says it’s his good luck charm

- has definitely put your initials on one of his helmets before ❤️❤️

- you cried at that

- his mum took so many pictures of you two together with the helmet

- they’re up in their house with the family photos

- you’re super close with his family

- especially his mom and sisters

- you guys have sleepovers, movie nights, mani pedis, etc

- you help around the house a lot, to the point where his mom has to lightly hit you to get you to go away

- like a daughter to cisca and adam 🥺🥺

- they’ve watched you and lando grow up, and grow up together

- they love you to bits ❤️

- you’re one of lando’s biggest supporters along with his family

- you try to make it to every race, if you can’t you watch it live

- when he won in miami and singapore you were ESTATIC

- you couldn’t have been happier

- searched for you after he congratulated with the team and he kissed you long and hard 🥺

- you have a heart locket necklace with a picture of that in it along with the ‘ln4’ necklace

- just soooo many pictures of you two together in your house in monaco

- you two are just so in love with each other ❤️❤️

- you two never leave the honeymoon phase

- you let lando act like a stupid teenager (with limits, of course) and let him experience what he couldn’t as a kid with his karting career

- everyone around you says they couldn’t imagine the two of you with someone else

- you couldn’t either

- it’s always been him

- it’s always been you

- it will always be each other ❤️

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harrysxcarolina · 5 months ago

Text

oh, it’s my turn now

b. eilish

warnings: wlw, fluff, soft smut, bottom!billie, Billie receiving, teasing, flirting, cussing, mention of alcohol consumption, a sweet treat in honor of the grammys, partial proof read… oops!

Your are an upcoming artist and have been nominated for your first Grammy. Not expecting to win but beyond honored and grateful for the opportunity to be suggested along side some of the best artists in the industry. Not realizing that you have many secret admirers, one unbeknownst to you, you’ve spent the night gushing about some of the people you were excited to see. With your buzzing excitement and raging nerves you didn’t realize just how often you mentioned one person in particular. Your celebrity crush.

As the night unfolds, you accept your first Grammy, getting talk in to attending an after party by your team, to help broaden your social networking, you may have enjoyed your night a little too much with one too many cocktails. Unbeknownst to you, catching the eyes of many. You were glowing. Every step you took. The smile radiating off your cheeks. You were beyond proud. Excited. And honestly just in shock. Thanking all the congratulations with polite nods and smiles you welcome the end of the night.

You weren’t exactly sure what happened on the carpet as the nerves took over your body. You remember bits and pieces and you certainly didn’t remember gushing about your celebrity crush on national television nonstop.

So to your surprise the morning after to your phone being blown up with different videos and edits of interviews from last night of you announcing your crush on the one and only Billie Eilish.

You two weren’t well acquainted, but have spoken at past events and have flirted, lowkey stolen a couple glances, and smirks at one another but neither of you ever taking that next step of crossing that line. You weren’t sure why, you’d be open to it. Can anyone really blame you though? Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s kind, extremely funny, flirty (you love a good flirt, what can you say.)

But one thing you definitely weren’t prepared for was a message on tik tok from said crush, mixed in with your notifications.

Nearly dropping your phone you freeze. Your heart is beating against your chest. Not sure what exactly was gonna be played in the video attached to the message you glance down once again at your phone. Not processing what was happening in front you.

BILLIE EILISH

1 new message 10 hours ago

*video link shared*

Hi pretty girl, I’ve been waiiiittttttinnnn for yaaaa 😌

Waiting so patiently for you…

With a shaky hand you pick up your phone and click on the video. It’s a snippet of one of last nights interviews.

Amelia was the one asking you the question everyone has been wondering.

“So, any new crushes?!” She asked with a raised eyebrow and small smirk.

Biting your lip trying to fight the smirk working its way across your cheeks. Your hands fidget with the lace in your dress as you avoid looking at the camera. Your cheeks heat up with the blush slowly creeping up on you.

“You know I’ve really been crushing on one girl in particular…” you say shyly as you brush a piece of fallen hair behind your ear. Hopeful to hide some of the blush and bashfulness. Giving a quick glance to the camera a small pout on your lips.

“Ohh do tell girl. I’m dying for the tea” Amelia teases as she gently pushes your shoulder.

“I probably shouldn’t-“ you say a nervous chuckle leaves your lips.

“Girl c’mon don’t tease me, please, I promise I won’t tell.” She jokes making the both of you lose it in a fit of giggles. Slightly leaning into each other as you embrace the moment. Loving the fact that she is slowly helping eat away at the nerves building up inside your tummy.

“I’m actually lowkey jealous of you girl, you’ve been on a date with her.” You say with a pout and a soft nudge to her shoulder causing Amelia to laugh. “Tell me. Right now. I want to know.” Amelia demands a smirk on her face.

Taking a quick glance at the camera a shy smirk is played on your cheeks. “I mean-“ you chuckle biting your lip with a shrug off your shoulders. “It’s Billie.” You state looking at Amelia, your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting for her reaction.

“Shut the front door! You guys would be so fucking cute!” She says gushing at you in excitement. You laugh and shake your head glancing around the carpet. Trying to distract yourself from the raging butterflies in your stomach and the heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s where the video ends.

You’re left speechless. Exiting out of the video you stare at Billie’s messages. Gently tapping your fingers on the edge of your phone as contemplate on a reply. The butterflies are fluttering dangerously fast in the pit of your stomach. You keep repeating her words in your head. The utter realization that Billie now knows along with the rest of the world knows about your crush on her.

I’ve been waiiiittttttinnnn for yaaaa

Waiting so patiently for you

Your fingers type feverishly across your screen before your nerves can talk yourself out of it.

***

You sit nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Glancing around the buzzing restaurant hoping to catch sight of the blue eyed girl you planned to meet here casually sipping on the water placed in front of you. Looking down at your phone checking the time you still have a few minutes before your agreed time to meet up, but you being you always had to be early to things. Wanting to make sure to give yourself plenty of time to prepare yourself to be on a date with a girl you’ve been crushing on for a while.

You smell the hint of her perfume before you see her sitting down in front of you. A smirk hung across her face as she sits down and adjust her pants getting herself comfortable. A blush rushes across your cheeks as you take her in. Her long dark locks cascading down her shoulders as she sports a black bandana around the crown on her head. Her piercing blues eyes outlined with black eyeliner and mascara as they hide behind the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose.

Her baggy shirt hanging loosely off her torso, but showing off her curves perfectly. Her jeans hanging just off her hips as the belt securely tugs the material around her hips.

Her bottom lip hides between her teeth as she takes you in as well.

The night goes flawlessly as you both enjoy dinner sharing laughs, smirks, flirty eyes, and the occasional knees brushing under the table, your hands brushing as you pass the salt and pepper back and forth. You breath catches every time, your eyes quickly shooting up to met hers not missing the way her cheeks heat up to a pretty rosy pink anytime you make contact. Her bottom lip slightly swollen as an after math of her teeth nervously nibbling away at it. You can practically feel the heat radiating off the both of you.

The tension getting thicker through out the night as you both shamelessly flirt and banter back and forth. You can’t deny the connection you already feel between the both of you. Taking in all her little details as your eyes trace across her face. Noting all her quirks as her eyes brows twitch in response to a joke you say as you watch her throw her head back in laughter. The way she nervously fidgets with the rings that take claim to her fingers as she talks about the things she is passionate about. The way the light reflecting off her ocean blue eyes leaves you wandering in the waves of wanting to know all the thoughts floating around in that pretty head of hers.

Before you know it the staff notify you that they are getting ready to close up for the night. Not realizing how much time you’ve spent sitting here sharing stories and asking each other questions to hopefully help you both get to know each other on a different level. Smiling politely at the staff mumbling a soft apology as you reach for you purse to care of the bill but are stop before you could even get your bag unzipped. Billie handing her card to the waiter and shushing you as she dismisses your protests.

Stating that it was her treat and how she wanted to. Offering you comforting reassurance that she had a great time, and that she would happily pay for your dinner again if you let her. A smirk playing on her face as she lays her hand across the small of your back. Leading you out the restaurant into the dimly light street. You feel the heat spread across your lower back from the pressure of her fingers rubbing soothing shapes over the fabric of your dress.

The cool breeze brushes through your hair as you both stroll towards your parked cars. Not wanting the night to end as you stand there tightly clutching the straps of your purse not sure what to do with your hands as they itch desperately to trail down her warm skin.

“I had a really good time tonight.” Billie quietly admits as you reach your car. Glancing up at you through her lashes her bashfulness showing through as she takes a step towards you. Her hand reaching out and gently grasping your hips. Your breath hitches as you look down taking in her hand on your hip. Your heart beating so fast against your chest you pray that she couldn’t hear it. Her fingers flexing across your hip.

“Me too. Do you maybe wanna go back to my place?” You rush out not fully realizing what you were saying before you said it. You cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Clutching your purse tighter as you look down at your shoes. Hopeful you didn’t give off the wrong impression. You just weren’t ready to end the night. You felt so safe and comfortable in her presence and you wanted to be greedy and hold onto it a little bit longer.

Her smile is evident as she tilts your head up to meet hers. Her eyes sparkling with a hit of mischief as her response brushes across your face.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She admits as she suggests following you back to your place but not before she lays a soft peck across your cheek.

“Drive safe pretty girl,” She whispers across the shell of your ear before she backs away and heads towards her car.

***

Swiftly unlocking your front door and quickly tossing your keys on the coffee stand right inside the door. Barely having enough time to get through the door before Billie has her hands back on your hips pressing you tightly between her and the door. Your hands tangling themselves deep into her dark locks as your lips battle for dominance. A low moan echos off Billies lips as she trails her kisses down your jaw to your neck.

Head tilting back as your eyes clench shut. Billies hands roaming your lower torso as her lips leave open mouth kisses down your neck. Your grip in her hair tightening as she finds your sweet spot. Sucking and nibbling your skin until she’s satisfied. Hips bucking up against hers in response as her teeth graze across your hot skin. Her tongue soothing the red mark she left behind. Growling as her hips press harder against yours as she gently rocks herself against you.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” She whimpers against your neck. Her hand sliding under the hem of your shirt as her fingertips tease your waistline. Wanting to feel the small hitches in your breathing as she slowly moves her fingertips higher up. Not able to fully form words, to far gone from the feeling of her lips on your neck and her hands roaming your body you shake your head. Her breath hot against your skin as she peppers kisses across your jaw. Her fingertips reaching your under boob stopping briefly to glance up at you silently asking permission. A slight nod is all she needed for a response as she captures your clothed breast in her hand. Whimpering and arching your back off the door as she gropes your breast. Rubbing your sensitive nub through the fabric in your bra causing your head to get dizzy.

You legs wobble slightly trying to engrave the feeling of her lips on your skins as she traces your tongue across you salty skin. Urging her to move things into the bedroom so you can not only get your hands on her, but to also aid in a more comfortable surface.

Body’s tangling together as your back hits your mattress. Billie falling on top of you as her lips don’t miss as beat as she cups your cheek and reconnects your lips. Swallowing her moans as you buck your hips up against her as she slowly slides your shirt up your torso. Tossing it somewhere on the floor as her eyes trace down your body. Her hands gripping your hips as her thumbs gently brush against your warm skin.

A bashful smile works its way across your cheeks as you stare up at her catching her gaze as your hands guide her to rest across your lap. Placing her thighs on either side of your hips her hands return to warm skin. Watching as your chest heaves softly up and down. Brushing the fallen pieces of hair out of her face as she leans down and kisses across your chest. Moaning against your skin as your run your hands up and down her spine pressing her close to you. Her hand sliding down from your cheek to your neck as she deepens the kiss.

Her tongue gently moves across your lower lip patiently waiting for permission to taste you. Tilting your head as your grant her access your hands gripping the hem of her shirt slowly tugging it up her body. Groaning at the fact the both of you still have too much clothing on. Breaking apart from your kiss to remove her shirt the rest of the way before reaching behind her and removing her bra clasp. Smirking down at you as she slowly slides the straps down her shoulders as her breast feel free.

You feel the pool of wetness between your thighs as you moan at the sight in front of you. Her breast sitting perfectly at eye level as your teeth capture your bottom lip. Letting your mind run wild of all the things you want to do with the pretty girl sitting on top of you. Gripping her hips and gently laying her back against the bed. Whispering against her skin, my turn, as your trace your lips down her naked chest.

Making sure to give equal attention as you kiss across her cleavage. Leaving a trail of wet kisses as you look up at her through your lashes. A soft smile spreads across your face as your take in the sight above you.

Her hair sprawled out as her back slightly arches off the bed. Silently begging you to wrap your lips around her aching buds. Her swollen lips and a rosy pink as her pearly white teeth lay their claim against it. Her hands clenching the lose blankets as you graze your teeth across her goosebump covered skin. Getting closer and closer to her perky nipples.

Clasping her buds between your lips as your tongue flicks, sucks, and twists her nipples. Her moans echoing off the walls and into your hears as her hands grasp your head holding you tightly against her. Her hips bucking up uncontrollably against your heated core. You feel the tight pull deep in your core as you become addicted to her pretty moans. Wanting and needed to hear them more.

Working your lips to her other breast your fingers slide their way up from her hip making sure to twist and pull her nipple between your fingertips in time with the flicks of your tongue on her opposite nipple. Her hands tightly tangling themselves in your hair as you release her nipple and work your lips down between her breast. Teasing her skin with the tip of your tongue letting her hands gently control the movement of your head as your leave a trail of kisses in your wake. You can feel her breath hitch as you kiss across her hipbones. You fingers tapping their way up her clothed thigh reaching for her belt. You fingers fumble briefly as you unclasp it and hear the slight chuckle rolling off Billies lips.

Refusing to look up at her as the heat radiates off your cheeks as your unbuckle her pants and slide them down her legs. Taking a moment to pause and really look at her. Tucking a piece of fallen out behind your ear Billie leaning up and cupping your cheek once more. Laying a soft peck to your lips as her thumb brushes against your pink cheeks.

“You’re cute when you blush,” She states as you feel her smile against your lips. Chuckling softly in return as you gently cup her face. Looking up at her not fully believing the events of the last couple days. Her eyes flicker between yours and your lips as she kisses you once more as her hands glide around your torso and up your back. Unclasping your bra and slowly sliding it down with her fingertips. Pulling apart briefly, your foreheads lean against each other as your breast fall free. Her free hand is quick to grope your breast as yours gently spread her thighs. Head falling to her shoulder as she twists and pulls on your nipple. Her lips hot on your skin as your fingers slowly trace up her thigh getting dangerously close to her dripping core.

Moaning as you spread her wetness around teasing her clit with your fingertips gloating at the way her hips buck against your fingers and the way she quietly whimpers in your ear.

“Lay back for me,” you moan as you gently push her back onto the bed and wiggle your way down between her thighs. Her hooded eyes watching your every move as your kisses along her thigh. Your eyes never faltering from hers as you inch your lips closer and closer to her core. She can’t stop herself from wiggling under your touch as you trace your lips everywhere but where she desperately needed them.

“Fuck, please-” she begs as her head tilts back on the pillow her hands grasping at the bed sheets. Her hips bucking up brushing against your lips, causing her to lose herself in another around of moans. Grinning against her skin, wrapping your arms around her hips pinning her torso back down on the bed. Tisking her as your lips kiss up and down her lips. Gently blowing hot air against her wet folds as you look up at her through your lashes.

“What was that?” You reply with a smirk leaving a kiss on her mound. Moving one of her hands to your hair as she bucks her hips up once again. Silently begging you to do anything. Anything at all to the relieve the ache that was building between her thighs. “Please,” she whimpers once more. Her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Please what baby? I need words.” You retort mockingly as you gently flick the tip of your tongue between her folds. Her spread legs shaking slightly as her hips try to grind against your wet muscle. Her groans getting louder as you can feel her frustration from all the pent up tension between the two of you. “You gonna tell me what you want?” You ask as you place a chaste kiss in the crease of her pelvis gently nibbling at her skin. Her back arching off the bed at your soft mocking tone.

“I want- fuck- I want your tongue,” she begs. “I want your fucking tongue. Please!” She gasps as you moan in response. Not needed to be told twice as you dive in between her folds. Relishing in her taste across your buds. Gripping her hips and pulling her tighter against your mouth lapping up everything and anything she’s offering you. Flicking your tongue across her swollen clit. Her hips rotating against you as you slide your tongue between her folds. Working her clit fast and hard as you flatten your tongue out aiding in grinding her hips against your face as you slide your hand up her torso searching for her perky breast. Moaning into her heated core as your rock yourself against the cool sheets twisting and pulling on her nipple as your tongue works faster against her. Sucking her clit gently grazing the sensitive bud between your teeth as Billie looses all control as her legs shake and tremble around your head. Her hands gripping your hair tighter, pulling your face further into her core as you slide your fingers between her folds spreading around her wetness as you steal a quick glance up at her.

You lips and tongue not faltering as you tease her with the tip of your middle finger. Her breathing getting heavier the more you tease her. Her whimpers are soft and sweet as you slowly thrust your fingers fully between her lips. The both of you moaning at the feeling of you finally being between her thighs. Her mouth making a perfect o as you twist and flex your fingers against her walls.

“God, pretty girl, you feel so fucking good.” Billie moans out as she licks her lips looking down at the sight of you between her legs. Sitting up to get a better view of you, with the support of her arms, groaning as she watches your work your tongue between her folds and then back up to her clit. Sucking her deeper into your mouth as you curve your fingers just right searching for her sweet spot. Her head falling back on her shoulders as she groans out in ecstasy.

“Shiiit, yes right there, fuck-” she moans as she holds your head against her core grinding her hips against your warm mouth.

Working your tongue faster as your fingers seep deeper hitting that spongy sweet spot over and over again. Your fingers digging deep into her hip bone with the hand pinning her down on your bed as you feel her begin to clench around your fingers. Squeezing you so tightly as her breath hitches.

“Fuck, keep sucking my clit like that Mamas. I’m going to cum all over- fuck- I’m going to cum all over that pretty mouth of yours.” She declares as you thrust your fingers deeper, sucking her clit deeper into your warm mouth as your tongue flicks and licks away at her sensitive nerve bundle. Her body goes stiff as your feel her clenching around your fingers. Grinding her hips faster against your mouth and fingers feeling the intense build up for her orgasm consuming not only her body but thoughts. That your were making her feel better than she ever had, and that she never wanted it to end.

Rotating your wrist as you help ride out her high for as long as possible. Her breath ragged as her chest heaves up and down. Your tongue laying soft kitten licks along her core. Sliding your fingers gently from between her legs as you kiss your way up her body. Her body jerking slightly from overstimulation as you hear her softly hum. Kissing between the valley of her breast as you slither your hips between hers. Bucking your hips unintentionally against her as you feel her wetness soaks into the front of your pants. Billie hissing as her hands slide up your naked back. Teasing your spine with her fingertips as you kiss your way to her lips. Laying a sweet kiss on her lips before you snuggle into her neck. You feel her heart beat under your fingertips as you trace soothing shapes across her cleavage. A smirk working its way across your face.

“So you’ve been waiting on me huh?” you snort in her neck as her hips grip your hips. A soft hum is heard above you before you feel her lips pressing to your forehead.

Her smirk evident as she quickly flips you over. Laying beneath her as her hands brace herself on either side of your head.

“You have no idea,” she chuckles as she glances down at your half naked body. Her hips pinning yours to the bed as she captures your lips between hers. The kiss is heated and rushed as if she would be worried you’d disappear.. Groaning against you lips as her teeth capture your bottom lip. Gently pulling and letting go with a pop as she trails kisses across your jaw landing right below your earlobe.

“Now it’s my turn,” she growls in your ear leaving her mark all along your neck as she plans all the ways she’s going to have you. Moaning at the endless possibilities.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish girlfriend #billie eilish x female reader #eilish #Billie eilish x you #wlw #b eilish #billie eilish reader

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77zrose · 6 months ago

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ZB1 REACTION TO S/O MUMBLING DURING THEIR SLEEP

genre : fluff , ot9

김지웅 kim jiwoong

jiwoong would be intrigued and surprisingly attentive. At first, he’d glance over to make sure you were okay, and then he’d sit quietly, listening to the sounds you were making. If it was something funny or unusual, he might smirk to himself, finding the moment too precious to forget. He’d likely record a small snippet—not to embarrass you but to tease you lovingly the next morning. “You were having quite the conversation in your sleep last night,” he’d say with a teasing grin. However, if your mumbling sounded upset or worried, Jiwoong would immediately reach out, caressing your cheek gently and whispering, “It’s just a dream, love. You’re safe.” His calm, steady presence would be enough to make sure you slept peacefully.

장하오 zhanghao

zhanghao would find the whole situation amusing and irresistibly cute. When he hears you mumbling, he’d stop whatever he’s doing and lean closer, trying to catch what you were saying. If it sounded like you were saying words, he might even join in, playfully responding in a hushed tone, “Oh, really? Tell me more.” He’d treat it like a one-sided conversation, chuckling softly at how unaware you were. If you were completely unintelligible, he’d still find himself entertained, marveling at how endearing you looked in such a vulnerable state. The next morning, he’d bring it up with a mischievous glint in his eye, teasing you gently. “So, were you practicing for a debate in your sleep last night?”

