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chrollohearttags · 2 days ago

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hard to breathe • portgas d. ace

seeing your ‘ex’ boyfriend ace one last time for closure..or so you thought. (based off of this song I’ve been obsessed with for months. It’s ‘old’ but I felt like it fit him and the vibe of this fic)

📝: black fem!reader, lots of relationship angst, modern au, heavy kissing, arguing + lots of dialogue, they’re slightly toxic ( y’all both ain’t shit I’m sorry 😭), riding, car sex, dirty talk, breeding, baby trapping (kinda), infidelity, hair pulling, pet names and daddy used, crying

wc: 4.1K

🎙️: I love writing my faves in a bunch of different scenarios, including ones that aren’t typical for their personality. This is in no way condoning toxicity, infidelity or anything of the sort. I just thought it would be a lil fun to experiment.

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“Where are you right now?”

“I should be with you..”

“You know that’s not a good idea..”

“Yeah, but it’s what we both want..who cares if it’s wrong or not?”

3:30am

the deep drawl on the other end of the line luring you in with each word..it always had a tendency to do so, even when you wished you could just ignore it.

“Ace, what the hell do you want from me? Stop this.”

“C’mon, babe. It’s the truth. Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty..what did I tell you? You’ve got to stop giving so much a damn about what other people think.”

“Go to hell. Not everyone can just mistreat people like it’s nothing.”

it was a shame honestly..this type of behavior was so unbecoming of both of you. A sweet girl who didn’t like to make much of a fuss for anyone or over anything. And him, the shining example of a stand up guy. Charming, kind, helpful, a little rough around the edges but what every man should strive to be. Yet here you were..whispering into the speaker of your phone as to not wake the one in the room next to you. A mere replacement to dull the ache in your heart caused by him and his stupidity. Meanwhile, he was chuckling in your ear. Seemingly teasing you because he could sense the tension in your shaky voice. He knew you’d bolt the second you heard a ruffle from the other room…but he also knew you’d never hang up. Knew you couldn’t resist answering in the first place and for damn sure, that you couldn’t resist his offer…

“I want to see you. I can be at your place in ten..”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s late, Ace..and—“

“And what? Afraid your little boyfriend might wake up? I know it’s not because you don’t want to see me either.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? How dare you? You ended things, Ace. Not me. So why the fuck do you keep hitting me up?”

the line would fall silent for a moment..only the shallow echoes of your breath captured on the opposite end. That was until you’d hear a sigh and his voice once more. This time with a much less arrogant tone.

“Listen, (y/n)..I get it. I fucked up..it’s my fault things turned out this way and I’m sorry. I know I can’t go back or change anything that happened between us but I can try to make it right. Even if it means someone else gets to do what I couldn’t…I just wanted a chance to apologize. In person…which I should’ve been man enough to do from the jump.”

the things in question? Your relationship..a bond of three years to be exact and a union everyone was certain would end in the two of you walking down the aisle. However, life has a funny way of throwing even the biggest of curveballs. This man had all but swept you off your feet one night a few summers ago..both out with friends and enjoying the night life as young singles should. Drinking, laughing and having a blast. Even though you were a bit more on the reserved side, he still managed to spot you out of all the beautiful women in that club that night. And trust, a fair share of them had been vying for his attention. Even so, he couldn’t focus on anyone but you. That was one of Ace’s many wonderful qualities. In a room full of people, he managed to make you feel special..as if you were the only one there. Which wasn’t exactly intentional..his biggest issue was that he tried to be friendly, trying his hardest not to hurt anyone’s feelings anymore. He struggled with his anger quite a bit when he was younger, taking next to nothing to set him off and if he was in the midst of conversation with one person, it was best that no one else tried to interrupt. However, he realized that only caused trouble so he always tried to greet someone regardless. It just didn’t fare very well when it came to women. No girl wants someone that it seems everyone can access to!

But alas, you sat in that section next to him; nursing your drinks and exchanging pleasantries. He was so easy to talk to. He had this awkward yet charming charisma about him. Almost as if despite his good looks, he wasn’t the ‘ladies man’ you’d peg him to be off first glance. Somehow though, he managed to get your number and the rest was history. You began hanging out, going on a couple dates..even spending a weekend together after a bad storm trapped the two of you inside of his apartment. You really enjoyed being around him and as time passed, the bond grew stronger. Six months later, you came over to visit and found yourself greeted by smoke and an obviously frustrated Ace covered in soot..a result of him attempting to cook a dinner to formally ask you to be his girlfriend! It was those goofy yet sweet gestures that made you adore him.

perfectly flawed was the best way to describe him in your book…maybe he made mistakes and maybe he didn’t come from this picturesque family but he was a damn good guy doing his best to be better than what he was used to. He was a hard worker and willing to fight for what he wanted.

You cherished every moment you guys got to spend together and at one point, you even got matching tattoos of half hearts on each of your hands..however, things began to crumble in the once ideal world you had curated together.

going from laughing all the time to petty arguments that seemed intentional. From spending late nights together..making love until the sun shines over your bodies..now you were blowing up his phone to see where he was. You began to suspect that he was cheating. Perhaps somewhere with another woman. But you were wrong..truth be told, he was running.

running away from a healthy home and relationship because he didn’t know how to handle it. Didn’t know how to process being loved unconditionally without expecting the worst to happen…he never figured himself to be good enough for you to begin with but here you were..constantly showering him with affection; buying him gifts, making his favorite meals and even surprising him with massages after long, stressful days at work. You were everything he didn’t deserve! Hence why..he felt the need to blow it up before it could escalate. He couldn’t let you continue treating someone like him as if he were special. Three weeks later, he texted you asking to break up and to say you were devastated? Was an understatement. You loved this man so damned much, you had already begun looking at wedding dresses and contemplating baby names, figuring you guys were in this for the long run. But fairy tales don’t exist and you weren’t getting the story book ending. Instead, you were left heartbroken..trying to piece yourself back together and figure out what went wrong.