성한빈 sung hanbin

hanbin would find your sleep mumbling heart-meltingly adorable. The moment he hears you muttering softly, he’d pause whatever he’s doing and lean in closer to listen, a fond smile spreading across his face. He might try to make sense of your words, whispering to himself, “What are you dreaming about?” If it sounded like you were dreaming of something silly or nonsensical, he’d chuckle quietly, feeling endeared by this rare glimpse into your unguarded state. If your tone shifted to something distressed, though, Hanbin’s protective side would kick in—he’d gently stroke your hair or whisper soothing words like, “It’s okay, I’m here,” until you seemed calm again. No matter what, he’d make sure you were tucked in snugly and comfortable.

석 매튜 seok matthew

matthew would instantly think it’s the funniest and cutest thing ever. He’d try so hard not to burst into laughter, covering his mouth to avoid waking you up, but his shoulders might shake with quiet giggles. If your mumbling was particularly strange or funny, he might whisper something like, “What are you even dreaming about?” just to amuse himself. At the same time, he’d find it so endearing that he’d lean in closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face and marveling at how precious you looked. In the morning, he’d tease you endlessly but in the softest way, laughing, “You were saying the weirdest things last night—do you even know what you were dreaming about?”

김태래 kim taerae

taerae would immediately be charmed by your sleep mumbling, his heart melting at how peaceful and vulnerable you looked. He might sit quietly for a moment, just watching you with a soft smile, trying to catch what you were saying. If your words didn’t make sense, he’d chuckle quietly to himself, thinking about how cute it was. If your mumbling sounded restless or distressed, Taerae would spring into action, softly humming a tune or even singing a quiet lullaby to soothe you. His voice would be calm and reassuring, and he’d hold your hand or gently stroke your hair to help you relax. In the morning, he’d bring it up gently, asking, “Were you dreaming about something funny last night? You were talking in your sleep.”

리키 ricky

ricky would be completely fascinated, though he’d act cool about it. The moment he heard your sleep mumbling, he’d perk up and lean closer, trying to figure out what you were saying. If it was something funny or nonsensical, he’d smirk to himself, tempted to record it but ultimately deciding against it. Instead, he’d memorize the funniest parts to tease you about later. In the morning, he’d casually bring it up with his trademark playful confidence: “You were saying some pretty weird stuff in your sleep last night. Should I be worried?” If you got embarrassed, he’d reassure you with a grin, “It’s cute, don’t worry.” Deep down, he’d find the whole thing incredibly endearing.

김규빈 kim gyuvin

gyuvin would have no filter—if your sleep mumbling was funny, he’d burst into laughter almost instantly. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giggling, even if it risked waking you up. If you stirred, he’d try to stifle his laughter, whispering, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just—you were saying the weirdest things!” He’d lean in closer, hoping to catch more of your words, and might even attempt to interpret your dream based on what he heard. If you woke up and caught him laughing, he’d try to explain through his giggles, “You were having the funniest conversation in your sleep!” While he’d definitely tease you about it later, he’d still find the whole thing ridiculously cute.

박건욱 park gunwook

gunwook would be both curious and shy about the whole situation. Hearing you mumbling in your sleep, he’d tilt his head and listen carefully, trying to make sense of it. If it sounded funny or random, he’d quietly laugh to himself, thinking about how adorable you looked. However, if it seemed like you were dreaming about something stressful, he’d gently nudge you or whisper softly, “It’s okay, I’m here,” hoping to comfort you without waking you up fully. He might spend a few extra moments watching you sleep peacefully afterward, his heart full of affection. In the morning, he’d tease you lightly, saying, “So, what kind of dream were you having last night? You were mumbling a lot.”

한유진 han yujin

yujin would be caught between confusion and amusement. At first, he’d stare at you, blinking as he tried to figure out what you were saying. “What are you even dreaming about?” he’d whisper to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. If your mumbling sounded particularly strange, he’d quietly laugh, covering his mouth so he didn’t accidentally wake you. If he couldn’t understand what you were saying, he’d just let it slide and watch you for a moment, thinking about how funny and cute you were. The next morning, he’d shyly bring it up, saying, “You were talking in your sleep last night… Do you even remember what you were dreaming about?” If you got embarrassed, he’d reassure you with a shy laugh, “No, it was cute, really!”

hi people im back from the small hiatus ill be posting more. if you’d like you can make a request i write for groups like: zb1, p1harmony, seventeen, project7 ( upcoming group ), bts, straykids, ateez, evnne, onepact, riize (ot7), bnd & many more just request don’t be afraid ! i dont write smut only fluffs and more. smut maybe in the future -3- (I’ll make a masterlist soon)

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thevillainswhore · 1 year ago

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New Tricks: A Pure Love

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 11.5k

Summary: From first kisses to first dates, the two of you have come a long way from pining over the other in secret and innocent touches during an unplanned movie night. But now, what once was a forbidden fantasy for an unattainable crush becomes reality when you coach Bucky Barnes through losing his virginity.

Warnings: College AU, brother’s best friend!Bucky, fluff, swearing, teasing, smut, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex, nipple play, handjob, praise kink, size kink, big hints of subby Bucky, dorky Bucky, love confessions.

Author’s Note: Beta and dividers by @rookthorne, she’s been my rock through this whole AU. Words will never be enough to thank you my love ❤️ Here is part three and the final instalment to New Tricks’ main storyline 🥹

New Tricks Masterlist 🌼🐾

New Tricks Playlist 🎵

Your evening together has been magical, something pulled straight out of your dreams. The visuals of the bright, glowing stars and planets are nothing in comparison to the smile that pulls at Bucky’s mouth, even after the two of you left the museum.

During the walk back to your dorm with Bucky, he talks constantly and animatedly about the planetarium — recounting his joy for all the astronomical wonders he got to witness up close. And listening to your boyfriend’s contagious glee for a date you put together has you grinning from ear to ear.

In the late hour, you make a stop on your way back to the local twenty-four hour dessert parlour that is close to your dorm, opting for two single scoop ice cream cones. Bucky chose chocolate; you chose strawberry, and you stroll hand in hand down the Brooklyn cobblestones.

“I still can’t believe you don’t like chocolate ice cream, Bee,” Bucky accuses with his mouth full, shaking his head with a high sense of mock disapproval.

You roll your eyes playfully and scoff. He hasn’t stopped complaining about your dislike for chocolate flavoured treats since you revealed that snippet of information while you perused the options available to you at the parlour. “How many times are we going to go over this, Buck? Strawberry is superior,” you tell him with a proud smile.

“Absolutely not!” Bucky gasps, outraged. “I refuse to listen to this slander against chocolate.”

“Drama—” Your retort is cut short by him pressing you against the wall of the building next to you. The cone of ice cream in your hand almost topples precariously, interrupting you mid lick, and he ignores your surprised shout of, “Hey!”

“We are settling this right now, Buttercup.” He looks deep into your eyes with dire seriousness. “You’re gonna try mine and tell me that you like it.” The cone of chocolate ice cream appears in your peripheral vision.

“Bucky!” You laugh. “I haven’t tried chocolate ice cream in years!”

“All the more reason to try it now.” He holds his cone up to your mouth, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes and a pout on his plump lips. “For me?”

“Y’know, you can’t keep bribing me with those puppy eyes — No matter how handsome you are.”

With a cheeky smile, he whispers, “Is it working, though?”

Sighing in defeat, you can’t help the upturn of your lips at his charm. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Hit me with it.”

Like the cat who got the cream, Bucky closes the gap between you and the cold treat, letting it slightly touch your lips — the cold sensation makes you shiver, and you tentatively stick your tongue out, slowly laving it up the side of the scoop of ice cream.

The strong taste of cocoa and sugar doesn’t impress you, and you flick your gaze towards your boyfriend to say as such, only, he’s homed in on the motion of your tongue while you lick the last remnants of cream from your lips.

He shudders, the strong line of his shoulders shaking with the force of them, and he pants quietly. The rise and fall of his chest is uneven while his blue eyes darken to a stormy grey.

It's difficult to contain the satisfied smirk growing on your lips as you ask teasingly, “You good, baby?”

Bucky gulps, unsuspecting of such an innocent act to affect him so much. “I’m uh— I’m good.” His head bobs up and down, no real confidence in his answer, but his stare still pins you in place and he bites his bottom lip. “How’d you like it?”

“Hmm,” you hum, then you lick your lips again — just to make sure they are entirely clean, of course. Bucky’s eyes follow the movement with rapt attention. “I have to say…” The urge to use pretence to answer his question makes you want to burst into laughter, but you soldier on with the truth. “I’m sorry, honey. I still stand by my initial statement.”

The erratic movements of his chest abruptly cease, and his eyes never leave yours while you lean forward, closer to his lips. “But,” you whisper, the tips of your fingers dancing up his chest. Every touch builds the deepening tension swirling in his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt to try something new every so often, Puppy.”

You reach up to the corner of his mouth and swipe the smudge of chocolate ice cream left there with your thumb, then suck it into your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop — it feels like you well and truly break his resistance.

Bucky’s fingers twitch against the cone by your lips, and it crumbles. The forceful puffs of air from his parted lips blow against your mouth, the inevitability of him pouncing on you any second undeniable.

Rather than making it easier on him, you smirk and push him back by his shoulder. “Never hurts to experiment — Try new things. You never know.”

The dazed expression on his features is innocently sweet, and you try not to laugh as he reaches out for you to drag you back, but you dodge his hands and walk away, out of reach. You look at him over your shoulder and lick up the dribbling cream that almost reaches your hand.

Bucky stares after you, mouth agape. “I— What—” He shakes himself back to reality, and he licks his lips, brushing his long hair back with his fingers and he throws his crumbled ice cream cone into the nearest trash can — no longer interested in that sweet treat.

Bucky’s long strides work to catch up with you, a new kind of spark in his eyes you haven’t seen before. “Something new, huh?”

“Yeah, handsome,” you purr. The steps to your apartment come up, and you take the first few with your back to Bucky, a smirk playing on your lips. Just as you reach the entryway door, you look over your shoulder at your boyfriend, who returns your coy smile with a hesitant one of his own. “Sometimes you’ve got to just let go and give in.”

Bucky stands behind you while you unlock the door to your dorm. The material of his button up shirt scrapes against the bare skin of your arm, and you try to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine, but it's useless. The air is charged with a thick tension unfamiliar between the two of you, and you feel as though you're swimming in new territory, wading into the depths of the unknown.

“I had a great time tonight, Bee,” Bucky says quietly over your shoulder; the urge to kiss the skin there too tempting for him not to fall into.

A shiver ripples down your spine from the sensation of his lips tickling your skin, and you stop just as you’re about to open the door. They move carefully over the slope of your neck and up to the lobe of your ear.

Reining in your arousal, you turn around and agree with a broad smile. “Me too, handsome.”

His eyes flicker between you and the door to your dorm. You hold his hand while the other rests on the handle behind you. “Ready to go in?” you ask.

Bucky clears his throat. “Mhm,” he mumbles, and with his confirmation, you open the door. Immediately, the glow of orange lights grab his attention as they dance on the ceiling. Lit candles are placed on surfaces around the room, while your vinyl record turntable plays soft music.

The ambiance seems to both intrigue and calm Bucky, and you feel your own shoulders loosen. Thank you, Nat, you think inwardly.

“Come on,” you whisper, urging Bucky further into your dorm room. He walks forward wordlessly, and with him out of the way, you close and lock the door behind you both — it affords you a solitary second to process the secret desire that has been stored away for so long.

A guilty pleasure about your brother’s best friend that you revelled in at one point in time is becoming a reality.

There is no means to do that now, to stow it away in secrecy — he stood behind you, right there in reach of you, no longer a fantasy.

The door locks with a muffled click, and you turn around to see Bucky standing by the foot of your bed, head bowed and fiddling with the hair tie around his wrist. Slowly and steadily, you edge closer to him, careful not to make any sudden movements that will spook him. “Bucky?”

His body tenses slightly, his shoulders almost reaching his ears as you near him.

“Sweetheart?” you repeat, and you tuck back some of the hair that kept him hidden — a curtain he didn’t want to peer through. A dazzling pair of ocean blue eyes meet your own; swimming with anxiety and the desperate craving for direction.

“Hi, you.” Your voice soothes him, and he instantly melts into you — callused, trembling hands rush to seek contact, finding their home around your waist.

“Hi, Bee,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

The soft instrumental of guitar chords pacifies the ambience. “How are we doing?” you ask gently.

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, and there’s a shaky, tremulous quality to his voice when he answers with, “Nervous.”

You place a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, hoping to calm him. “About what, baby?”

Leaning slightly backward to better look into his eyes, you notice there is a storm of emotions swirling through his irises. In an attempt to soothe the hurricane, you comfortingly rub your hands down his muscled arms.

“S— Sex.” His neck flushes with patchy red blotches; a staple of whenever he is flustered.

You hum soothingly and nod your head, acknowledging his worries. “You know, we don’t have to do it if you feel like you’ve changed your mind, sweetheart. I was nervous for my first time, too.” Your fingers wrap around his arm to squeeze gently, grounding him in the wallow of nerves. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, gulping. “I— I want this. I really want this.” There is such conviction and assurity in his voice that you cannot help but kiss him softly. He pulls back and his breath shudders.

“You’re completely sure about this?” you ask once more, making sure to give him the space to reject your advances if he feels the need to.

“Mm.” Bucky nuzzles into your neck, taking comfort in your embrace as he mumbles into your skin, “With everything I have.”

You grasp his face into your hands with the most care and love you can possibly manifest to bring him out of his safe retreat, and you connect your lips with his again.

The motion comes easy to Bucky now, natural. He has no fear and certainly no hesitation to kiss you the way he likes, with tenderness and an urge to claim you as his own — his mouth moves over yours in a synchronised dance, the steps familiar, but it still feels new, thrilling in nature.

Snaking your hands down from his cheeks, your fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake over his neck. They stop over his collar, and you look into his eyes to gain permission to undress him. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” He’s relaxed enough in your hold to not allow nerves to hinder him just yet.

You begin to make your way down his covered chest, and with the utmost care, you unfasten each button effortlessly — tan skin, smooth as silk and dotted with a pattern of sun kissed freckles, is revealed with each undone button, and you have to tamper down your impatience to rip the shirt straight off of his shoulders.

“You’re so gorgeous, Bucky,” you breathe in disbelief, and your palms slither back up his body, sneaking over the ridges of his abs. “And all mine.”

“Ah–” Bucky gasps and jolts — your nails, longer than usual, brush over a responsive area of his stomach and you grin into his neck.

You skim the tips of your fingers over the planes of his pecs, and over his shoulders to finally slide off the material veiling the godly sight of his body to you. Of course, you have already seen your boyfriend without a shirt on before, but right now, in the glow of the candlelight and the orange hues dancing over his skin, he looks like he’s been sculpted from the angels themselves.

“Bee…” A dust of pink decorates his high cheekbones, still ever so shy with your compliments.

You open your mouth to reply, but Bucky thoroughly shocks you as he begins to unbuckle his belt, the muscles in his stomach tensing as his hands work to free the leather from his slacks.

You watch, breathless, while he pulls down the slacks to reveal a pair of tight black briefs that do nothing to hide the growing bulge. Bucky is fucking huge, that much you make out from the strain of the material, and you’re almost sure he isn’t even fully hard.

“Oh my god.” The sensation of your quiet divulgence against his ear elicits a sudden moan from his lips. You will never tire of being the cause of that sound.

The rush his vocalised pleasure evokes has you beginning to reach behind your back to unzip your dress. However, Bucky hesitantly stops your hands in their haste. “C— Can I do it?” he stutters, eyes wide and glossy. “Can I undress you — Please?”

It would be a crime to not allow him after a plea so sweet.

With your nod of approval, he takes a deep breath, calming his nerves before he makes his way behind you. You feel his fingers hover over your back, tentative and unsure and it takes him a moment until he sighs in finality.

He pinches the zipper, tiny in his long fingers, and he slowly descends the barrier downwards. The spaghetti straps slip off one by one — his knuckles gently skim over your shoulders until they trail down your arms, and with a quiet flutter, the entirety of your dress falls to the floor, leaving you in just your lingerie.

You wait patiently, letting Bucky take in every inch of your half naked form. Moments pass by and your combined breaths — one steady, the other erratic — ricochet through the room.

“Sweetheart?” You feel the strands of his long hair sweep across your skin as he looks up at the sound of your voice. “Would you like to get my bra?” It’s an offer, a choice for him to decide on his own terms without the pressure.

Stunning you with his growing confidence, he begins to unfasten the material — the straps fall down your arms with ease and you gently let it drop to the floor.

Bucky gulps harshly, then. The realisation that your breasts are on display for the first time to his eyes hitting him like a truck.

Stepping around your figure to come to your front, he keeps his eyes on your face, never once looking away as he kneels to the ground. His nimble fingers work to slip your heels off, taking care to help you place your bare feet down onto the carpet without letting you trip, and he kisses your lower thighs. Once he’s finished, the palms of his hands rub up the back of your calves and squeeze while he rises to stand.

His gaze still doesn’t stray.

“You can look, Bucky — It’s okay.”

Only with your go ahead do his eyes dart down, taking the entirety of your body in at once. A harsh inhale of breath catches in his throat, the rise and fall of his chest is rapid while his fingers twitch by his sides. His gaze locks onto your breasts — guilty as charged with his basic instincts.

“Puppy,” you call out to him, parsing through the growing fog of desperate need in his mind, visible by the glint of hunger across his irises. “Come here.”

His eyes shoot up, searching your expression for any sense of mocking, and he finds none. There is a desperate gleam in his cloudy, misted gaze — frantic for guidance and reassurance still. “Come here, baby,” you whisper, holding your hands out for him to grab hold of. “It’s alright.”

The steps Bucky takes are rigid, robotic — not allowing himself to lose what little control he has left. You vow to change that. He stops at a small distance in front of you, further away than you care for, and you take the bait to bring yourself closer until your nipples skim across the bare planes of his skin.

The sensation steals your breath away, and Bucky squeezes his eyes closed, clenching his fists at his sides — it takes you back to your movie night together all that time ago, when the voice in his mind told him to hold back, to not give in to the urge to reach out instead.

And that just wouldn’t do.

“None of that, sweetheart,” you coo, softly. “I’m gonna need you to open your eyes so I can see you.”

Like magic, he flickers his eyes open, and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“There he is.” You smile reassuringly at him. “Deep breaths for me, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Bucky takes a small moment to do as you say, treating your word as gospel. His mouth works furiously over the words that won’t seem to come, until he settles on a breathless, “You’re so beautiful.”

The way he’s devouring you with his eyes says volumes of his true meaning, and you couldn’t find it in you to mind that he was speechless.

You gently tuck the hair that’s fallen into his eyes behind his ears. “Oh, baby,” you whisper back, holding his face in your hands while a torrent of emotions that vary from awe to trepidation threaten to sweep you away. “You’re something else. I’m so lucky.”

A small huff of laughter falls from his parted lips, and he begins to grin, a cheeky pull at the corner of his lips that spreads warmth from your core to the tips of your toes and fingers. “If only you knew how much the guys on the team make fun of me for saying the exact same thing.”

The two of you share a small bout of laughter — a wholesome moment to cut the charged air and be yourselves for a second.

You slide your hands down from his face down to his chest, feeling the steady pitter patter of his heart that’s calmed down from the fast thrum — the soft smile you give him forces a heavy exhale of breath from his lungs, and you revel in the one you’re given in return.

“Good to keep going?” You check in once more.

Bucky nods his head, certain. “Please.”

“Sit on the bed for me then, Puppy,” you softly direct him.

Following behind him, sure to stay close for both his benefit and yours, he climbs onto your mattress and sits against the headboard. He holds his hand out to you, routine embedded into him to guide you onto his lap.

It registers to him then, as your bare skin melts against his, that you have never been in this position with so little layers between you.

Carefully, you rest your crotch — covered by your thin layer of underwear — against his. A thrill of tension stiffens Bucky’s muscles, and you smile gently at him while you shuffle your knees comfortably on either side of his thighs — fully aware that the sensation is much more intense than usual.

“Bee…” His warm, callused hands hover over waist as you readjust yourself, and while you set yourself down on his lap, the lace of your panties swipe over his hardening cock. “Oh— Fuck.” He chokes out.

Immediately, you still. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I wanna touch you,” Bucky forces out, breathing heavily. “So bad—”

“Remember to breathe, Buck,” you remind him gently, not wanting him to overwhelm himself — not this early. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

His chest shudders with a harsh breath, and he whimpers, “I don’t know what to do.”

The lack of experience and inadequacies that stem from it run rampant through his saddening expression, from the sheen of tears that start on his lash line, to the deep frown on his pouting lips. They lock him in place and render him frozen under you — the tense line of his thigh muscles taut beneath yours.

You realise with a shock that while he is so eager to please, a mingling sense of shame screams that he won’t be able to make this good for you.

“Hmm. Baby, listen,” you soothe, gathering his attention once more. His hands intertwine easily with your own and you kiss his knuckles. “How about we start off with something you do know?”

Bucky looks at you with all the innocence of someone completely out of their depth. “O— Okay,” he stutters. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You smile, placing a single, loving kiss to his lips. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Sitting back upright, you slowly test a gentle roll of your hips over his crotch and instantly, Bucky gasps loudly. You grin salaciously as you witness his eyes flutter closed. But you still take care to stop, to wait a second and look for any signs he doesn’t like it — there are none, much to your satisfaction.

Slowly, you rock back and forth over his bulge, drinking in the slight, hitched moans and whines that fall from his lips. “You’re doing so well — Proud of you.” You bring the tips of his fingers to your lips and kiss them gently. “It’s only you and me, okay?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter; heavy breaths escaping his mouth. “You and me,” he whispers.

“That’s right. Just us.”

“You don’t have to worry your pretty little head, Puppy,” you tease gently. Bucky bites his lip. “I need you to just relax — Sit back and let me do the thinking.”

“Buttercup–”

“Here.” You guide Bucky’s hands to your sides, smoothing them down the slopes of your hips, and you repeat the motion a few more times to better allow him to feel accustomed to the feel of your naked skin. “There you go.”

His hands, rough and calloused from his football training, stain your body for an eternity — caressing you with a ceaseless love and compassion.

“Touch me,” you say, unable to simmer the blooming heat within you.

Transfixed, Bucky’s thumbs brush back and forth. There’s still a sense of hesitation in his movements — the way his fingers twitch and tickle over your skin. But it lasts only a moment; a path of his own choice decorates your sides, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Your skin is so soft,” he sighs in awe.

He rests his head back against the headboard with a soft sigh, and he tilts his chin down to watch you grind against his bulge. Leisurely, he tenderly brushes his fingers over your stomach, the touch of his hands beginning to drift upwards under the slope of your tits.

“Please, Bucky,” you plead with him, the tease of having him so close is too much to bear. “Touch me.”

“‘Kay,” he mumbles drunkenly.

The pad of his thumb swipes over the peak of your nipple softly, a barely there sensation that makes you keen. “Yes, just like that, Pup.”

It’s all the reaction he needs.

With a surge of confidence, Bucky begins to massage your tits, continuing to use his thumbs to rub circles over your sensitive nipples while you grind against his growing cock. “I— Is this okay, Buttercup?”

You almost scoff — the thought that his experimental touches are anything less than okay absurd to you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you whine, and the reassurance of your pleasure invigorates him to move faster, steadier and more firm with his touch. “Making me feel so good, baby, keep going.”

Lost in the feel of his touch and the insistent pressure of his clothed cock against your folds, you tilt your head back and close your eyes. The flutter of butterflies in your stomach crescendo into a frenzy the faster you move. All the while, you miss the way Bucky’s gaze is intently focusing on the way your breasts sway with the grind of your hips; how he licks his bottom lip with an urge to claim.

The sharp, intense sensation of his fingers pinching a peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger forces a shout from your parted lips. “Fu–uck, Bucky — Ohmygod.” Your cunt pulses and aches when his fingers stay hovering, spooked at the sudden reaction. “More, more—”

“Fuck,” Bucky groans, and he bucks up into you, matching your rhythm and this time, it’s you who’s soaking the material of your panties. “Bubs, I— Holy shit — I need more.”

It’s an achievement you’re most excited for, that he’s freely telling you, unprompted, what he needs.

Though, the teasing nature you held could not be dissuaded — you meet his gaze with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, Puppy?” Your hands hover over his lower stomach, the tips of your fingers dancing over the twitching muscles, and you move your index finger beneath the fabric. “Wanna get rid of these?”

The elastic waistband of his underwear snaps back against his lower stomach, making him yelp in surprise. “Ah— Mhm,” he begs deliciously, eyes wide and completely surrendering to you. “Take ‘em off, Bee, please.”

Your bare skin brushes against his while you shuffle backwards, slowly crawling down his legs all while marking his skin with kisses and teasing nibbles, until you reach his briefs.

Looking up at Bucky under your eyelashes, you blink sweetly, eyeing the sweat that begins to build on the ridges of his abs. Your breath ghosts over the material of his underwear while you ask, “Can I have your cock?”

“Oh, god,” he chokes out while his dick twitches in uncontainable excitement.

“I need your consent, Bucky.” The statement brings him back to the present, grounding him to the sight of you between his thighs and softly reminding him that everything is on his terms.

“Yeah,” he gasps. A few deep breaths cause his chest to rise and fall, steadying the rabbiting pulse in his neck. “Yes.”

With his confirmation, you slowly, gently ease your fingers underneath the fabric that hid what you truly wanted — the waistband slides easily down his tense thighs. Your eyes are focusing on the new inches of skin revealed, the sculpted line of his Adonis belt that runs down to the one part of his body you’re desperate to see.

Bucky watches you with bated breath — you’re so close to his cock, and it’s still not enough for him.

The small whine of frustration makes you flit your gaze upwards. A sheen of moisture shines over his eyes, and the pout of his lips are shining slick with spit — he looks absolutely wrecked, and you hadn’t even taken his hard cock from the confines of his briefs.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you finally pull his briefs down until his twitching length bursts free of the material, standing tall and thick, curved and almost purple from the strain of arousal. Your eyes follow the veins trailing up his length, and you lick your lips once you spot a pearl of precum already forming from the tip of his dick — a sweet temptation that’s teasingly begging you to have a taste.

You’re speechless, literally awe stricken while you salivate over the length and girth of his cock. “Oh.” The slow blinks of your eyelids leave them hooded, but you continue to stare, hypnotised at the sight of your boyfriend’s huge cock.

“B— Buttercup?” he whispers, voice tense with worry after the few seconds of silence that stretch while you stare, transfixed. “Is— Is everything okay?”

You swallow, trying to rid the sudden dryness in your mouth. “Bucky,” you say roughly, and you look up into his doe eyes. “If I weren’t a more patient woman, I’d have your cock in my mouth and down my throat already.”

He sputters, the blotchy redness beginning to creep up from his chest to his neck.

“You’re so fucking big, baby. Holy fuck— how do you have such a pretty cock?” you wonder aloud.

“Shit, you can’t say that,” Bucky groans, squeezing his eyes shut as his dick twitches. The far more rapid rise and fall of his chest makes his stomach muscles contract and flutter — the sight lends ideas for the future idea of working him over into the line that blurs pleasure and pain, all to see how he takes it.

But you lick your lips, promising yourself to revisit that thought later. Tonight was about him.

“Fine. I’ll behave,” you tell him, waiting until his eyes open and focus on you before you grin wolfishly. “For now.”

Bucky’s lips part to speak, but before he can work the words past his tongue, you sit up and grab his hands, directing them to your hips and over the fabric of your panties. The hold you have over the back of his hands leaves him unable to pull away — not that he desires to.

The fabric glides over your hips with your guidance, revealing the bare skin. “Oh— Fuck,” Bucky murmurs, watching the journey the fabric takes until it lands on the floor next to your bed.

“Buttercup,” he gasps in wonderment. “You— You’re perfect.”

It’s difficult to remain confident while your boyfriend looks at you as though you put the stars in the sky just for him — like he’s seeing an angel. “You’re a true gentleman, aren’t you?” you laugh, trying to hide the way his stare makes you flustered.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes soaking you in with such a reverence that’s dizzying. “You— Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m taking about because — Fuck. Believe me, you’re fuckin’ unreal.”

The world seems like it stops on its axis right then and there. You know Bucky’s emotions are heightened and at an all-time high, but you also know that he means every word of what he says — his sobering eyes tell you the truth alone.

You’re the one who becomes a stuttering mess for a moment, and you stumble over your words before you manage to regain your composure, and you clear your throat. “T— Thank you, baby.” The pause in heated touches gives you an opportunity to check in. “How are you feeling?”

Still trying to gain some semblance of control, he audibly gulps. “I— I’m good, yeah.”

“Yeah?” You begin to steadily shuffle forwards on your knees, further up his legs to hover over his crotch, careful to not let your body graze him just yet. “You know you can back out whenever you’d like, okay? You say the word and we stop.”

The small distance between your most intimate parts is dangerously in the balance.

“No,” Bucky says finally, shaking his head as his hair sweeps over his face. A few strands settle over his cheeks. “Wanna keep goin’.”

You bite your lip and smile wickedly. “You got it, baby.”

His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth as he watches you begin to lower your body. “We’re just going to keep doing what we’ve been doing, okay, baby?” You reassure as his breathing picks up.

But his eyes stay focused and fixated on you.

When your cunt lowers against the base of his cock, the movement pushes his length down until the tip almost reaches his belly button, and even with the visual of you resting over his length as you always did in the past, Bucky isn’t prepared for the feel of his bare dick sitting snug between your folds. His eyes shoot open while he gasps loudly and balls up the bedsheets tightly in his fists. “Shit, shit — Fuck, oh my— God—”

The palms of your hands smooth over his tense stomach. “Easy there, big guy,” you coo softly. “It’s okay.”

His breathing becomes erratic as his back arches against the headboard. “Oh god, you’re— You’re fuckin’ soaked, Bee.”

You are. Nobody else ever had this kind of effect on you, and so you certainly aren’t ashamed for Bucky to know how much he turns you on. “That’s what you’re doing to me, baby — Can’t help it,” you keen.

His chest rumbles while he groans deeply, throwing his head back.

The urge to move is compelling, almost swallowing you whole — Bucky isn’t the only one struggling to keep calm, with his thick length brushing your entrance and putting constant pressure on your clit, it’s a challenge to not take him then and there.

“Do you remember when we first kissed?” you ask breathlessly before you begin to squirm. “And I asked you to think about how wet and tight I’d be for you?”

Bucky’s muscles strain as he frustratedly tangles his fingers in his hair. “Fuck, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since, baby.”

Your hips work a little quicker over his cock, the slide seamless from how aroused you are, and to your surprise, you feel his hips work against you, too. “How does it feel to know your inches away from slipping inside my pussy?”

The rocking movements of his hips falter as he jerks up and jostles you, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter in a crazed frenzy. “It feels— Please— You’re killin’ me—”

“My sweet boy,” you utter. “Don’t worry, you’ll have it soon.”

Each and every plea and whimper that falls from his red-bitten lips only serves to turn you on even more. He tries to flex his hips to push his cock into you, to feel the warmth of your cunt around him, but even he isn’t ready for the sensation that ripples down his spine once the tip catches on your hole.

“Fuck!” he curses.

Hurriedly, you move yourself away before he can slip in any further. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart, I need you to be calm for me, alright? You can have me when you're calm, not just yet. Breathe for me.”

“No — I, no no, Bee, please, don’t do this to me. I want—” Bucky vehemently shakes his head from side to side, the vein in his neck almost popping from his exertion to hold back. His hands grip your waist, digging into your skin as he drags you back down onto his cock desperately. “Please, I wanna feel—”

“Oh, Pup,” you sigh with an all too innocent smile. “You wanna be a good boy for me, huh?”

“I can, I can,” he whines. The feel of his hands pawing at your waist sends a thrill up your spine. “Fuck, I can!”

“Yeah,” you mumble, unsure if you can hold out much longer yourself. “You can, Pup — I know you can.”

“Bee—” Bucky is a pure wreck, his chest heaving with breath, and a film of perspiration builds on his temples. You know it’s impossible for him to garner any more control, and you grant him mercy as you slightly lift your hips up to line the hole of your pussy up with his cock.

“Bucky, baby,” you call to him, waiting patiently until his wild eyes lock onto you, and you forewarn him, “You're sure about this?”

His bright blues cloud over with a haze of lust, and you shiver when he cries, “Please.”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe. “Alright, baby — Wait, hang on, sweetheart.” The bed creaks as you shuffle backwards once more. “Let’s get you off the headboard, so you’re comfier.”

The two of you move in tandem so his head rests back against the pillows, and you settle back over his hips, reaching out to smooth your thumb over his cheek. “Better?”

Bucky smiles and nods once, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“Okay.” You brace yourself with a steady breath, and finally sink down onto Bucky’s cock, the tip easing into your cunt with a pop. The stretch from his head alone has you squeezing your eyes shut, but you revel in the way he freezes under you, then the sluttiest whine you’ve ever heard falls from his slack mouth.

The effort to work past the thickness of his head causes your hands to rest on his stomach, allowing him to hold your weight, and your mouth falls open with a silent scream as you drop down further, taking more of his length.

Glancing down at your boyfriend to check on him, you find only the whites of his eyes through his hooded lids, and his fists balling so tightly in the sheets of your bed that they begin to tear.

With a whimper, your walls clench around his cock. “A— Almost in, baby.” Another inch fills your cunt. “Doing— Doing so well, Bucky,” you pant.

Your nails create indents into his skin while you internally build up the courage to take the entirety of his length. It feels an impossible task, one you desperately underestimated, but you were no quitter. Your walls rhythmically squeeze around him, and your breath hitches when you feel him twitch against the stimulation.

“God, I want you,” you moan, hanging your head. An unintelligible mumbled string of words or sounds fall from his lips in reply. “Fuck it.”

With a deep breath and a prayer for mercy, or strength, you arch your back — the wrecked moan that Bucky rasps sends a thrill of hunger up your spine. The slide of his cock against your walls makes you cry out, and you quickly drop your hips until you're fully seated against his crotch.

“Oh shit!” Instantly, Bucky shoots up from the mattress and wraps his arms firmly around your middle, crushing you against his heaving chest. “Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move — Please — Don’t fuckin’ move.”

You sling your arms around his shoulders in reply, and the two of you cling to one another with only your heavy breaths disturbing the quiet music in the background. The bare skin of your bodies sticks to each other, glistening in the candlelit room while the silent moments pass.

Hot, heavy breaths fan over the skin of your neck while Bucky nuzzles his face against the juncture of your shoulder — the movement effectively burying him entirely into your form. There is no way for him to get any closer, or any way to hide his muffled sniffles and gasps for air.

The beat of your heart steadies and thumps evenly — you pray that it is enough to calm his overwhelmed senses. “Steady, Pup — You’re alright, I’ve got you.” Gently, slowly, you comb your fingers through the damp strands of hair by his temples. “Just stop and let it happen, feel it, don’t fight it. It’s okay, baby.”

“S’too much, too much, Bee— Please, please, I don’t—” He stumbles over his words, working himself up.

“Bucky,” you say, firm but gentle, trying to reason over his rambling. “Do you need to stop?”

“No!” He holds you even tighter. “Please no, no no, don’t go, don’t move, don’t take— Please stay.”

“Hey, hey— I’m here, I’m here. I’m staying — Breathe, baby.” You rub your free hand over his back, shushing his pleas and continuing scratching your fingers over his scalp.

As you pacify Bucky, he begins to calm down — his breathing softens, the heightened intensity of emotions flowing easily into a quiet, content peace between you. Cautiously, you slightly lean yourself back and ask, “Can you look at me, please, sweetheart?”

It's a gradual process as he plucks the courage to lift his head out of your neck and surrender to your request, and your heart tightens when his teary eyes bore straight into your soul. “Oh, baby,” you sigh, bringing your hands round to hold his cheeks. “Was that a lot?”

Bucky timidly nods, his arms still caging themselves around your waist to keep you close.

“It’s okay — You’re okay, sweet boy — Doing so good.” The deep-rooted need to reassure him takes hold, an instinct that’s embedded within you to make him feel as safe as you possibly can. “Take your time.”

“Mm.” Bucky rests his forehead against your chest and listens to the steady beat of your heart, tethering himself back down to earth.

The charged air that holds the weight of tension finally breaks when he blows a long breath onto your skin. “This is— This is so much better than I imagined. Fuck, this is— Bee, I think I’m seeing stars.”

“Oh my god, you fucking dork.” Your laughter fills the room, full of pure happiness and glee to be able to find such fun in sex.

He smirks lopsidedly at you until you sigh, the amusement turning to fondness, and you kiss his forehead — almost able to forget the position you’re in.

But you’re soon reminded as Bucky quietly rasps, “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight — Can barely breathe.” Goosebumps run down the naked skin of your arms at the same time your cunt pulses. He grunts deeply with a sharp hiss. “You really were right.”

“I did warn you,” you tease, giggling when he lifts his head up and playfully glares at you. Closing the distance, you kiss him deeply, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth as you whisper against his lips, “Ready for me to move now, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans.

You don’t waste any more time. Tangling your fingers around the locks at the back of Bucky’s head, you pull and begin to smother his neck with wet kisses, the taste of salt delicious on your tongue.

Raising your hips, his cock slides out of your pussy, leaving behind a hollowness you crave to fill immediately. Without forewarning, you swiftly lower yourself, sobbing with pleasure at how perfectly he fits inside you. “Bucky.”

“I know,” he moans, long and low, sounding as wrecked as you feel. “Fuck, Bee — I feel it too.”

Words fail you, the delightful feeling you’ve waited so patiently for holding you hostage as you pant into his shoulder.

It becomes easier with each stroke to fuck yourself onto his cock, making sure to grind yourself deeper into his lap each time you come down.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ think straight.” Bucky’s palms slide over your ass and grip it firmly.

You laugh deliriously, high on the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you barely notice the way you instinctively change the motion of your hips, beginning to grind into his lap in circular motions.

A strangled sounding moan causes your focus to snap towards Bucky. “Oh— Jesus fuck!” His fingernails dig into your ass as he hysterically pleads, “Like that, baby — Exactly like fuckin’ that.”

Huffing with a smirk, you breathe, “You like that, huh?”

“Yes,” he admits shamelessly. You start to speed your motion up, and the filter between his mind and lips completely crumbles. “Your— Your p—pussy feels good — So good. You have no idea — Shit — Keep goin’, please—”

The words tumbling from his lips are cut off when you push against his shoulders, sending him off balance to lay back down on the bed with a thump. Then, resting your palms on his chest, you lean forward to kiss him. You whisper against his lips, a sly smirk creeping onto your mouth, “Hold on tight, baby.”

Using Bucky as leverage to hold your weight, you begin to bounce on his cock. The position allows his length to sink all the way into you, his tip hitting your cervix at the right angle to make you whimper.

“Oh, it’s so— Fuck, I’m so deep— In you.” He struggles to breathe, the wind totally knocked out of him, but he’s mesmerised and completely drowning in the sensation.

“I know, baby — Stretching me out so much.” A fire simmers in your eyes. The muscles of your thighs burn with exertion, but you refuse to stop — especially not when your boyfriend is a fucked-out mess beneath you, trying to control the subtle flexes of his hips.

While you’re riding him, far too engrossed in making sure you keep the rhythm steady, you miss the feral glint in Bucky’s eyes. He’s possessed by the sight of your cunt sucking in his cock so deliciously; your slick dripping down onto him and coating his dick.

Licking his lips, his eyes lock onto your puffy clit, enlarged and throbbing in pleasure, and he inches his hand forward to experimentally swipe his thumb over your nub. His gaze snaps up to you with the unleashed moan you scream to the roof. “Fuck, Bucky!”

You're quickly pulled back forward as Bucky grabs you behind the neck, bringing you down to kiss him. His tongue slithers into your mouth, his muffled groans rumbling against your lips while he continues to buck up into you.

The need to catch your breath has you pulling away, gasping for air.

Bucky looks drunk — eyes hooded with a hunger blurring the blue of his irises and the black of his pupils. His pink swollen lips hang open, wet from clumsy kisses with too much tongue for his hazy mind to process.

You hang your head low between your shoulders and cry, “Why are you so damn big, baby?”

His hands slink down to your hips, and he gropes at the quivering muscles desperately. “Buttercup,” he tries to warn you — the cries over the size of his dick are sending him into a deeper pit of hunger.

Your head’s already too hazy to process anything other than the feel of his cock. “I’m aching, how the fuck am I taking you right now?”

The thrusts of Bucky’s hips speed up, and he bends his knees to plant his feet on the bed, his sole mission to fuck up into your cunt.

“Feel so fucking full, Bucky — Filling my pussy up so good.” The breathy moans fall like chants from your lips.

The steady, punishing rhythm you maintain falters, and your breath hitches when his cock slips from your cunt — the obscene, slick sound of it slapping against his stomach filling the room.

You pant and press your hands down on his chest while he groans to the ceiling. “Shit, I—” Bucky’s eyes glaze over when he looks down at his body, the twitch of his cock in time with the hammering of his heart under your palm. “I didn’t mean to—”

You can’t help but giggle, and the sound immediately calms his worries — the cinch between his brows smoothing over as he looks up at you. “Don’t worry, baby.”

The movement of your hand towards his cock has his entire focus — his tongue moves over his lips, and you watch the shine of spit; how it makes his lips an even deeper red. “Oh, fuckin’— Fuck.”

His exclamation makes you freeze. “What’s wr—”

It clicks.

Though you took him in your heat, felt the pleasure he can give you, the realisation hits you like a freight train that not once this night had you felt the weight of his fully erect cock in your palm; to wrap your fingers around the length and work him over.

“I can’t—”

“Shh, you’re alright,” you soothe, and carefully, you wrap your hand around his girth. Your eyes widen when you can only just connect your thumb and fingers together. “Fuck me—” you gasp, beginning to lift yourself up to line him up to slide back in. “God — You can barely fit in my hand, baby. Here we go.”

It’s unclear to you what exactly causes Bucky to snap.

The room whirls in your vision and you gasp with surprise as his body suddenly shoots up and with ease from the mattress, flipping you over in one smooth, fluid motion. “Oh, fuck!”

One second your back is resting against the mattress, over the rumpled covers, and the next, your boyfriend's hands are pushing your thighs as far up your chest as they can go.

“I’m so sorry, Bee,” Bucky groans, kneeling between your spread legs — one hand holds your legs in place, the other brushes featherlight over your soaked lips. The sharp gasps for air make his voice sound hoarse and raspy.

He stares down at your pussy, licking his lips. “I can’t—” The fingers that danced over your lips move to grab his cock, encircling it in his large palm before he rests the head of it against the fluttering entrance of your cunt. “I can’t hold back anymore, need this.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply — the tip of his thumb brushes against your clit and you keen upwards, just as his cockhead slips into you. The slide of him easing into you is smooth, and the drag of his length stretches you inch by pleasurable inch.

“Oh my fucking god, baby!” Bucky bites the inside of your calf while you whine loudly, your walls clenching down onto him — a tear rolls down your cheek, the size of him is almost too much. “Yes!”

“Fuck, s’deep. I gotta move, Bubs — Please, lemme move.” His weight shifts to cover you, pinning you against the bed while he leans close to pepper needy kisses and bites over the column of your neck.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Bucky, please,” you beg, “I want it all.”

Raising your arms up to hold the headboard, you steady yourself for what is to come, and offer yourself to him on a platter, free for his taking.

Immediately, his eyes dart towards the movement of your tits, the natural bounce of them with every aborted thrust he makes. “Hnng— Yes,” he rasps. The slow thrusts turn rough, his skin slapping against the back of your sweat-slick thighs.

Your nipples, hard and pebbled, become his new target. “I want every fuckin’ inch of you, Bee,” he growls, swooping down and sucking your nipple into his mouth.

The room spins from the dizzying pleasure; the veins on his cock scrape your walls, his wet tongue playing with you, the hairs above his cock teasing your clit. It all begins to wind the knot tighter and tighter in your stomach.

“I need more,” you gasp while Bucky drags your nipple with his teeth and releases it with a wet pop. Your arms slither around his neck and bring him into your hold. “Fuck, Bucky, please.”

Corded muscles move you up the bed, and he forces his forearms under your back to hold you close. “Whatever you want, baby.” The fast thrusts slow to a deep, dirty grind — the length of him going deeper and deeper on each circle of his hips. “Gonna— Fuck, gonna give you anythin’ you want.”

The two of you crash your lips together and whimper into the other's mouth — heavy breaths and pants mingle while your combined sweat builds between your heated bodies.

“Wanna cum, Buck,” you plead desperately. “Want you to make me cum; feel s’good in me.”

A huff of breath fans over your lips, and a sly, lopsided grin pulls at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. The covers rustle and from the corner of your eyes, you see him planting a hand beside your head, next to your ear. “Don’t you worry,” he coos shakily through his grunts and moans. “I’ve got ya, Bee.”

His free hand drifts between your breasts and over your stomach, down to where you are connected. You gasp as the pad of his thumb settles over your clit, and he rubs in tight, fast circles, keeping pace with the thrusts of his hips into your pussy.

Your thighs begin to shake as you cry into his neck, “Please, keep going — Don’t stop!”

“Come on, baby,” Bucky coaxes gently. “You can do it. You can cum for me — C’mon.”

The tension in your stomach becomes unbearable — you slap the covers of the bed and ball them into your fist for something to ground you against the onslaught. “I— Ha, fuck!” You heave for breath, panting. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Let go — Can feel you, how tight you fuckin’ are. I’ll catch you, Bee.”

Your ears ring as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the pleasure insurmountable in its height, when it finally hits you. You convulse through the waves of it, letting it consume you whole while ragged pants for air and hoarse moans fall from your parted lips. “Baby, baby — I’m cumming!”

He still continues to fuck you through your orgasm until the last tendrils of electricity run their course, leaving you a twitching mess.

An overwhelming urge to be close to Bucky forces your hands to blindly reach out to grasp a part of him. The tips of your fingers graze the warm skin of his bicep, and he suddenly pulls away entirely — your cunt gaping and weeping at the loss of him.

“Pup?” You whimper. “Come back, what are you doing?”

“I’m h— Here, Buttercup,” he manages. Unknown to you, the feel of your walls fluttering against his dick almost had him finishing inside of you. His length glistens with your cum, and Bucky has to close his eyes tight and breathe to control himself.

Stubborn as you are, you intertwine your hands with his and pull him into you, smirking lazily at his shocked gasp when his cock grazes over your cunt.

Strands of his slick hair tickle your cheeks, and his cheeks are a deep hue of red. “Why did you stop, sweetheart?” you ask. The pupils of his eyes blow impossibly further. “You made me cum so fucking hard.”

You’re delighted to hear the whine he tries so hard to hide. “I— I panicked,” he admits. “You almost made me cum.”

Looking down, you see his cock twitching viscously, like he’s about to blow any second. “Aw, baby.”

You grab his length and start stroking him in your fist — the twist and pump of your fist making him choke and sputter. “Buttercup— What are you— What are you doin’?

“Go on,” you urge him, squeezing his thick cock at the base, and twisting on the pull upwards. “Cum on me.”

“I—” Bucky shakes his head rapidly. “No— I can’t do that — Fuck this feels too good — Can’t finish on you—”

“Bucky,” you gently interrupt him. “I’m telling you that you can.”

But he shakes his head again, trying to hold out. “Fuck, fuck — Oh, fuck — Baby I can’t please, I—”

You click your tongue and tighten your hand around his cock, pumping him harder faster, a spark in your veins and mischief on your mind. “Why not, hm? I need it — Don’t you want to give me what I need?”

“Bee—” he pleads. “Don’t do this to me.”

Though his words say one thing, the way Bucky thrusts into your fist tells you another — he’s dying to cum, the throb of his cock in time with his rabbiting pulse.

You refuse to have him holding back because the voice in his head is sabotaging his pleasure.

“Please, baby,” you beg of him, blinking your eyes and reeling him in on your invisible line. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Bucky bows his head, the curtain of his hair concealing his blown-out eyes. There’s a heavy sigh of defeat from his lips. “Fuck, Bee— What the hell are you doin’ to me?”

Biting your lip, you move the fingers of your free hand up the back of his sweaty neck to thread them through the hair at the base of his neck, and you pull him down to rest his forehead against yours. A wicked grin dances on your lips. “I’m gonna make you cum for me.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you speed up the pace, taking care to focus the pressure of your grip around the head of his cock.

“Oh—” Bucky chokes on his own spit, his toes curling while his hips work in tandem with the pumps from your fist.

“That’s it, Pup,” you murmur delicately, scraping your fingers over his scalp. “There’s a good boy.”

“Feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he slurs, whining as he seeks out your lips. “S’close, baby.”

You direct him, pulling him impossibly closer to slot your lips over his; tongue and teeth caressing with little finesse. “Give me it, Bucky — Please.” The words fall against his parted mouth.

“Gonna—“ The excitement for his climax builds when you feel his cock swell in your hand, the violent twitches of his mounting release. “Gonna cum, B— Buttercup.”

Lighting a fire to the match begging to burn, you tug his hair back in your fist, the grip tight and unyielding to bare his neck in an arch. The skin of his throat is damp with sweat, and the thunder of his pulse can be seen next to the frantic bob of his Adam’s apple. “Let go — Let go for me.” You lap at the sensitive skin with your tongue. “Make a mess of me with your big cock.”

The long wait, the weeks leading up to this very moment are entirely worth it when Bucky collapses onto you, his moans unending and agonisingly pleasureful. His hips stutter and thrust with no real rhythm while his cum shoots from the swollen head of his cock, painting your bare skin all the way up to your tits.

His release seems to never end, it pools over your stomach with no signs of slowing down.

Bucky trembles with the waves of pleasure, and he buries his face into your neck, nuzzling you to try and retreat from the nonstop sensation of release. Against the sheets, you can feel the way they rustle as his toes curl — the taut line of his shoulders makes him feel bigger while he shivers and jerks over you.

“Buttercup.” His palms frantically feel over your skin. “It won’t— Fuck — It’s not s—stopping.”

“Shhh,” you instantly soothe him, running your fingers through his hair and holding him close to you while you continue to pump your fist gently, milking him for all he’s got. “Almost there, Puppy — let it all go.”

Bucky sobs into your neck as the last few drops leak from his tip, and the pretty sounds of his moans vibrate against your chest. “Oh my god.”

“So fuckin’ good for me — Did so well, my sweet boy.”

Finally, his cock stops pulsating and begins to slowly soften in your hand. As carefully as possible, you remove your hand and smooth it over the heated skin of his waist. “Take it easy for me, baby,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss against his tear-stained cheek. “Remember to breathe.”

Bucky’s limbs loosen with the lull of your voice, and he eases his body down onto yours, letting you take his weight.

The two of you lay peacefully connected together, only your shared breathing to fill the quiet of your room. The needle on your vinyl long since raised, the song finishing with a gentle lull while you were wholly focused on him — much like the simmering high that had been building since your first kiss.

You are loath to interrupt the peace, but his heavy breathing told you that you will lose him to sleep any second now. “Bucky baby?”

When the rumble of his muffled, “Mhm,” tells you he’s returned back to you, you smile contentedly. “Do you think you’re able to let me clean you up now, hm?”

It's difficult to not laugh at the way he clings to you, tightening his hold and groaning, “No leavin’ me.” You smother the growing smirk creeping up your face.

The palms of your hands rub up and down his back, and you kiss the top of his head. “I’ll be quick, sweetheart. I promise.”

He sighs, much like a tired puppy, and begrudgingly slackens his arms and carefully lifts up off of you, rolling onto the bed next to you. “Hurry back, please.” The slight whine to his voice melts your heart.

“Thank you, baby.” You quickly shuffle off the bed, placing your feet on the floor. “I’ll be right back.” The floor creaks under your feet, and you rise from the edge of the bed, only, you overcompensate your judgement to hold your own weight so soon — the tremble of your thighs and weakness of your knees almost has you toppling to the floor. “Oh, boy.”

A snort of laughter sounds from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to find a dazed, smirking Bucky. “I did that to you,” he gloats drunkenly.

Your eyes widen in shock before you giggle along with him. “The cheek of you.”

Taking slow steps, you manage to make your way into your bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. You take the time to clean yourself up while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, smiling like an idiot to yourself and rebuffing the urge to squeal.

Upon walking out of the bathroom, your keen eyes catch the subtle peek Bucky makes through the mess of his hair, the wandering of his gaze over your still naked body.

The blush that covers his cheeks and neck when he sees that you have caught him staring is endearing, when only moments ago he was inside of you, desperate and moaning for more.

To humour his shyness, you choose to pretend you didn’t see, and you make your way back to him. It is a true struggle to not give in to the twitching strain of the muscles in your thighs, or how your knees almost buckle from under you.

“Here we go, baby,” you sigh happily, both from seeing his soft smile and how you made it to the plush mattress without falling over.

The warm cloth in your hand goes ignored by Bucky in favour of wrapping his arms around your middle, and he pulls you backwards into the covers until you are propped up on one side of your bed.

You hum warmly while wiping the mess of Bucky’s lower stomach, though you pause when you hover, uncertain, over his softened cock. “Am I okay to clean you up, baby?”

Looking up at you with his puppy eyes, he nods sleepily. “You’re okay, Bee.”

Taking care to be gentle, you wipe his most sensitive area and once satisfied, you toss the cloth towards the hamper of your room in favour of sideling up to Bucky. In the process, you turn onto your side and frame his face with your hands, waiting for his eyes to focus on you before asking, “How are we doing, handsome?”

The sound of his small laugh couldn’t make you happier, and his pearly whites gleam with his bright smile. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Buttercup.”

You giggle, a little high from the comedown too. “I take it that’s a good thing?”

He groans deeply and licks his lips. “Absolutely.”

You shiver and swat his chest. “Don’t be looking at me like that, you menace.”

Bucky hums sweetly. “It was amazing— No, wait. It was better than that.” His eyebrows furrow in thought. “It was — Um— Can’t think of the word — Oh, I’ve got it! Astronomical.”

Exhaustion is beginning to kick in for him, the very last dregs of his energy is being used to be a comedic clown — you fall for him even more.

A sudden, hesitant doubt creeps into his eyes, the need for reassurance coming forth. “Was it—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “Was it okay for you?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo. The sheets underneath your body rustle as you lay down more comfortably, and you guide his head to lay on your chest, over your heart. “It was perfect — you were perfect.” Kissing the top of his head, you drive his worries away. “Trust me when I say it was fucking incredible.”

The tenseness of his muscles begins to ease away. “Thank you…” Bucky hesitates, then moves even closer to you — once he is close enough for his liking, he angles his head up to blink at you dazedly. The emotion in his voice makes it waver when he says, “Thank you for taking care a’me.”

“Always, my sweet boy.” You look down, watching his eyes droop. “It’s all I ever want to do.”

“You’re so amazing, Buttercup,” he exhales blissfully. “So lucky to have you.”

Your heart beats out of your chest. “I feel the exact same way.” Unsure you could handle any more of his sweetness, you mumble, “Now get some sleep, Puppy.”

“Hmph — Fine.” He gives in, finally closing his eyes. “G’night, my Bee.”

Resting your head on your pillow, you brush your finger over his forehead, sweeping his hair out of his eyes while you sigh contentedly. “Goodnight, baby boy.”

Warmth floods your heart and a happiness like no other fills your bones, making you glow from the inside out. You’re not sure this night could be any better, and with that thought, you know you’ll rest easy tonight with the man of your dreams huddled in your arms.

On the verge of surrendering to sleep, the quiet of the night is disrupted by Bucky's sleepy mumble, “I loves you.”

Your eyes shoot back open, and you instantly look down, finding your boyfriend’s cheek squished against your breast with a little bit of drool gathering in the corner of his parted lips.

“Bucky?” you whisper, the quick thump of your heart stealing your breath. There isn’t a response, not even a twitch of acknowledgement. With more urgency, you whisper, “Bucky?”

This time you get a small, soft snore in reply.

You lay your head back down onto your pillow to stare up at the ceiling. The thoughts and doubts swirl viciously, the intensity of each and every one making you gulp, though one stands out among the rest: did he just confess his love for me?

There was the possibility of you hearing things — the comedown of the high you’ve been floating on messing with your head.

It’s not long before all of the day’s events catch up with you. The slowing blinks of your eyelids lasting longer and longer each time; the laxness of your muscles as they settle in for a much-needed sleep. But the question on your mind bears a heavy weight while you succumb to sleep.

Does Bucky love me?

The rays of the morning sun shining through the white drapes either side of your window are the first thing you become aware of as you wake up the next morning. With your eyes closed, you can see the yellow and amber glow of the sunrise.

A strong envelopment of warmth and comfort keeps you rooted in place, as well as the heavy weight of an arm across your middle. You don’t want to move from your spot, you don’t want to wake up yet; still basking in the afterglow of yesterday’s events.

But the second sensation, the mantra of light fingertips mapping over your face tips the balance of sleep overtaking you in favour of letting your consciousness creep to the surface.

Lastly, the final push, the soft, steady puffs of air tickling your nose persuades you to wave your white flag and flutter your eyes open.

The blurriness of sleep forces you to blink until the fog clears your vision — once you’re able to see the dancing, warm light of the sun, you’re given the gift of your handsome boyfriend, already awake, admiring you with his bright blue ocean eyes.

They’re the most clear they have ever been.

The lined skin besides his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the pull of it making his nose scrunch adorably. “Bee,” he whispers, his voice rough from sleep. “Good mornin’.”

It's a damn killer, the expression of his face — full of true elation and contentment, and it has you falling in love all over again.

That’s when it hits you — the memory of last night, and what you think you heard him say when he was half asleep.

Trepidation makes your nerves impossible to conceal, especially when Bucky is noticing every minute expression on your face. It's only a matter of time before the natural courage, granted to you with the haze of the morning, fades away.

With a heavy gulp, you open your mouth and lick your lips. “Did, uh— Did you—?” The words die on your tongue.

Bucky’s thumb gently presses against your lips, his head gently shaking from side to side — a secret he wishes to keep just between the two of you, not shared with the birds that sing outside your window or the rays of the hopeful morning sun.

Your eyes are wide, beginning to water with the anxiety coiling inside your chest.

The crippling worry, however, dissolves when Bucky runs the pad of his thumb over your lips, the motion of back and forth touch grounding you. His eyes find their home deep into yours, and he finally speaks, “I love you.”

And it’s with an ease, one that has you cursing your inner voice for ever doubting yourself, you say those three words that battled to be said so, so long ago. “I love you, too.”

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cursedhvn · 3 months ago

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When The Night Comes || Choi Yeonjun

➛Pairing // Choi Yeonjun x fem! reader

➛Word Count // 18.8k

➛Genre // university au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to friends to friends with benefits to lovers.

➛Warnings // // substance use [cigarettes and weed], mental health issues [not directly stated], past trauma, suggestive language, mentions of past abuse, reader has multiple nicknames [petal, blossom], general pet names [sweetheart, gorgeous, etc]

➛Synopsis // And I hope when the night comes, we stay in limbo together, savouring this moment—ignoring the way I can no longer hold you the same under the morning gaze.

In which Choi Yeonjun finds himself entangled with you. Yearning for a deeper connection, Yeonjun has to navigate his feelings while sharing unforgettable moments with you.

He must confront the question: does love really conquer all or will the shadows of your past prevent him from achieving the happy ending he so desperately seeks?

➛Playlist

adeline's opening ✉ - my first fic ahh >< genuinely can't believe I was able to write something like this. I'd love to thank 3 individuals actually!! @dawngyu for being such a sweetheart to me and was so supportive during the entire process, @yunverie for having the sweetest reactions to the early snippets I gave her and to my wife @just-nc-tea who read it even when it wasn't completed yet :). I love you all so much, thank you <3

I || Whispers of Spring ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The emergence of Spring reminded Yeonjun of you. After Winter made her exit, Spring began to reveal herself—welcoming the warmth of the sun and the vibrant blooms that burst forth in preparation for her lively sister, Summer. To most, Spring signified renewal and the blossoming of new beginnings—yet to Yeonjun, Spring evoked memories of your first interaction. Like the season you possessed a cool demeanour, yet a touch of warmth remained hidden deep within you, waiting to be revealed. To Yeonjun, Spring marked the beginning of his entanglement with you.

Seeing you for the first time felt like a breath of fresh air. It was the first year of college and you were sitting on a bench near the quadrangle nursing a cigarette while you listened to Beomgyu, someone he got acquainted with in one of his earlier classes. Your presence was undeniable—despite your intimidating aura, Yeonjun thought you were gorgeous. The way the sunlight caught your eyes, the slight curve of your lips when Beomgyu said something funny, captivated him—your entire being captivated him, like a magnetic pull, drawing Yeonjun in. He couldn't deny his immediate attraction to you.

Over the years, Yeonjun’s attraction to you blossomed more than he would’ve imagined. Naturally, he and Beomgyu became friends through their shared classes; every mention of you from Beomgyu made his heart leap for joy, his interest in you seemed to deepen with every blurb of information he was told about you. Despite his extroverted nature, Yeonjun always shied away at the idea of talking to you. In a world where everyone wanted to be the Sun, to him, you were the Moon—unreachable, only to be admired from afar.

Your first interaction with Yeonjun remained etched into his being. Amidst the chaos of the party, there you were, clinging to the corner, as if the walls themselves whispered secrets to you. It was the final party of Sophomore year, and despite the drink in your hand, you seemed more sober than tipsy. Even though you appeared nervous, you seemed to maintain a steady conversation with Beomgyu, smiling at his antics.

While all eyes were on him, Yeonjun couldn't help but focus on you. In that moment, the lights reflected on your skin, causing you to illuminate a soft glow almost as if you were the Moon—so close, yet unattainable. Your unapproachable aura always left Yeonjun yearning for more—wanting to explore your secrets, unravel your complexities, yet treat your body as a sacred temple, whispering silent prayers hoping that you might grant him a taste of the salvation you had to offer.

Despite the season, the moment the cold air enveloped you as you stepped onto the balcony, it felt as if Death itself embraced you—a biting cold that seeped into your bones. A cigarette found solace between your lips, dulling Death’s grip on you, allowing you a moment of respite. The first drag was bittersweet—despite the warmth it brought to you, you couldn't help but be reminded of why you hoped to quit in the first place.

The second drag felt tantalizing—tormenting you on the goals you're unable to achieve, reminding you that quitting meant letting go of the only thing that connected you to your past—like a noose around your neck, unable to be free of the comfort the addiction brings you. The third drag was interrupted—Yeonjun, the party’s main guest, enters, glowing, as if he were the Sun itself and you, Icarus, destined to fly too close and be burned.

You’ve seen him around campus before—always surrounded by some form of company, as if he were a flame that drew people in like moths. Known for his charisma and talent, Yeonjun was never a bore—from what Beomgyu told you, he was also a giant sweetheart despite what people may think. In contrast, you found solitude in flowers, the silent messages they conveyed, and the untold stories weaved between their leaves. With each bloom, a message waiting to be relayed.

With a final drag, you crushed the remnants of your cigarette as you turned to face Yeonjun as he approached—his raven-coloured hair cascading along his neck, eyes filled with something akin to wonder, “Is the party too much for you?” he asked.

As you wrapped your arms around yourself, you responded, “Beomgyu drained all the energy out of me.” You paused, glancing away, “I needed to sober up before I decided to leave.”

“But it’s only 12 am! The party has barely started, Pretty,” Yeonjun pouted, his expression playful.

“Unlike you, I have the social battery of a Plum Blossom. Alcohol can only help me so much,” you replied, ignoring the way the nickname made you uneasy.

“A Plum Blossom?” he asked, surprised.

As heat rushed to your cheeks, you clarified, “The flower. They symbolize loneliness, so to an extent, I like being alone.”

Smirking, Yeonjun leaned in slightly, “Then what flower am I?”

“A sunflower,” you said softly as your gaze fell to the ground, “you’re bright, warm and approachable with loads of energy.” As you turned to leave, you felt embarrassed having shared so much about flowers. Despite this, you looked back to give Yeonjun a non-verbal goodbye, only to find him placing his jacket around your shoulders.

Instantly, his scent surrounds you—grapefruit with undertones of incense and jasmine—pleasant, but not overwhelming. The jacket was a touch too big but like his personality, it immediately warmed you—almost as if it were a talisman, warding off Death’s embrace.

Confusion etched across your features as he smiled sweetly, “An excuse for me to see you again. You’re friends with Gyu, right? So, we’re bound to see each other on campus. I hope to see you soon Blossom,” he added before making his way back on the dance floor as if the entire interaction had been a casual exchange.

Embarrassingly, you've avoided seeing Yeonjun for a month. Despite your desire to return his jacket, you've steered clear of places you knew he frequented, only staying within the confines of your safe space—the University's greenhouse. Beomgyu teased you about it, relishing the idea of his two friends interacting—you however dreaded the thought of seeing him again.

It's not that your first interaction with him was terrible: it's just that to you, Yeonjun was the Sun—ethereal and radiant while someone like you, was too broken to be seen with someone like him.

“You know you can't avoid him forever, right?” Beomgyu started one day, leaning against the table as you watered the orchids. “He asked me for you, asking if I'm coming to see you in your little hideout,” he teased.

“It's not a hideout,” you mumbled, focusing on the delicate flowers, “It's just that, he shines so brightly, I don't think I deserve to be in the same space as him, Cookie. He shouldn't waste his time on someone like me.”

Beomgyu sighed, his expression softening, “You're more than worth it, Petal. Don't let your past define you, you're more than that. You shine just as brightly; anyone would be lucky to get to know you.”

You placed the watering can down as tears welled in your eyes. You've known Beomgyu since you both were in elementary school—he's been with you at your worst, from the loss of your brother when you were fifteen to your parents abandoning you at sixteen, leaving you to navigate in a world that moved on too quickly, denying you a chance to grieve. He's witnessed the aftermath of your last relationship, the way that even in his death, your ex haunted you, leaving you shattered.

Giving you a side hug, Beomgyu continued, “I know it's hard, but give him a chance. Yeonjun’s a nice guy. Even if it takes time for you to get close as friends, he'll understand.”

You had really hoped that could be true, but the fear and anxiety wrapped around you, made you hesitate. Deep down, you really wanted to believe things could turn out differently.

Your second interaction made Yeonjun feel alive; nostalgic even—you're with a cigarette again as you sat with Beomgyu, talking. Despite not having seen you in months, Yeonjun couldn't help but think you're even more gorgeous than when he first met you—his feelings resurfacing almost as if it had never truly left. You were glowing—you seem more animated that day; happy in the bubble you're currently in, laughing at the antics Beomgyu is doing—your rosy cheeks contrasting the chilly weather.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Yeonjun decided to approach you both—hoping his presence doesn’t cause this side of your personality to be stored away again.

“Gyu, hey!” Yeonjun said as he made his way over with his gaze fixed on you. He noticed the surprise in your eyes at his presence and he finds it adorable—the way your smile softened, and your nose scrunched at his arrival made him feel as if he were in heaven.

“Hey man,” Beomgyu said as he greeted him with a high-five. “You’ve never met Petal, right? She’s like a sister to me, so this is me formally introducing you.” He smiled as he ruffled your hair.

“Nice to meet you Petal," Yeonjun smirked slightly, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

With furrowed brows, you gently pushed Beomgyu as you quietly told Yeonjun your name with a shy smile.

After a brief moment of silence, Beomgyu suddenly jumped up, “I just remembered I had to print an assignment for my next class,” Giving your arm a squeeze, he continued, “Later guys! I'll see you for lunch, Petal!” as he ran off towards the library.

As you both waved goodbye to Beomgyu, Yeonjun took a seat next to you, his eyes sparkled with anticipation as you handed him a gift bag.

“Your hoodie,” you stated, “and a pressed sunflower, as an apology for taking so long to get it back to you.”

“You didn't have to get me an apology, Blossom,” Yeonjun replied as he took out the pressed sunflower, admiring it—it's beautiful, he thinks. The pressed sunflowers are carefully confined within a picture frame ensuring its beauty is preserved—recalling your first encounter he thinks it's endearing that you gave him one.

“You did this yourself?” he asked, genuinely impressed.

As you nodded in response, Yeonjun noticed you watching him as he continued to admire your work, sensing the care you put into it.

To others, this may seem like a superficial interaction between two people—but to Yeonjun, this was the beginning of something more. Like a budding flower, this relationship had potential to blossom into something truly beautiful and fulfilling.

Over the next few months, your interactions with Yeonjun became more frequent. He began having lunch with you and Beomgyu more often, even visiting the greenhouse whether Beomgyu was there or not. At first, you were hesitant to open up, your budding relationship destined to remain stunted—with a lack of food it seemed inevitable to fall apart, but Yeonjun's warm smile and genuine interest in your life slowly chipped away at your defences.

At first, it started small—Yeonjun began to join you and Beomgyu in the cafeteria for lunch, a simple action that spoke volumes to you.

“What's your favourite book?” he asked one day. Evident hesitation on your features left you unsure of how to respond, but Beomgyu chimed in, “Oh, Petal absolutely loves mythology and folklore! Especially stories deeply rooted in romance and symbolism.” As Beomgyu ruffled your hair teasingly, Yeonjun looked at you, his eyes lighting up, “Be sure to tell me about them next time, yeah? Especially your favourite.” With a shy smile and heat rising to your cheeks you nodded as the remainder of lunch fell into a quiet, casual conversation between you three.

In the following weeks, Yeonjun’s visits to the greenhouse became a daily occurrence, often bringing you a coffee or a sweet snack you liked. Some days were quiet, others were filled with sweet conversation between you two—you, explaining the nuances of flower language while he listened intently, admiring the way you carefully tended to each flower.

“I brought these for you today,” Yeonjun said as his eyes sparkled while he entered, handing you a small bouquet of beautifully arranged red chrysanthemums and white roses with a tiny bag of freshly baked cookies. “I'm sure you'll understand the message I'm trying to convey.” Your blush deepened as Yeonjun smiled softly at you, “And the cookies were something Soobin and I made earlier. Wanted to give you some. The cookies taste good though! Even though Soobin helped, I made sure everything was edible in the end,” he smiled cutely as he sat next to you on the bench. You felt a flutter in your chest as you accepted the gift, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him.

The times when the greenhouse was filled with you, Beomgyu and Yeonjun, it became livelier—the flowers embracing the energy that surrounded them. Beomgyu watched from the sidelines as the conversation naturally got quieter, he smiled at the way Yeonjun looked at you, with a look of adoration, unmatched. “I'm glad the two of you are getting along,” he commented, his voice filled with warmth. “It's nice to see my two best friends get along.”

In the confines of the greenhouse—amongst the laughter and quieter moments, it became a safe house—a sanctuary where your blossoming friendship with Yeonjun was nurtured into a young seedling full of life and vigour. The way Yeonjun listened, really listened, made you feel valued—it felt nice to be heard, to be seen, to feel as if you were human like everyone else even if your past tried to tell you otherwise.

And with Spring coming to an end, the vibrant colours surrounding you mirrored the warmth of your connection; as the last petals of the season began to fall, you both stood on the precipice of something beautiful—ready to embrace the Summer of your hearts with open arms.

II || A Glimpse of Heaven ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The next time Yeonjun saw you, you were at a party again but this time it's the beginning of Autumn—unlike your first meeting.

After the sweltering heat of Summer, Autumn's crisp air made him feel alive—her leaves, painted in hues of auburn and crimson, dancing gently in the breeze, creating a nostalgic atmosphere that somewhat felt romantic, contrasting the solemnity of Winter that steadily approached.

This time, he saw you on the dance floor, which was surprising considering your withdrawn personality—your body language was comfortable, with relaxed shoulders, you swayed with Beomgyu to the music, surrounded by other attendants of the party. Yeonjun was mesmerized. The way you handled yourself even in this moment felt addicting to him—he couldn’t resist staring at you as you sipped on your drink, giggling at something Beomgyu whispered to you over the music before you made direct eye contact with him.

He couldn't help but feel shy as he felt the way heat rushed to his cheeks, still, he waved at you from across the room. In response, your eyes shone with excitement which Yeonjun assumed was due to the alcohol, but he felt giddy at the idea of you being happy to see him.

Despite the moments you shared over the last few months, Yeonjun still wasn't sure on where the relationship was headed. Still staring, Yeonjun saw you whisper something to Beomgyu as you stepped outside, onto the same balcony where you first talked last Spring—and Yeonjun, he couldn't stop himself from following.

As you placed your joint between your lips, you fished for your lighter in your purse—you don’t smoke weed often, the relaxed feeling you got, usually became too much for you—but in this moment is felt like a reward for overcoming Summer and enjoying yourself even if the anxiety remained in the back of your mind.

Annoyed, you realized you left your lighter home, causing you to cut your celebration short—or so you thought, like last Spring, Yeonjun met you on the balcony again. He had a glow to him, a little different than usual—maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's something else, but whatever it is that made him look like he had the Moon, made him look even more beautiful to you.

“Do you have a light?” You asked. “It seems like I forgot my lighter home and I wanted to celebrate,” you stated, the pout evident in your voice as you gestured to your joint.

Leaning in, you allowed Yeonjun to light the joint—the proximity between you two allowed you to get a whiff of his cologne, this time it's stronger, instead of the jasmine and incense undertones, it's woodier with undertones of sage and pomegranate—its addicting you think, it made Yeonjun even more captivating to you, spellbinding almost. It made you want to ravish him in ways that you rather not explain—despite forming something akin to a friendship, the little moments you shared made you hope for something more. As the THC began to enter your bloodstream, you passed the joint to Yeonjun as smoke filled the air.

“What’s the cause for celebration, Pretty?” Yeonjun asked as he took up the offer on the joint, allowing its warmth to surround him.

“Just cause,” you stated, as you giggle, the alcohol and weed beginning to take effect, “Anything can be a celebration,” you continued as the joint found its way between your lips again.

The music in the background set the mood for the conversation between you and Yeonjun—in your own bubble you conversed about celebrations and for once, you felt happy without anxiety eating you up inside.

As the night progressed, Yeonjun invited you to continue the celebration at his place, making you feel giddy inside, being cross faded didn't allow you to overthink the situation. Before leaving with Yeonjun, you made sure to let Beomgyu know of your whereabouts. He doesn't let you go before teasing you a bit, his eyes glimmering with mischief at the thought of the two of you being alone together.

After taking an Uber, you and Yeonjun arrived at his place. Nervousness bubbled within you, you didn't expect Yeonjun to invite someone like you to his apartment. Settling on the couch, the two began to sober up as music played in the background, its soft melodies mingling with the ambient lighting within the room, setting the mood.

For the next hour, you conversed about mundane things—you shared stories about the new flower you're tending to while Yeonjun animatedly told you of his love for pottery.

Despite the TV flickering in the background, you couldn't help but notice Yeonjun's gaze lingering on your lips for a moment longer than it should. The way the proximity between you two closed in just slightly, felt electric. Your knees brushing against each other made you feel excited—in your little moment things felt easy, the comfort that surrounded the atmosphere was like no other, wrapping its arms around you, shielding you from the outside world.

“May I kiss you?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice low and filled with longing as he gently twirls a strand of your hair, “It's just that, you’re so addicting; I can't help but want you.” With a mixture of desire and sincerity, his eyes searched for yours—causing your heart to race with excitement and anticipation as the tension thickened.

Not trusting your own voice, you nodded, granting him permission. As his hands found their way on your face, he caressed the apples of your cheeks—glancing at your lips, before locking eyes with you again. With blown-out pupils, he searched for any signs of hesitance from you. Once satisfied, Yeonjun closed the gap—his lips against yours are softer than you expected. The kiss itself was amazing—to you, it felt better than fireworks—it felt as if your souls were intertwined, surrounded by bursts of colours. The way Yeonjun held you sent shivers down your spine—gentle, as if he was scared to break you, yet also scared to lose you.

Running your hands through his hair, you deepened the kiss, feeling more alive than you did before. The moment made you feel giddy, yet anxious, the weed in your systems further amplifying the experience. As you pulled away, laughter bubbled between you, euphoria rushing through your veins. The second kiss is more desperate, as if you were afraid of disappearing from each other's grasp.

Breaking the kiss, your foreheads touched—the only sounds are the TV and music in the background, mixed in with your heavy breathing. “Do you want to continue this upstairs?” Yeonjun asked, his gaze locked onto yours, the unspoken feelings dancing around you.

“I'd love to,” you whispered, almost as if you were afraid of shattering the moment.

“Are you sure?” Concern flickered in his eyes. “We can stop here if you want.”

Leaning in, you pecked his lips softly, smiling as you said, “I've never been more sure about something in my life.”

The morning after was quiet—the early morning light seeped into the room, giving you an undeniable glow. Yeonjun felt as if he’s on top of the world—with you beside him, dressed in his shirt, a gentle reminder of the night you shared. He thought you look beautiful like this, in his clothes—even in your tranquil state, Yeonjun can't help but gaze at you in wonder.

Every aspect of the night before remained in the forefront of his mind. From the moment on the balcony to the conversations in his apartment—Yeonjun couldn't get rid of the grin on his face. The way you smiled at him throughout the night, the way your eyes sparkled with joy as you maintained conversation had him captivated. The moment your lips met, it felt as if the world had faded away—you ignited something within him that Yeonjun didn't know existed, a feeling deep down that made him want to savour every moment with you. He remembered the way your bodies intertwined—the way he lost himself in you, the way he was finally able to worship you. The shared breaths and whispered words, a moment he wished he could inscribe into his very being.

As a cool breeze makes its way into the room, it caused you to unconsciously reach out for him, making his heart leap for joy. With you beside him, Yeonjun believed he could conquer anything. As your body instinctively stayed close to him, he couldn't help but smile, he wondered if you would want more from the relationship—at least, he hoped you did.

Contrary to what people thought on campus, despite his undeniable popularity, Yeonjun was a lover boy at heart. He never indulged in the idea of hookups or meaningless relationships, he always valued something deeper. But when it came to you, Yeonjun felt all logic go out the window—he couldn't help but want to go against his values if it meant he got to stay beside you. He wasn’t sure about your views on relationships, but Yeonjun hoped you’d want something more with him.

Scared that the moment might be ruined, Yeonjun decided to be a bit selfish. Even if it was just for a while, he held you a little closer, fantasizing about the idea of you being together. He wasn't sure what would happen when you woke up, but for now, Yeonjun enjoyed the proximity between you two, the warmth of your skin against his. Without a doubt, he was scared—scared that from this moment on, things wouldn't be the same with you, and his chances of having you might have already slipped away.

Waking up, your nostrils were filled with a pleasant scent of coffee, its rich aroma filling the room. As you gathered your bearings, you rubbed your eyes and sat up. Your body ached pleasantly as you thought of what had occurred between you and Yeonjun the night before—flushing as the memories replayed in your mind. Although you hated to admit it, you had never felt so wanted in your life. You remembered the way Yeonjun’s hands adorned your body—the way he treated you as if you were a sacred item. Even when you told him he could be rougher, Yeonjun couldn't help but be gentle with you, as if you were a gift so delicate it could break—the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he made love to you was something foreign to you, and it scared you.

In the back of your mind, the words of Josh, your ex, plagued you, reminding you that you were nothing more than a body for men to use. The more you thought of Yeonjun, the louder the voice became—as if it was mocking you for the happiness you so selfishly sought. You hated your ex and the power he still held over you despite being six feet under. The way his rough hands made you feel still haunted you, the way it felt to be a puppet while he was the master—the way he treated you like nothing but a doll, the way—

“Hey, you okay?” Yeonjun asked, as he peeked his head into the room. He gazed at you softly with concern, “I made us breakfast. I'll give you a sec to freshen up, and you can meet me downstairs.” He left you alone and suddenly your once festering thoughts retreated—afraid to reveal themselves almost as if Yeonjun were their kryptonite.

Breakfast felt suffocating. Yeonjun sat at the kitchen table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, kimbap, and kimchi pancakes wafting through the air. He glanced at you, seated across from him—your hair dishevelled from the night before, your eyes weary and still in the process of waking up. The sight made his heart flutter despite the awkwardness that swirled in the air.

For once, Yeonjun didn't know how to begin the conversation—the only thought occupying his mind was you.

“Last night…you were amazing,” he began, his voice shaky. “Every moment we spent together, I enjoyed it. Even before this happened, your presence always captivated me. This just made me feel more connected to you.”

Surprise flickered in your eyes, causing you to momentarily choke on your coffee, “Yeah, it was nice,” clearing your throat, trying to make your tone casual, “I think that was the best night I’ve ever had.” Despite your praise, Yeonjun can't help but feel the tension that lay beneath your words.

Taking a deep breath, Yeonjun tried again, “I really like you, Blossom. Like, really like you.” His heart raced, the words tumbled out before he had a chance to think, “I know we've been talking for a while, but I would love to get to know you on a deeper level, if you'll allow me to.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as you looked up, then it faded into something more guarded, almost scared. “Yeonjun, I—” you hesitated, causing Yeonjun to visibly deflate, the anxiety creeping in as he braced for your response.

“I can't promise you a relationship,” you continued, causing Yeonjun’s stomach to drop, a lump forming in his throat, “But, if you want, we can keep things simple—a friends with benefits arrangement? I promise not to do any sort of written agreement; it's just right now I'd prefer something with no strings attached. I'm sorry.”

Despite Yeonjun's desire for something more, he considered your suggestion. Even though it completely went against his voice on reason, he rather hold on to the physical connection for now than lose you entirely.

Running his hands through his hair, “I can do that,” he replied, even if the words on his tongue felt like a dagger slowly twisting into his heart. “I am giving you full disclosure that I'm still interested in you, not just…this.”

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him, making Yeonjun’s throat tighten. “I appreciate your honesty, Yeonjun. But for right now, I really don't think I can handle something deeper. I'm sorry.”

Nodding, breakfast resumed as if everything was normal. The tense atmosphere still lingered, but it gradually faded into something different—the unspoken understanding hung in the air, words and lingering glances between you and Yeonjun made him feel as if the arrangement would be more than what he bargained for.

Slowly, you fell into conversation, your small smile brightening as you complimented his cooking, “I didn't know you could cook like this Yeonjun! These kimchi pancakes taste amazing.” The way you giggled as if the prior conversation had never occurred, hurt Yeonjun in a way that he's never felt before. Despite the dull ache in his chest, he couldn't help but gaze at you lovingly, forever captivated by your presence.

For once, Yeonjun is grateful that Soobin wasn't home for the weekend. He'd hate having to explain the current state of affairs—not only the tension in their shared apartment but also in his heart. The thought of Soobin questioning him made him shudder.

As you continued to chat, talking about your plans for the day Yeonjun found himself stuck between two worlds; in one world he's with you, a smile adorning you face as you share breakfast and in another he's in his head, hoping that somehow the gods above would grant him grace, and maybe, just maybe this arrangement could lead to something more.

But as he takes a sip of his coffee, its bitter taste reminded him of his reality—with the boundaries you've set, Yeonjun has to thread carefully, balancing his feelings, even if it hurts him in the end. For now, he decides to savour these moments, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

After breakfast, Yeonjun drove you home, the car was filled with a comfortable silence with the soft hum of the radio. As you found yourself lost in thought, you glanced over at Yeonjun, watching the way his eyes shone as he hummed along to the melody—his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, matching the rhythm. You pondered over this morning's events—Yeonjun making you breakfast, the way he expressed his desire for wanting something more, which both excited and scared you. Even in this moment, Yeonjun radiated a warmth like no other, his presence, even in such a serene moment was immaculate.

As he catched your gaze, he smiled brightly—leaving an unbearable flutter in your chest, reminding you that the arrangement itself is more than you deserve. In the back of your mind, memories of your ex nagged at you—reminding you of the way he belittled you, reducing you to nothing but an object of desire. A relationship built on sand, destined to crumble; he made you feel invisible, your feelings and interests insignificant as it had no bearing on the satisfaction you gave him—leaving you, a hollow shell of your former self.

As Yeonjun pulled into the driveway of your apartment, the engine's soft purr and the tunes from the radio, created a moment of tranquillity. In the passenger seat you watched Yeonjun, drinking in the way the sunlight gave him an undeniable glow. “Thanks for driving me home, Yeonjun, and breakfast. It was amazing,” your voice, feathery, like the air.

Yeonjun turned to face you, his eyes filled with warmth, “It was a pleasure having you, Blossom. I enjoyed having you over,” the softness in his voice spreading warmth throughout your body.

Suddenly, his gaze made you feel shy, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “I should get going now,” you murmured, fumbling with your seatbelt. “I'm sure Beomgyu is waiting for me.” As you unbuckled, Yeonjun leaned across, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath hitched at the unexpected intimacy. Before you could fully process what happened Yeonjun leaned in, kissing you tenderly.

Despite your surprise, you welcomed the kiss, relishing in the feeling—his hand cradling your chin, pulling you closer while your hands instinctively gripped his shirt.

Pulling away, a playful grin adorned Yeonjun’s face, “I hope to see you soon, Pretty.”

“See you soon, Yeonjun,” you replied with flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the car, waving goodbye as he drove off.

“Woah, what was that?” A voice called from behind you, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned around, mortified, coming face to face with Beomgyu who leaned casually against your front door, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Gyu! When did you get here?” you exclaimed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly amused, “Sorry to break it to you Petal, but I've been here since Yeonjun drove in. Was wondering when he'd bring you back.” His teasing tone made your cheeks flush even more.

Unable to muster a response, the bag in your hand, once forgotten, suddenly felt heavier. “You know,” Beomgyu teased, leaning in closer, “you can't hide anything from me, right? Especially after that kiss. Let's get you inside,” He said as he took the bag from you, “How about we have some ramyeon and talk about it, yeah?”

Unable to resist ramyeon with Beomgyu, you nodded eagerly. As you made your way next to him, he ruffled your hair, “I can't believe I saw you kissing Choi Yeonjun! Who would've thought?”

You laughed slyly, teasingly pushing Beomgyu as you made your way into the apartment.

Amidst the laughs echoing within the confines of your apartment, you and Beomgyu settled on the floor, slurping your ramyeon as you recalled the time you spent with Yeonjun, sparing him the explicit details. Moments like these allowed you to cherish your friendship—its warmth wraps around you like a swaddling cloth, reminding you of your appreciation for your best friend.

III || Changing Seasons ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Like the season, as Autumn progressed, and the air grew colder in preparation for Winter—so did Yeonjun's relationship with you. The start of your arrangement felt shy, filled with fleeting glances and even shyer touches. It felt ironic that you and Yeonjun were shy with each other despite having explored each other before.

Despite the initial shyness, Yeonjun took you to stargaze one evening—determined to maintain your friendship, even if you have seen each other naked.

Settling on the soft blanket spread across the grass, the world around you felt idyllic—the evening sky coloured an indigo hue, adorned with the sparkles of countless stars. The moment felt protected, almost as if the gods themselves were watching over you, ensuring your moment of peace.

As you both lied down, you snuggled close to Yeonjun, using his arm as a pillow. It made his heart race—the proximity between you two highlighted your scent, with undertones of lilac and cinnamon, Yeonjun couldn’t help but feel his focus falter, lost in the warmth of your presence.

“Look at that,” Yeonjun whispered in your ear, pointing upwards. “That's Pisces, the two fishes are swimming in opposite directions.”

“Yeah?” you replied, looking up at him, your eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun smiled softly, booping your nose as he looked at you. Your laugh in response was light and melodic, reminding him of a choir of angels.

“And over there,” you pointed out this time. “That's Andromeda, right?”

Yeonjun looked down at you smiling, “Yeah, the princess who was saved by Perseus.” For a moment, he paused, contemplating the weight of his next words, “Do you think they're us?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Do you save me from a sea monster?” You joked, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Maybe,” Yeonjun replied, pulling you closer as the air grew serious. “Just like Perseus fought for Andromeda, I'll fight for you. In every lifetime, I'll slay your metaphorical sea monster, once it means I get to have you.”

Instantly, you sat up, looking back at Yeonjun in shock, “Jjun…” you mumbled, tears forming in your eyes, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming emotions. The sincerity behind his declaration caused your heart to swell, hardly believing his words you wondered, could it be true? In every lifetime? The thought fills you with hope but also a flutter of anxiety at the idea of someone wanting you that badly.

Yeonjun brought you back down, allowing you to face each other. “I mean it,” he whispered, even quieter. “In every lifetime, I'd fight for you.”

The air became thick with unspoken words, the magnetic pull drew you closer together. You felt the warmth radiating from him, the sincerity in his gaze made your heart race. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender, tentative kiss.

You pulled away, breathless, searching his eyes for something more—with a blush adorning your cheeks, you smile shyly, “You really mean that?”

“Every word.” Yeonjun affirmed with confidence and sincerity, “I'd face anything for you.”

Under the twilight sky, it felt as if everything else faded into nothingness and only the two of you remain, lost in each other—the twinkling stars above witness your love, the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Winter arrived in full force—as she finally settled, claiming her throne, the air felt crisp as she covered the Earth in soft layers of white. As the snowflakes danced with one another in the air, it felt as though they represented the relationship between you and Yeonjun—a transformative moment between you two, where shy touches turned into confident ones.

Snowflakes drifted lazily outside your window, reminding you of the warmth that you yearned for during the season. It was Christmas week, and Beomgyu had been urging you for weeks to come home since his family hadn't seen you for a while. Despite missing them, you decided to spend Christmas alone this year—a solemn feeling settling in as you looked back on the year gone by.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home this year, Petal?” Beomgyu asked again, his voice glimmering with hope as he got ready to leave. “Mom and dad miss you, even my annoying brother misses seeing your face.” he pouted as he held onto your arm.

Reassuring him you replied, “I’m sure, Cookie. I want you all to enjoy time on your own.” You offered him a small smile, hoping to ease his worries. “I'll be okay. I promise. If it gets too lonely, I'll spend time with Yeonjun.”

Despite his distaste, Beomgyu doesn't push you further—he pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth enveloping you. “I can't believe this is our first Christmas apart. I'll miss you, Petal.”

“I'll miss you too, Cookie. Take care and enjoy Christmas for me,” you said, as you watched him leave.

Closing the door, you thought of ways to decorate the apartment. Even though you didn't feel the Christmas spirit, you began to gather old decorations to get yourself into the holiday mood.

On Christmas Eve, however, Yeonjun messaged you, asking you if he could come over. This year, he decided to spend Christmas on campus, and with Soobin going home this year, he felt a bit lonely. Welcoming the idea of two lonely souls being together for the holidays, Yeonjun was now sitting in your apartment, the two of you cuddling under blankets, watching nostalgic Christmas movies and sipping hot cocoa. The air was thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon creating an atmosphere that almost felt domestic—the way you both eased into each other, as if it has always been that way. As the months went by, your relationship changed, where friends became something deeper, yet neither of you refused to acknowledge the change.

As midnight arrives, Yeonjun goes to the Christmas tree you had decorated days prior and reached for your gift. He turned to you, eyes sparkling with adoration, warmth and a touch of nervousness, “Merry Christmas, Blossom. It isn't much, but I wanted to get you something that reminded me of our time together.

As he handed you the gift, you admired the way it's wrapped—the care radiating from it. With a shy smile, you slowly unwrapped the present, revealing a delicate gold necklace, adorned with a sunflower and blossom pendant. Reminding you of your first interaction together, tears pricked at your eyes. “It's beautiful,” you breathed, touched by Yeonjun’s thoughtfulness as it showed you how much he valued the relationship you had built thus far.

“Put it on for me?” you asked, smiling cutely at Yeonjun with sparkling eyes. As you handed Yeonjun the necklace and turned around, his hand touched you almost teasingly, as he fastened it around your neck—his hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, but you didn't mind the warmth from his fingertips.

As you turned back around, you reached up to him, giving him a tender kiss. Feeling the way his breath hitched in response, sent a thrill through you. Immediately, he responded to you, pulling you closer—the air thick with unspoken feelings. As he deepened the kiss, it became more passionate, more sensual, more urgent. A soft sigh escaped you as Yeonjun, savoured your taste in the moment, your natural bittersweetness mingling with remnants of the hot cocoa from earlier, creating a unique flavour.

Before things could go further, you pulled away, giggling at the way Yeonjun pouted at you. “Wait, let me give you your gift too!” you said excitedly as you made your way to the tree, picking up a medium sized box adorned with a blue and white bow.

“What is it?” Yeonjun asked, his eyes glimmering with curiosity as you handed him the box.

“Open it, silly!” you giggled, playfully slapping his arm, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within you.

As Yeonjun opened the box, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than they ever did before. Pulling out a beautifully knitted sweater and matching scarf—its purple and blue yarn interchanging to form a beautiful blend that brings out his complexion, your love felt in every stitch.

“Wow,” he breathed, slipping the sweater on, “You made this?”

Heat slowly crept onto your cheeks, “Yeah! I wanted to make you something you could use. To keep you warm during the Winter,” you replied shyly.

Yeonjun’s expression softened as he wrapped the scarf around himself, “And it's the perfect fit too. Thank you, Blossom. This is the best gift ever; no one has ever made me something like this before. I love it, really.”

With that, Yeonjun leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then on your nose, a kiss for each cheek before finally settling on your lips. Unlike the kiss before, this one felt innocent—full of unconditional love, as if Yeonjun was trying to transfer all his feelings into that one kiss.

He pulled back for a moment, gazing lovingly into your eyes, before holding your face tenderly and kissing you slowly again. As you gripped his sweater, you returned the kiss, hoping your emotions were transferred too.

As the snow began to fall, the two of you continued to kiss in the middle of your apartment, the glow of the Christmas lights adoring both your features. With love filling the air, you shared an unforgettable Christmas—a moment that showed the blossoming of journey together.

Yeonjun made your apartment his home for the next week—relishing in the domestic moments together, from sharing the same bed to cooking meals together, you and Yeonjun enjoyed your time escaping from the world. Instead of attending a New Year’s Eve party, you both decided to spend the night together—savouring the intimacy that formed between you.

As the clock inched closer to midnight, you found yourselves on the balcony outside your room, swaying gently to the soft melody in the background. Holding you close, Yeonjun admired you—with the snowflakes adoring your hair and fairy lights from your room, casting a soft glow on your face, he thought you looked ethereal, almost like an angel.

“You're the best thing that happened to me,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence that formed between you.

Looking up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, “How so?”

“It's just that…ever since I met you, I've never felt more alive. I feel like I can finally breathe.” Yeonjun paused, looking down at you, gauging your reaction. You seem content in the moment, staying close to him as you continued to sway. “You make me feel alive. Every moment I spend with you, I cherish. Almost as if I'm afraid to lose you,” he admitted embarrassment colouring his cheeks.

You stopped swaying, your gaze locking onto his, your eyes melancholic, “You won’t lose me Jjun. I promise.”

A sad smile tugged at Yeonjun’s lips as he hoped to believe you. Yet, in the back of his mind, a mocking voice reminded him that it was only an arrangement—nothing more, nothing less. Ignoring it, Yeonjun focused on the warmth of the moment, determined to live in the present.

As the countdown played softly from the TV in your room, you and Yeonjun picked up your wine glasses, excitement bubbling between you as you joined the countdown, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Ten…nine…eight…” With each number, the anticipation grew and once the countdown reached zero, Yeonjun immediately pulled you into a sweet kiss, his glass resting forgotten on the table beside you.

“Happy New Year, Blossom,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with emotion.

Pulling back slowly, you rest your drink next to him before you shyly pecked his lips, “Happy New Year, Sunflower. Thank you for starting the new year with me.”

Laughing softly, Yeonjun responded, “Of course, there’s no one else I'd rather spend New Year’s with than you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the gentle snowfall, the weight of the world felt momentarily lifted. No one knew what the future held, but despite the uncertainty, you had each other, and for now, that was enough.

For the remainder of Winter break, Yeonjun was able to encourage you to spend it at his apartment.

Currently, you both were in the kitchen, the soft hum of holiday music filling the air—the countertops were dusted with flour and sugar, a sweet scent of vanilla and orange in the atmosphere, enticing you—a perfect way to end the holiday celebrations.

As you measured the ingredients, putting it in the bowl, Yeonjun ensured he preheated the oven correctly—he glanced at you for a moment, drinking in the way you were, adorned in one of his hoodies and sweatpants, your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you glanced between the recipe and the bowl. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands fell delicately in your face as you ensured you were following the correct steps. Even in this moment, something so simple, Yeonjun thought you're the most beautiful being ever.

“How’s little miss baker going?” Yeonjun teased as he hugged you from behind.

“Good!” you replied, as you tried to look up at him, “I just have to mix the batter.”

“Let me help you with that,” Yeonjun said, as he held your hand. Mixing the batter together—the warmth between your bodies merged together, the simple moment, feeling intimate between you both. Once the batter was thoroughly mixed, Yeonjun poured the batter in the pan, deciding to give you a gentle kiss as he placed it in the oven.

Moments like these Yeonjun cherished the most, while he loved the passionate moments when you were under him, the domestic nature of these innocently intimate moments felt like a drug—addicting, with no chances of sobriety.

Once the cake finished baking and cooled, you and Yeonjun moved to the counter to ice it. The scent of the freshly baked good filled the air, as you both prepared to decorate your creation. As you spread a generous layer of frosting, your tongue peeked out in concentration as you focussed intently—grabbing another spatula caused a dollop of icing to land on the corner of your mouth. Yeonjun couldn't help but chuckle. Glancing at you, he pointed playfully. “You have something there, Blossom,” a teasing smile on his lips as he gestured to the corner of your lips . With raised eyebrows, you reached up to wipe it away, but before you could, Yeonjun stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours, “Let me help you with that,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

Without waiting for a response, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss, the sweetness of the icing lingering between you, igniting the moment into something more—something passionate. Yeonjun’s hands cupped your face, tilting your head slightly upwards as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lips, asking for permission.

With the parting of your lips, you allowed him to slip inside, a rush of warmth and arousal flooded between you—the cake long forgotten as the world around you began to fade away, leaving only the taste of the frosting as you found yourselves lost in each other.

Yeonjun’s heart raced as you leaned into him, feeling the heat radiating from your body—his hands travelled from your face down to your waist, where he pulled you closer as your hands travelled through his hair, slightly tugging. In that moment, nothing else mattered, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of sweetness and desire.

“Hey, are you two—” Soobin’s voice trailed off, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene before him. A half-decorated cake sat forgotten on the counter, icing smeared across the table, and the two of you quickly pulled away—cheeks flushed, your lips glistening with remnants of frosting, a sweet testament to the kiss you just shared. You exchanged a glance, filled with a mix of embarrassment and amusement, the moment charged with an undeniable spark that remained lingering in the air.

Soobin blinked, processing the scene before him before bursting into awkward laughter. “Didn't mean to interrupt your, uh…baking session,” he teased. A playful grin spread across his face as he watched your cheeks deepen in colour and Yeonjun with a smug smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun grinned, clearing his throat, “We were just, uh, tasting the frosting, you know, quality control.”

Soobin, raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused, “More like tasting each other.”

“Sorry you had to see that, Soobin,” you squeaked out as the embarrassment slowly washes away. “Do you want to help us finish frost the cake? I promise all taste testing is over.”

Yeonjun laughed as Soobin accepted your invitation, grabbing a spare spatula. The earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by the warm laughter of you three as you attempted to decorate the cake.

You don't interact with Soobin much, but in the moments that you do, you cherish the quiet friendship between you both—he reminds you of your departed brother, the way he quietly looked after you, his steady presence bringing comfort to your life.

As you three admired your chaotic masterpiece—a lopsided snowman adoring the top of the cake, an attempt at a winter wonderland—you couldn't help but laugh at the delightful mess you made.

Amidst the chaos, you settled down enjoying your cake while watching nostalgic holiday movies.

“This is definitely the best cake I’ve ever seen,” Soobin joked, earning a playful nudge from Yeonjun.

Surrounded by this chaotic, sweet moment you realized this is exactly what you needed—a reminder that love and friendship can coexist beautifully, having you thankful for your formed friendships—a beautiful end to winter break indeed.

With Spring’s return, you are reminded of your first interaction with Yeonjun—on the balcony of a random party, there you were, two unlikely souls who formed an unseemly connection. Now, life without him seemed dull—like the flower he represents, Yeonjun had brightened your life in ways you never thought possible. Choi Yeonjun became the air you breathe, a deeply engraved part of you. Looking back on your time together you feel alive—like you've never felt before, grateful for the man you've met.

At the start of the season, you decided to take Yeonjun to a flower arrangement class. Within the flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms delightfully filled the air, everyone in their own world as they received guidance from the instructor. You remembered how you made arrangements for each other—Yeonjun gifting you baby's breath and lilies while you chose carnations and tulips for him. Both arrangements perfectly made to fit the vases you crafted for each other in a previous pottery class. Although they weren't perfect, the vases were filled with character and love, serving as a constant reminder of the time you've shared.

“Hey, are you two dating by chance?” a participant asked you, glancing at the way you and Yeonjun conversed.

Surprised, you quickly glanced at Yeonjun, who was busy fixing his arrangement. “No, just friends!” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Well, from the way he looks at you, Sweetheart, that man is totally in love with you. I hope you don't let him go.” As the participant turned back to their arrangement, you looked back at Yeonjun.

“What was that about?” he asks curiously.

“Nothing,” you brushed off casually. “She just said our arrangements were pretty.”

As the class continued that day, you found yourself staring at Yeonjun more than before, wondering of the way he looked at you. But for now, you savoured the moment—enjoying the way his arrangement brightened your apartment in its vase, reminding you of him every time you looked at it.

With the progression of Spring, your birthday dawned, bringing with it a sense of renewal and hope. You stirred awake to the soft sound of singing, fluttering your eyes open, you saw Beomgyu walking in, a big smile on his face as he carried a tray in his hands.

“Happy Birthday, Petal,” Beomgyu sang softly as he rested the tray on your nightstand—the aroma of seaweed soup and the assortment of side dishes, waking you up pleasantly.

As he ruffled your hair playfully, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Thank you, Cookie,” you replied, giving him a small hug.

Growing up, you hated your birthday, it being a painful reminder of the loss you suffered—a reminder of those who abandoned you, but with Beomgyu by your side, he and his family embraced you as their own, ensuring you enjoyed your birthday regardless. For the remainder of your morning, you and Beomgyu enjoyed breakfast in bed, sharing laughter and reminiscing on the moments you spent together. After a while you video called his parents who, despite being away, wanted to celebrate with you. A familiar warmth filled you as you enjoy the remainder of your morning with your best friend and his family, thankful for the love they gave you.

“Thanks for breakfast, Gyu, and for always celebrating my birthday with me. You mean a lot to me, I hope you know that.” You said sincerely as you both made your way downstairs.

“Of course,” Beomgyu grinned, “I wouldn't have it any other way. I hope you look forward to tonight!” he teased, winking at you.

“Tonight?” you say confused.

Once you make your way down, Beomgyu handed you a flat velvety-black box, mischief glimmering in his eyes, “Open it.” Opening the box, revealed a note, which said,

To my World,

Happy Birthday Blossom!

I hope you love this surprise! I wanted to get you a special outfit for tonight. I think it would look amazing on you, something to make you feel as beautiful and confident as you truly are.

Reservation is at 8. Can't wait to see you tonight!

Love,

Your Sunflower, Yeonjun.

With disbelief in your eyes, you set the note down gently before turning your attention to the box, pulling out the most breathtaking dress ever created by man. The fabric felt luxurious and soft against your fingertips, its silhouette destined to hug your curves in all the right places while cascading gracefully to the floor. Its colour was deep and rich—a beautiful shade that complemented your skin tone beautifully.

“He sure knows how to make a girl feel special, huh?” Beomgyu, commented as he observed your reaction. Wordlessly, you nod, rendered speechless. Then, you reached for the heels nestled beside the dress. Their design was one of a kind, a stunning blend of elegance and allure—sleek and sophisticated, their graceful arch that would elongate your leg just enough while adding an air of confidence to your stride. The shoes were not just an accessory, but a statement piece, elevating the outfit and making you feel empowered.

“You knew about this?” You asked Beomgyu as you looked up, your eyes filled with amazement.

“Maybe,” he teased. “Needed to help him get your perfect size.”

You playfully swatted Beomgyu’s arm, “Gyu, what the fuck? I’m genuinely at a loss for words.”

Ruffling your hair, Beomgyu chuckled, “I hope you enjoy your night, Petal.”

The evening couldn't come soon enough. As you added the final touches to your outfit, you admired yourself in the mirror. The dress adorned your body beautifully, the silhouette hugging your curves perfectly, accentuating your waist as it flowed gracefully to the floor. The neckline’s elegant cut revealed enough skin to feel alluring while leaving the rest to the imagination. The slit that went up to your thigh allowed the heel to peek through, adding a hint of playful sexiness.

Your makeup was perfectly understated, enhancing your features while making you look even more irresistible. Finally, the necklace Yeonjun gave you last Christmas felt like the perfect finishing touch—the way its delicate chain rests against your collarbone, completing the look entirely.

With one final twirl in front the mirror, you applied your perfume—amber and vanilla, swirling together creating an intoxicating scent that lingered. Grabbing your purse, you make your way downstairs, excitedly waiting for Yeonjun's arrival.

“Woah! You look amazing,” Beomgyu commented, his eyes wide with admiration. “Yeonjun will absolutely love it.”

“You think so?” you asked nervously, your heart racing at the thought of Yeonjun seeing you like this. The weight of the evening hung in the air—despite you and Yeonjun being in each other's company for a year, this felt different, and you couldn't help but wonder what tonight might bring.

Before Beomgyu could answer, the doorbell rang, its chime feeling louder than usual, almost as if it was mimicking your nervousness. “That’s him!” Beomgyu grinned as he made his way to the door.

As Yeonjun’s silhouette was revealed, you couldn’t help but gasp softly at his appearance. Adorned in a simple black suit—his hair was styled slicked back, exposing his forehead—an unexpected but striking look for him, different to his usual, everyday style. The slight exposure of his chest housed a simple chain, while various rings and a few bracelets decorated his hands, adding a touch of flair to the entire ordeal.

In one hand, Yeonjun held a bouquet of red roses, an addicting aroma filled the air as their sweet scent mixed with his musky perfume. When he looked at you, the world seemed to stand still. You didn't see it before, but in this moment, you finally recognized the way Yeonjun looked at you—as if his eyes penetrated your very soul. He looked at you as if you're the only woman on Earth—as if no one else existed. Finally, you saw the depth of his feelings, the way he looked at you with so much love both excited and scared you.

“Roses, for the most beautiful girl in the world,” Yeonjun said, as he stepped into the room and handed you the bouquet. “Happy birthday, Gorgeous. You look absolutely divine.”

With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Yeonjun took a step back and looked at you again, his eyes filled with an undeniable admiration. Smiling shyly, you replaced the old flowers in your vase with the newly received roses, their vibrant petals standing out beautifully against the soft glow of the candles. Before you both leave, Beomgyu excitedly brought his camera out, taking out a few pictures to commemorate the memory, encouraging you both to stand close, like a proud dad.

As you made your way to the restaurant, you couldn't help but focus on the way Yeonjun’s hand felt against your thigh, his slightly calloused hands gripped you softly, sending a rush of warmth through you, while the other confidently steered the wheel.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked Yeonjun, your voice unusually shy.

“You.” he says, gripping your thigh a little tighter. His simple admittance rendered you speechless, leaving you aroused. As you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, the only thing you could focus on was Yeonjun and the way he ignited a desire within you, one that can only be quenched by feeling his body against yours. Thinking of the way he peppered kisses along your skin under the moonlight, the warmth of his breath that sent shivers down your spine—the thought left you unfocused—in anticipation of what the rest of the night might have to offer.

The soft lighting illuminated the restaurant creating an intimate atmosphere, perfect for the occasion. As the night progressed, you both enjoyed a delightful dinner—one filled with laughter and reminiscent stories of the time you spent together, a circumstance you never expected to be in.

When the special birthday dessert was brought out at Yeonjun’s request, he eagerly took his phone to capture the moment. The dessert, a beautiful, deconstructed cheesecake, topped with rose petals and fresh strawberry pieces, looks almost too divine to eat. As you smiled softly, the light from the candle faintly reflected in your eyes, making you look even more alive in the moment.

Reaching into his pocket, Yeonjun pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box—your heart racing as he placed it in front of you. “Happy birthday again, Darling,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Unwrapping the gift, you revealed a small framed picture of your time spent under the stars last Autumn and a delicate silver chain. Attached to it was a pendant of Perseus’ constellation—something so simple, yet powerful.

“A reminder of our time,” Yeonjun started, shyly showing you his hand. It's decorated with a matching bracelet with a pendant of Andromeda attached. “I really meant what I said then. I’d face anything for you.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of love and gratitude wash over you, knowing that this night was one you would cherish forever.

The night ended within the confines of Yeonjun’s bedroom—with your dress on the floor and his hands feverishly exploring your body, tracing over your curves. Each touch sent a wave of electricity coursing through you. Wrapped in each other, you lost track of time—with a touch, gentle and possessive, you arch into Yeonjun, craving more of him. The kisses, nothing short of passionate, ignited that fire within you as you made love to each other.

While the rest of the world slept, you found solace in your intimate space, rediscovering not only each other’s bodies but also the depths of your unspoken feelings that lingered in the air. The warmth of his skin against yours as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings—creating a cocoon of intimacy and love.

Its night of passion, a suitable end to a wonderful birthday, indeed—leaving you both breathless, yearning for more.

The Summer before senior year crashed in like a wave, washing over you with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty—the sunny days and vibrant colours Summer brought with her filled you with anticipation for the season ahead. For the first time in a while, you and Yeonjun were spending some time apart, each returning to your respective homes for a bit. Despite not wanting to be separated, they did say that absence makes the heart grow fonder—the saying filled you with hope, excitement coursing through your veins as you looked forward to being reunited with Yeonjun.

Even though thoughts of Yeonjun plagued your mind, you enjoyed your time back in Daegu with Beomgyu. His parents and brother welcomed you both back in open arms, almost as if you hadn't left in the first place. They ensured you've had your fill of the local cuisine before going back to Seoul in August, showering you in affection and home-cooked meals, reminding you of how much you missed familial warmth.

Beomgyu’s mom fussed over you, exclaiming that you've lost too much weight as she fed you generous plates of food. While his dad pinched your cheek lovingly asking if any boys were bothering you. It takes everything in you to not trample Beomgyu as he quickly mentioned Yeonjun—leaving his dad to lecture you on the importance of being a responsible adult.

Moments like these made you miss home. After they took you in and treated you as their own, you've always been grateful for their presence and the way they treated you as their daughter. Even the moments where Beomgyu and his brother teased you about Yeonjun filled you with joy. It felt oddly nice having two brothers tease you about boys—it allowed you to forget your family history, even for a moment. You don't mind it, as you felt truly happy with your found family.

As you sat in the living room one afternoon, everyone was doing their own thing while basking in each other’s presence. Your phone buzzed with Yeonjun’s name popping up as he video called you, a smile spread across your face as you answered, delighted to see and hear him.

“Hi Blossom!” Yeonjun beamed, his eyes lighting up as he saw you, “I miss you.” His admission left you flustered, “I miss you too, Jjun,” you smiled shyly. “How’s everything with your parents?” you asked, getting comfortable on the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you shared stories about your time apart. You told him about all the home-cooked meals you had while he told you about the places he visited with his parents.

Suddenly, you heard a voice from off-screen, “Yeonjun, who are you talking to?” His mom said as she appeared on screen, her voice warm and curious. As he said your name, her eyes shine in recognition, “Blossom” she exclaims, smiling softly, “Jjunie, told me so much about you! You’re even prettier than he says!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, embarrassed, “Thank you Mrs. Choi! I see where Yeonjun gets his looks from.”

Yeonjun’s mum gushed over your response, turning to him with a proud smile. “You've met such a sweet girl, Jjunie!”

As your chat continued, you glanced over at Beomgyu’s parents, who were watching you with knowing smiles. A sense of belonging washed over you, feeling glad to have received the warmth from Yeonjun’s family—it left you looking even more forward to being reunited with him.

Going back to Seoul felt bittersweet—after being under the care of Beomgyu’s family for the last month, it felt nice to let go of the worries of life, if only for a moment.

Even though you were glad to be back as it meant reuniting with Yeonjun, you couldn't help but wish to go on another getaway—somewhere sunny and serene, where you could relax under the sun, with the pleasant sea breeze brushing against your skin.

As you made your way into your apartment, Beomgyu looked at you with excitement.

“What?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It's nothing,” he shrugged, resting his luggage down with a grin. “Just excited to see your reaction.”

You gave him a weird look. “To what?”

Beomgyu remained silent, his eyes sparkling with mischief as you headed upstairs. As you stood outside your bedroom door, Beomgyu leaned against the wall looking at you, he seemed to be more excited than before. You couldn't help but feel nervous as you wondered what lied beyond your door. The sight that greeted you left you utterly shocked. There, sitting on your bed, was Yeonjun, a wide smile spread across his features.

“Yeonjun?! What the fuck? I thought you were coming back to campus till next week?” you exclaimed, enveloping him in a tight hug.

Yeonjun laughed, the sound warm and familiar as he embraced you, lifting you off the ground for a moment. “We have plans, Blossom.”

“Plans?” You said as you took a step back, admiring Yeonjun for a moment. Despite the short time away, his hair is a bit longer and he had a glow to him that felt more confident than.

He took a deep breath, “I actually planned a trip for us to Jeju Island. We leave in a few hours.” His voice getting a bit softer, “I know how much you love the Summer and enjoying the beach. And I know you've never been before. I just wanted to have that new experience with you before senior year started. You deserve it.”

His words left you in shock, emotions overwhelmed you. Tears welled up in your eyes, “Oh my God, Yeonjun…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you manage all this?”

Taken aback by your tears, Yeonjun wiped them away slowly, “Don't cry, Pretty.” A sheepish smile formed on his face, “My parents covered the cost actually. They knew how much I wanted to take you somewhere special and actually offered to pay for us. They were really excited for us to have this experience together.”

“Thank you Jjunie,’ you mumbled as you began to cry more, “no one has ever done this for me.”

“Do you like your surprise, Petal?” Beomgyu piped up, smirking.

You turn to him, eyes wide in disbelief. “You knew all this time?”

Beomgyu laughed softly, “I helped plan the trip. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

A wave of gratitude washed over you—you couldn't help but laugh through your tears. The sheer realization that Yeonjun had put in so much effort to surprise you filled you with warmth, but it also scared you yet you were determined to make long-lasting memories.

And with that, you and Yeonjun embarked on your journey, hearts full of excitement and anticipation for the adventures that awaited you. The moment the plane arrived on Jeju Island; you were overflowing with excitement—overwhelmed with all the possibilities that lied ahead.

When you arrived at your accommodation, you were rendered speechless—it was a quaint little cottage hidden among the lush greenery overlooking one of the island’s many beaches. The warmth in its atmosphere makes it feel like a home away from home—with a beautiful exterior, adorned with wooden beams, the inside is even more breathtaking, leaving you in wonder; the inclusion of a skylight in the bedroom makes the place even more cozy than it did before.

“This place is beautiful,” you said to Yeonjun as you took it all in.

Yeonjun grinned, pleased with your reaction, “I thought you’d like it,” he pulled you close, “let’s rest a bit before we head out again, yeah?”

Your days in Jeju were nothing short of magical, filled with breathtaking views and cherished moments. While Yeonjun ensured to take you to known places such as the Hallasan National Park and the Cheonjiyeon Waterfall, he also ensured you enjoyed the quieter moments—taking a day trip to Biyangdo Island was one of those moments that left you captivated. The small uninhabited island left for a day filled with hiking and exploring, a moment you would never forget.

As the sun began to set on your last day in Jeju, the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas as if it were painted with orange and red hues, casting a warm glow over the island. Your evening began with a lovely dinner at a local restaurant—as many other moments you've shared together, you and Yeonjun were in your own world, making idle chit chat as you savoured each other’s presence.

Followed by a walk along the beach near your cottage, you both enjoy the feeling of the sand between your toes as the ocean sang quiet hums to you with its waves—the moon, casting a silvery light over the water with the cool breeze creating a romantic atmosphere. Pulling out a pair of wired headphones, Yeonjun handed you one side as soft melodies began to play. As he held you close, you both swayed to its rhythm—losing yourselves in each other as the world melted into nothingness.

With a sweet kiss, your night concluded in the bedroom—as Yeonjun had you under the stars, your body glowed softly in the moonlight, only the melodious sounds of your breaths mingling together were heard. With every kiss, the connection deepened, somehow becoming more intimate than before—your heart full as Yeonjun looked at you in adoration, worshiping your body as if it were his last chance at salvation.

Resting his forehead against yours, Yeonjun confessed softly, “I love you,” his voice thick with emotion. The confession pierced your heart in a way you never felt before—as if all your fears and doubts began to rise to the surface, making it unable to breathe.

“Yeonjun…” you breathed, your voice trembling as tears began to spill over. The intensity of the moment left you overwhelmed, every insecurity you had felt more seen—leaving you exposed.

Cupping your face softly, his thumbs brushed away your tears that fell. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured, his eyes understanding. “I just wanted to let you know that I am truly and utterly in love with you.” As Yeonjun kissed you softly, your salty tears mixed in the kiss and you continued to cry, unable to contain your emotions. With each gentle kiss you shared, your heart ached more as the weight of his confession became more real with each passing second.

“Please don’t cry,” he murmured tenderly between kisses. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” Yeonjun’s thumbs continuously wiped away your tears which only seemed to flow harder.

As your final night in Jeju Island came to an end, time seemed to stand still as the stars above witnessed your love. Unspoken words created a tension that lingered in the air. This transformative moment became a pivotal point in your relationship—both terrifying and exhilarating; only time will tell whether the outcome led to joy or heartbreak. The salt and sweet mingling on your lips as you shared a final kiss that night filled you with unease—the feeling haunted you as you drifted into a restless sleep, shadows of doubt weaving through your dreams.

IV || Love Is Like A Cigarette…Quick To Burn Out ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Autumn felt colder than before—her reappearance felt like a mockery, a reminder of what once was. You found yourselves intertwined beneath the covers each night—his warmth, a bittersweet testimony to the love that still lingered as you slowly felt yourself slipping away. The fragility of each shared breath hung in the air like a whispered secret—an unspoken acknowledgment of the growing distance.

As you lay beside Yeonjun, the shadowy hands of doubt made their return, pleased to reacquaint themselves with you—finding their way back around your neck, tightening their grip, reminding you of why your fears lingered.

“Please. Don’t look at me like you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like you want to kiss me,” you replied, averting your eyes as tears welled up in your eyes.

Yeonjun reached out, his hand brushing against yours sent shivers down your spine. Hurt flashed across his face as you flinched at his touch. “Please,” you begged, “just…don't kiss me.” As you cried yourself to sleep, Yeonjun held you tenderly—whispering sweet words of reassurance, hoping to alleviate your fears.

Ever since the confession, your dependency on cigarettes seemed to increase tenfold—unable to let go of your source of divine relief. Each inhale felt like a desperate attempt to fill the void inside you while each exhale felt like a mocking reminder of the scars Josh had left behind.

Josh's cycle of abuse was an intricate web of manipulation, woven with such precision that it left you trapped and helpless. It started slow; he first reeled you in with a whirlwind of affection—his words and actions sweet, leaving you feeling intoxicated, invigorated, desperately wanting more. But as he ensnared you in his tapestry of lies, his personality shifted. The once sweet Josh became your worst nightmare; berating you, blaming you for the way your life turned out. His sweet words turned into knives, leaving deep cuts in you that left you questioning your worth.

Every time he claimed you as his own, it felt like a twisted blend of passion and possession—the once intimate moments morphed into something darker. Each caress, a reminder that your body was his, only meant to fuel his desires. The aftermath always left you hollow, like a mere shell of your former self—your body desperately begging to be free.

At those times, he became withdrawn, leaving you to pick up your broken pieces—his warmth replaced by a chilling cold, one that settled in the corners of your mind. Inevitably, he would return, charming as he once was, offering a tender-hearted apology and sweet lies, pulling you back into the same destructive cycle. Each time you forgave him, you hoped for change, only to find yourself more deeply entangled in your ultimate demise.

Despite severing your ties, the cycle continued to haunt the forefront of your mind. As you closed your eyes each night, you relived the haunting memories of your past—sleep becoming a battleground of destruction. As the nightmares faded and reality embraced you—you found Yeonjun lying beside you, his concerned gaze meeting yours as tears fell from your eyes. You sank deeper into him, whispering that you were okay, desperately hoping that would be the case.

Yeonjun didn’t know what to do—he was at a standstill in his life, unable to make his next decision. Ever since you returned from your trip to Jeju Island, things had shifted. It started small, with the way you avoided his gaze, a subtle action that tore his soul apart. Then it transitioned to you avoiding his kisses, something Yeonjun never expected. His breaking point came when he noticed how you flinched at his touch and cried in your sleep—holding onto him as if you were afraid he'd disappear. Yeonjun loved you, but he feared this arrangement was now hurting you both more than it should.

Yeonjun stood outside Soobin’s room, riddled with anxiety as he contemplated the conversation he was about to have. He wanted to ask Beomgyu for advice, but he decided against it, thinking it was unfair to put him in such a position.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before softly knocking in the door. “Hey, Soobin. Can I come in?” he called out.

“Yeah!” Soobin replied, his tone light.

As Yeonjun entered, he saw Soobin sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he sat up, “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

Smiling sheepishly, Yeonjun rubbed the back of his neck. “It's about Blossom, actually.”

Soobin sat up a bit straighter, his expression shifted to one of concern. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Remember when we took that trip to Jeju in the Summer?” Yeonjun asked.

Soobin nodded slowly in understanding. “Yeah…you guys had a wonderful time, right?”

Nodding, Yeonjun continued, “Yeah, but I sort of confessed to her?”

A deadpan expression formed on Soobin's face. “You…confessed. Aren't you dating her?”

Yeonjun felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Well…no, we're not.”

Soobin's eyes widened in shock. “Wait, what? You two were kissing in our kitchen last winter and you aren't dating?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun responded, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “We just had an arrangement. No strings attached.”

Looking more shocked than before Soobin says, “Why don't you explain everything to me? From the beginning.”

Yeonjun recounted to Soobin the story of his entanglement with you, from your first meeting to the night you slept together, detailing every moment that led up to this one.

“Honestly,” Soobin started, “I think it's best you step back. For both your sakes. It's clearly taking a toll on you both and it isn't worth it that you both are hurting in your own way. You love each other, anyone would be stupid enough to think otherwise. I know she hasn't said it, but she looks at you with so much love, Yeonjun.” Clearing his throat he continued, “Just give her the space to work things out on her own. It will hurt, but she'll come back to you once she's gathered her thoughts. She's clearly going through something deeper, so have some patience with her, yeah?”

With a nod, Yeonjun hugged Soobin, grateful for having a friend like him during times like this. This newfound perspective guided Yeonjun on the path he had to take—he didn't want to, but if it meant you slowly got to heal from your unspoken trauma, he would do anything to save you from that.

The cool evening air wrapped around you as you sat on the balcony of your room—with a cigarette in hand you're listening to Beomgyu beside you, his eyes full of worry as he talked to you. You saw his lips moving, eyebrows furrowed yet you couldn't hear him—it was as if you and your body were disconnected.

The world around you felt blurred, the once vibrant colours, fading into a muted palette. It felt as if you were a spectator in your own life, watching the scene unfold, nodding absently to Beomgyu. As you inhaled the last remnants of your cigarette, you felt yourself fading back into reality.

“...And I'm just worried about you, Petal. These days you don't seem like you're present in reality. I just want you to talk to me, please. I just want to help you,” Beomgyu said as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can't lose my best friend. Not again,” he added softly.

You watched Beomgyu with sad eyes, feeling the weight of his concern. “I'm sorry, Cookie. I…I don't know where to start. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Just tell me what happened,” he urged, his voice quivering, “you've been smoking so much more lately. I'm worried.”

“Yeonjun confessed,” you said, biting your lips. “During our last night in Jeju, and it kind of just freaked me out? Ever since Josh happened six years ago, I just don't feel worthy?”

Beomgyu looked at you earnestly, his steady gaze urging you to continue. “It's just that, my mind convinces me that I'm destined to be in a perpetual cycle of abuse and…” Your voice breaks, tears welled in your eyes, “...And I don't think I'm deserving of the love Yeonjun’s willing to give.” Wiping your eyes, you continued, “Ever since the nightmares resurfaced, I keep seeing his face and reliving moments and it scares me. I'm terrified of slipping back into that space.”

Beomgyu’s expression softened, “I get that, Petal. But hanging onto the past isn't going to help you or Yeonjun. You both will get hurt in the end. You need to let it go.”

“I'm scared, Gyu. Not of letting go but facing what comes after.”

Beomgyu rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be here to support you, you know that, Petal. It'll be okay,” he smiled softly. “Just give yourself some space and gather your thoughts. Then talk to him, shutting him out won't help either of you. He loves you, he'll understand and want to help.”

You sighed softly as the weight of his words settled in your heart. “Okay,” you whispered, “time to let go.”

The weather was overcast, almost as if it mirrored your mood, or was mocking you—either way, you didn't like the feeling. Yeonjun asked to meet you at your apartment that day and it filled you with dread. It wasn't like his usual messages or spontaneous visits—this felt different, as if the air was thick with an impending change.

To ease your nerves while you waited for Yeonjun, you smoked three cigarettes, each one making you feel worse than the last. Nothing seemed to help extinguish the turmoil inside you.

As you contemplated lighting another, the doorbell rang, disrupting your spiralling thoughts. Your heart raced, anticipation and dread coursing through your veins as you prepared yourself to open the door.

Opening it, you found Yeonjun standing there but unlike his usual lively appearance, today, he looked exhausted—the dark circles under slightly bloodshot eyes were evidence that he hadn't been sleeping well—the sight made your heart ache.

Closing the door behind you, you glanced at Yeonjun again with sorrowful eyes. “Yeonjun…are you okay?” you asked, your voice, barely above a whisper, fear knotting in your stomach at the thought of his answer.

“I'm sorry,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion, “I don't think this arrangement can continue. I'm too in love with you and too selfish.” Yeonjun paused, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “I desperately want more, and I don't want to ask you for more than you're willing to give.”

As the rain began to fall softly, each drop mirrored the emotions swirling between you in this very moment. Yeonjun stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of heartbreak and desperation.

“Just this once,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the patter of the rain, “I know you've been avoiding kissing me lately, but just this once,” he begged, his voice breaking, “let me kiss you one last time before I end this.”

The desperation in Yeonjun’s voice is evident—it broke you knowing that you're the one that caused him to be like this. Despite your hesitation and racing heart, the weight of his words pulled you in. As he leaned in, the world around you faded into nothingness—the final kiss is sweet and sorrowful, mixed with desperation, the moment feeling suspended in time. As the rain begins to fall harder, your clothes become soaked but the warmth from Yeonjun lips makes the chill forgettable.

The kiss deepened, hot and cold, salty and sweet; mixing with your tears and his—as his hands cradled your face gently, his thumb brushing away your stray tears that mixed with the incoming raindrops.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, saying your name softly, “just let me have this.”

The urgency in his voice spoke volumes, all his unspoken feelings poured out into this single moment. Pulling you closer, as a final desperate grasp, the world around you seemed to blur further, the rain, swaddling you, shielding you from everything else.

As you both pulled away, tears streamed down your faces—breathless and trembling, the reality of the situation crashed in. The sheer vulnerability in his eyes broke you more than you had hope. It almost felt as if his gaze mirrored your own pain.

“Yeonjun I—”

“Don't,” he interrupted softly, almost begging. He placed his forehead against yours, “Just let me be selfish one last time.”

With a final kiss, Yeonjun wiped your remaining tears, whispered an “I love you” and made his way to his car, where he left you, standing in the rain.

Everything then came crashing down on you as he left. You felt your strength fade away, suddenly you're on the floor—glancing at Yeonjun’s figure became smaller as he drove away. The feeling of his lips haunting you as you began to sob uncontrollably. You knew it was your fault the things turned out this way, unable to give him more. Yeonjun made the decision for you, preventing the inevitable. It shouldn't hurt, since it was something you needed; it shouldn't feel like this—but you couldn't help it since you were so utterly in love with Choi Yeonjun.

Going back into the apartment you felt numb, like a piece of you left with Yeonjun. Part of you knew this was necessary, best for both parties—yet a small part of you hoped to stay in your current arrangement, ignoring the unspoken feelings. Beomgyu looked at you as you entered the living room, shocked at your appearance—soaked, with tears streaming down your face.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked as he fetched a towel, gently drying your hair, then wrapping it around you.

“It's Yeonjun,” you mumbled quietly, your tears slowly subsiding. “He ended the arrangement. Which is fine, I just didn't expect it to hurt so much.”

Beomgyu looked at you with empathy, “I know it hurts, but you knew you needed this. It's okay to feel sad about it. You loved him even if you didn't say it out loud.”

“Yeah…I do love him” you admitted quietly, “I think I want to start therapy. I want to get better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun as well. Once I get through the beginning of that journey, I'll reach out to him again.”

“That's more like it, Petal,” Beomgyu encouraged softly, “Let's get you upstairs and I'll run you a warm bath, yeah?”

Despite the heartbreaking moment, you understood what had to be done. Now, it was time to embark on your journey of letting go—letting go of the past that haunted you and embracing the present. You knew it would be hard initially, but you were determined to be better, determined to reclaim the life you once lost.

For once in his life, Yeonjun absolutely hated himself. He knew he should feel relief—relief that he let you go, not because he wanted to but because he needed to. Yet still, there seemed to be a you-shaped hole in his chest, which had a hollowness more profound than any heartbreak he ever felt. The void reeked of you, memories of your laughter, your warmth, your presence—now replaced by an unbearable silence that was almost deafening.

After what felt like forever, Yeonjun stopped at the park near his apartment—today it was quiet, usually filled with the laughter of innocent children—the air remained still, deadly still. As the sun began to set, the park felt tranquil, almost as if it empathized with him. With the rain finally passing, the orange and red hues adorn the sky and even in this moment, Yeonjun’s first thought was you—he thought you'd love the sight before him, your eyes would light up in delight, wanting to take a picture to savour the moment.

As if his body moved on autopilot, Yeonjun walked to the nearest convenience store. In front of him was a cigarette display with various brands—unconsciously he picked up your favourite brand and a lighter, paying for them and settling on some swings within the park. Yeonjun didn't smoke often, but in this moment, he craved some kind of proximity with you, something to keep him grounded, something to fill the hollow feeling inside.

As Yeonjun lit the cigarette, the flame flickered in the dimming light, taking a drag, the smoke filled his lungs—the warmth contrasting the chill air as the evening came.

Momentarily, the hollowness receded, but as he exhaled, the feeling rushed back in, somehow worse than before. With each drag, Yeonjun felt more reminiscent than before. He recalled the moments during the arrangement, the way you mentioned that you liked having a black coffee, a croissant and a cigarette for breakfast—something about wanting to feel like a girl in Paris. He chuckled sadly at the memory, even though in the moment he was stressed about your lack of a nutritionally balanced breakfast.

He remembered the way your body felt against his, how every intimate moment you shared felt like matching puzzle pieces, your body immediately reacted to him as if you were made for each other. He recalled the way you looked at him, with so much love shining in your eyes, and the way you kissed him as if each one might be your last.

“Why did it have to be this way?” he whispered, the only response being the wind rustling through the leaves. A bitter chuckle escaped him as he took another drag, “God,” he sighed, “I love you so much. I wish I didn't have to do it, but I couldn't just have an arrangement with you anymore.” Yeonjun continued, speaking to the universe, hoping that somehow you could hear him in the confines of your apartment.

With a final drag, the smoke swirled around him, flickering the ash from his cigarette—he watched it fall to the ground, like the remnants of your relationship. Despite the emptiness of the park, memories of your time together lingered in the air, haunting him.

Leaving the pack of cigarettes on the swing, Yeonjun made his way to his car, the weight of your absence more present than before. As he drove back to his apartment, he knew the hole you left would take time to heal, but for right now, he listened to the playlist you made together, living through the moments for one last time as familiar melodies washed over him, each note a bitter reminder of what once was.

Arriving home, Yeonjun felt a lingering sadness. The decision to give you space weighed heavily on his heart. Remembering the way you cried those nights haunted him, the sound of your sobs as you held onto him were heartbreaking. He knew you needed space to sort out the problems you haven't mentioned even if you didn't openly admit it. He loved you and this was the only thing he thought of doing to help you.

“Soobin,” Yeonjun began, his voice low, “I finally let her go.” The admission lifted a weight off his shoulders, but the pain still lingered. “It hurts more than I expected.”

“It's normal to feel that way,” Soobin reassured him. “You love her and giving her the space is best for both of you. She'll come back when she's ready, I know it.”

Yeonjun nodded, consoled by the idea that you would come back, better than you did before.

As quick as Autumn came, so did she leave—leaving behind soon-to-be distant memories, each day served as a reminder of what was lost. With the days getting shorter and the nights growing colder, Yeonjun hoped you were on the path to a better place—like the changing seasons he hoped you were becoming stronger, no longer a slave to your haunting past.

V || Ashes and Second Chances ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The first snow of Winter came quietly in the beginning of December—unlike her previous arrivals, this year her snow quietly blanketed the Earth like a mother nursing her child. You haven't spoken to Yeonjun since your last conversation two months ago but sometimes he sent you messages encouraging you to eat and take care of yourself. You didn't have the heart to respond just yet, but his messages filled you with hope. It felt nice knowing that he still cared even though you weren't on speaking terms—each message a reminder that the bond was still there, despite the distance.

You started therapy the same week Yeonjun left, a daunting but necessary decision. The first few sessions of therapy felt suffocating at first—almost as if you were scared to admit what was wrong. But once you got over that hurdle, things became easier—your therapist encouraged you to confront your past so that you could take a hold of your future.

Within that safe space of the therapy room, you were taught ways to cope with the cycle of manipulation you had gone through without relying on your cigarettes. As the ties to your past slowly became severed, you developed a love for painting. Each brushstroke became a form of expression for the words you were unable to convey.

As winter settled in, you felt a growing pain to properly move on from your past—a persistent discomfort that gnawed at you.

Thus, you found yourself at a gravesite during the harsh Daegu winter, determined to make amends. Your first visit was to your brother—you hadn't visited his grave when you returned to Daegu last summer, so you decided to have a conversation with him, sharing your journey.

The cemetery was serene, the snowflakes danced around you as you walked toward a familiar headstone. Sitting down in front of the grave, you placed a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots.

“Hey, big brother,” you whispered quietly. “I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't visit you last Summer.” You took a breath, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I've been trying to get better. I started therapy and I'm learning to cope with everything,” You smiled sadly and continued, “I broke up with Josh too, I know how much you hated him when we first started dating back then. I'm sorry, I should've listened to you.” You recalled all the memories you spent with Yeonjun, “I met someone new,” you laughed quietly, “you would've loved him. He's special to me but I messed up.” Tears began to fall from your eyes, “I promised myself to quit smoking too. It's been hard going through the withdrawals, but I'm getting better.” You took a moment to collect yourself, wiping the tears that fell, “I promise to be better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun too. I want to be someone he can be proud of, someone who can love without fear.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the grave, “I miss you so much and I wish you were here. I promise to be better so you can be proud of your little sister, okay? I love you.”

You walked away from your brother's grave feeling a sense of warmth filled you as if a weight had been lifted, but there was one more conversation you had to have—one that had been long overdue.

As you stood in front of Josh's grave you no longer felt anxiety and fear washing over only that of anger. You took a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your lungs, “You took so much from me,” you began, voice rising slowly. “You took my sense of self and trust. You made me feel like I was never good enough and I let you. I let you control me for so long even when you're dead and gone and I'm done.”

Gently, you rested a bouquet of black roses at the base of the headstone. “I'm here to say my final goodbye. I'm here to reclaim my life.” You take out your last cigarette from the pack, now, a symbol of your past, placing it on the grave as a final offering. “This is my last one. You loved it when I smoked but I'm no longer letting any aspect of you take control over me.” With a steady voice, you declared, “I'm letting this go and I'm letting you go too. I hope you know how much I hate you.”

As you walked away you felt lighter, relieved that it was over, but also relieved that the shackles of your past no longer had a hold on you. The cold Winter now felt like a moment of transformation—as you made your way back to Seoul, hope filled you as you were ready to embrace the life you were finally reclaiming.

Winter felt colder to Yeonjun this year—the lack of your warm presence beside him became a constant reminder of the void that settled in his heart. Despite the ache, he knew it was for the betterment of your relationship. Occasionally, he sent you a message, a word or two of encouragement—a part of him hoped you would respond. He was thankful that Beomgyu always gave him an update on your wellbeing, letting him know you were getting the help you needed.

During your time apart, Yeonjun found himself visiting places you had been together. One morning he visited the greenhouse before he went to the café, admiring the way you always took care of the flowers there. He saw the sunflowers and plum blossoms next to each other in bloom and stared at them in wonder—recalling the day you decided to place them together, cutely saying, “They're us,” as you smiled softly at him. From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with every waking moment you spent together.

At the café you frequented together, he had a croissant and coffee, another attempt at feeling closer to you. The combination of the bitter coffee and flaky pastry only served to be another painful reminder of the laughs you shared over breakfast—the way you would lean across the table, your eyes bright with excitement as you stole a strawberry from his plate. Yeonjun missed those days dearly.

In the middle of winter, Yeonjun found himself staring at the night sky, watching the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda together. He remembered that night all too well, the way you pointed Andromeda out, the way your eyes filled with wonder as he recalled the story. Yeonjun fell in love with you that night—from that moment on he knew he would fight for you in every lifetime.

He wondered if you were okay—praying to the gods above that your past would no longer haunt you and you could finally take control of your life. The memories, although painful at times, had a comforting warmth that contrasted the stillness of Winter leaving Yeonjun holding onto faith—faith that your relationship would be okay, like the changing seasons, your love had the power to endure and flourish even in the harshest of winters.

Ever since you visited Daegu weeks ago, life has felt brighter—for once you felt like you were able to breathe on your own without any shadows or voices tormenting you.

Sometimes the nightmares still lingered, but they occurred less frequently than they did before—something you were absolutely grateful for. Therapy had been beneficial as well; after understanding how your abuse affected you, the road to recovery wasn't a terrible journey.

Your sobriety journey from nicotine was a different story. Aside from the typical cravings after withdrawals, the increased irritability and insomnia you faced stressed you out. After Mrs. Kim, your therapist recommended Nicotine Anonymous (NicA), things became easier, especially since Beomgyu came with you, providing you with the extra support that you needed. The meetings made you feel seen as people understood your struggles while Beomgyu’s reassuring presence reminded you that you weren't alone.

With the festive season approaching, you felt a growing desire to reach out to Yeonjun—to give him the explanation that he deserved and to apologize for the distance that had grown between you. You decided to get him a special gift—something that signified the moments you shared and what he meant to you.

A chain, adorned with both of your birthstones along with a painting you did of your time together in Jeju. A landscape painting of the day you spent on Biyangdo Island—on top of its peak, both of you smiling as with the surrounding ocean and nearby islands in the background—truly one of your happiest days there.

You knew Yeonjun would've been alone again this Christmas. Not wanting him to spend it alone, you gathered your courage and with a bouquet of apology flowers and his gifts, you made your way to his apartment.

As you stood in front of his apartment you took a deep breath, reminding yourself of the progress you had made. You were no longer living in the past, letting a gripping fear dictate your actions—now you lived in the present, ready to embrace what life had to offer. With the gifts tucked under your arm, you quietly knocked on the door, heart racing, hoping that this would be the beginning of a new chapter for both of you—one filled with promise of brighter days ahead.

As Christmas approached, the world around Yeonjun transformed into a wonderful winter wonderland. Yet, despite the festive atmosphere, a heaviness settled in Yeonjun's heart as he yearned for you, hoping that somehow, he was granted a Christmas miracle, and you would greet him at his door.

Despite not knowing when you would talk again, Yeonjun wrote letters for you, one for each season since you've met, each detailing the different ways he fell deeper in love with you—testament to the memories you shared, little things about you that made you unique.

Alongside the letters, Yeonjun made a homemade scrapbook, each page filled with photos you took together and surprise ones he took just of you—each with a little note highlighting his favourite thing from that memory. He included snapshots of places you had visited, menus from your favourite restaurant and even pressed flowers that reminded him of you. Each page was adorned with quotes and song lyrics that reminded of you—their words encapsulating the love he had for you.

His doorbell rang Christmas morning, his heart raced as he prayed it was you and when he finally opened the door Yeonjun smiled, his heart racing—there you are standing, in all your glory, looking brighter than before.

“Merry Christmas, Yeonjun,” you said as you smiled softly at him, “Can I come inside?”

As you stepped inside, Yeonjun embraced you tightly, “Merry Christmas, Blossom,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Yeonjun,” you said lightly as you laughed, hugging him back tightly as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, a scent you missed. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

Yeonjun pulled away, his expression serious, “You don’t have to apologize, Sweetheart. How has everything been going?”

Taking a deep breath, you gave Yeonjun the apology flowers, feeling the weight of your past for a moment, “It was hard at first. To let go. But therapy helped me confront my past and it no longer haunts me. Now, I've started to understand how it shaped me, and I’ve finally taken control of my life.” As you explained to him the details of your last relationship and how it left you, Yeonjun’s fists tightened, angry at the idea that you've been through something like that.

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly as he cupped your cheek, “It takes a lot of courage to go through that and still face the past. You’re stronger than you think.”

You continued to give him details of your therapy sessions, your new love for painting and even mention how your NicA sessions helped with your sobriety.

“Thank you for being patient with me. For letting me go when you did, it really helped push me towards the right direction.”

“Always,” he promised, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I'll always fight for you.”

“I actually got you some presents,” you said with a shy smile, gesturing to the gifts you brought with you.

Yeonjun's eyes lit up, “I got you some presents too! Let me get them then we can exchange gifts.”

As you sat together, Yeonjun slowly unwrapped your presents. His eyes shining as he admired the chain you got him.

“A reminder that we’re always together, even if we are physically apart,” you said, shyly.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, “I love it, Blossom,” he said with adoration as he put on the chain. “I'll cherish it forever.” As Yeonjun unwrapped your second gift he gasps, looking at you in shock. “You painted this?!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“Yeah!” you say excitedly, matching his energy. “Once I realized my love for painting, I was determined to paint one of my favourite moments.”

“It's beautiful,” Yeonjun said softly, “It’s definitely getting framed and hanging up in my room.”

The atmosphere that surrounded you both was light—the soft glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the room left you feeling excited and nervous as Yeonjun handed you his gifts.

As you pulled out the stack of letters, your heart swelled—each letter adorned with a different seasonal motif. With trembling fingers, you read each letter, tears welled in your eyes—with each season since you've met, Yeonjun highlights the moments in which he fell deeper in love with you. From your laughter in the spring to the warmth of your hand in his during the summer nights—to the cozy moments together in autumn and the quiet times during the winter evenings, each highlighted moment cherishing every little thing about you.

“Yeonjun…” Your voice broke. “I can't believe you wrote all this for me. These are incredible.”

He smiled softly, his eyes shining with warmth, “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. With every season I felt more hopelessly in love with you.”

As you set the letters aside, you turned your attention to the scrapbook—each page was a beautiful collage of your time together, from photos of you laughing to menus from your favourite restaurant, each page was filled with Yeonjun’s thoughts and even more things we loved about you.

“I didn't even know you took some of these,” you laughed softly as you flipped through the scrapbook.

“I wanted you to see yourself from my eyes.” Yeonjun said softly, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes, “To understand just how beautiful you are, not just on the outside, but also in the way you radiate kindness and strength, lighting up the darkest days. You’re incredible, Blossom.”

The weight of Yeonjun’s words hung in the air, his hands still against your cheeks—gazing at you with unconditional love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice filled with longing and tenderness.

With a racing heart, you nodded. As he closed the distance between you, the sweet kiss transcends the heavens, filled with all the love and longing that had built up over the time apart—you both savoured the moment, tasting the sweetness of reunion after so much uncertainty.

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss—reality dimming, leaving you two, suspended in a perfect moment. As you pulled away, you're both breathless and smiling. “Yeonjun,” you began, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. “There's something I need to tell you.”

He looked at you, eyes twinkling with curiosity, “What is it?”

“I love you, Yeonjun.” you said proudly, “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I just needed you to know.”

With a radiant smile on his face, Yeonjun laughs softly, “I love you too, Blossom. More than I can express.”

As Yeonjun kissed you, his warmth enveloped you, reminding you that relationships are like the changing seasons—despite the warmth they bring, they often have the coldest winters. Just as flowers bloom in spring after enduring harsh conditions, so does love flourish after facing trials and tribulations, growing stronger and more vibrant with each passing season.

Together, you and Yeonjun would be okay—with each season, you would endure what came, hand in hand, knowing that your love had the power to conquer all storms and shine through even the darkest of days.

Epilogue || Seasons of Us ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

It's been a year since that fateful kiss, and as Spring returned, Yeonjun was once again reminded of you. With your past no longer haunting you, he had watched you blossom to your full potential, radiating like a Plum Blossom in full bloom—your vibrant spirit surrounding the atmosphere in all its glory. He marvels at the way you've fully embraced life, proud that you have surpassed your struggles.

The seasons, once a memory of Yeonjun’s entanglement with you, has now transformed into cherished memories of your time together. Now, he's able to hold you the same under the morning gaze—no longer stuck in limbo, Yeonjun is now able to live the rest of his life with you. The last year has been transformative for you both—having graduated and moved in together, you and Yeonjun were now ready to embark on another part of your journey.

Together, you stepped into the world, eager to embrace every moment, every season and every challenge that came your way. Together, you would continue to bloom.

Taglist.ᐟ – @yunverie, @filmnings, @yeonjunnnielover, @just-nc-tea, @iluvjjunie, @fancypeacepersona, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @bunniwords, @lostgirlyystuff, @beomgyusluver, @beaabz

adeline's closing ✉ - if you've made it to the end, I thank you for reading!! I'd also love to know which moment was your favourite, I'd love to hear your thoughts :] mine was the kiss in the rain!

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