“Just one last time, that’s all I’m asking. I want to say I’m sorry and then I’m out of your hair for good, I promise. I won’t bother you ever again..”

a solid compromise, you supposed. Besides, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to look him in his eye and tell him to go fuck himself for how he fumbled you. He’d plead, calling your name until he got a response and finally:

“I’ll be in the lobby, call me when you get here.” Before disconnecting the line and releasing a heavy sigh. You fought back tears but in order for the next chapter of your life to begin, you had to finish this one. But the funny thing about some books…

is that they refused to remain closed!

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page break bc I don’t do filler

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“..it’s nice to see you again. You look beautiful as always—“

“Enough of the small talk. State your business and make it quick.”

the two of you sat parked outside of your luxury apartment complex, downstairs in the desolate parking garage. Your arms folded across your chest in a defensive manner and his stretched across the steering wheel..that goofy snark on his face as he kissed his teeth. He knew you were fighting so hard to stand firm in your boundaries, something you struggled with in the past. And truthfully, he hated to disrupt that peace…but he was selfish, gluttonous even. He wasn’t always this nice guy everyone saw him as. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too and if that meant he’d leave your head a mess once again then so be it. A fucked up sentiment but the truth nonetheless..

“…damn. It's like that then? Fair enough..”

turning in his seat, Ace shifted and focused his attention directly on you. It was hard to maintain eye contact because how could he face you after such a betrayal? Even so, this was his bed he made and it was time to lie in it.

“The truth is...I was afraid. One day, you’d wake up and realize that I wasn’t what you thought I was. That I was broken and I didn’t have my shit together. It’s like no matter what I did in my life, I found a way to fuck it up. Make a mess of things..I’m not like you, (y/n). Honestly, what could you possibly see in me? Don’t you want someone who’s your equal?”

by this time, tears were beginning to swell in his eyes as well. The more he spoke, he realized that these feelings of insecurity were always within him. You promised yourself that you were just going to give him a piece of your mind, storm out and never have to see him again. But it was never that easy with this man.

you knew he was genuine and not just trying to victimize himself. He honestly felt like you could do so much better. But he also knew by the look in your eyes that you were not going to let him get away so easily.. You didn’t hate him, hell, you couldn’t even bring yourself to fully get angry with him for what he did. Looking down, Ace would begin to chuckle; a weird coping mechanism for him in times of stress and uttered the last words you wanted to hear.

“And after all this time, all the bullshit I put you through..you still love me, don’t you? That’s the only reason you’re still sitting here..the only reason you didn’t hang up. When you’re done with something, you never give it a second thought.” sitting cross armed, you’d begin to laugh. Not at his hurt but at the fact that for the first time in almost five years of knowing him, you saw him show genuine, raw emotion. You saw him finally let down his guard and be himself…as sad as it was, it was a bit cathartic.

“Wow…so you are capable of communicating your feelings and there isn’t a ten foot wall of bullshit in that head of yours.” Poking the side of his temple playfully..

“Of course I love you. I never stopped, you inconsiderate jackass. What did I ever do to you? That’s all I could ask myself. You keep talking about me deserving better and all of this bullshit..who gave you the right to decide what I wanted and what I deserve? Shouldn’t I have a say too? You left because it was easy, Ace. Instead of working through it with me, you ran because you don’t want anyone thinking you’re weak. That’s not how relationships work..we’re supposed to see each other at our worst, our best..good and bad days. If you feel insecure about anything, you did it to yourself because you were perfect to me and you know damn well I never made you feel anything less than.”

those words stung like none other. And honestly, no matter what he said, there wasn’t a good enough excuse for any of his behavior. You said it best..he was selfish, immature and didn’t think clearly. Ace had a knack for marching to the beat of his own drum and damn the consequences.

“..you’re right, (y/n). It’s my fault..and I can’t take any of it back…” suddenly, you’d feel his hand clutch the top of your own, intertwining your fingers as he stared you in the eye.

“..but I can try to fix it. Fix us..let me make this right. Please…if you’re happier with someone else, then there’s nothing I can do. But—“ In that moment, (y/n) had finally heard all that you could take. Reaching over the console, you’d clutch his face in your palm and shove your lips together. The sensation of that warm kiss sent a surge throughout your body..a spark you hadn’t felt since the day he left.

“Are you done? God, I swear you talk too damn much.” Prompting him to laugh as you held the side of his face. He was a little taken aback by your sudden dominance. Not knowing you to ever take control like this but he wasn’t mad about it one bit..

“..why’d you kiss me? What about your boyfriend?” A question as disrespectful as it was rhetorical.

“You’re as dumb as you are cute sometimes. You think I came all the way out here at three am to chit chat? Nut uh, you owe me..also, you’re a greedy bastard. No way you’re letting me go back in that apartment unless it’s with you." By this time, your hands were roaming his chest and your faces were only inches apart. His lips would curl into a sheepish grin before his palm snaked to the back of your neck, tugging your head towards him.

“..what can I say, babe? I’m just too damn stubborn..I always have to get my way.” And with that, you’d find your tongues joined together again. Twirling around one another with heavy whimpers mixed in. Suddenly, you’d find yourself crawling into the driver's seat and onto his lap. Just as you’d suspected, he’d worn those gray sweats you’d always loved to see him in and a black tank top to display his muscles, along with a newly acquired tattoo.

This man was not slick at all! Even so, his little tactic worked because all those memories of late nights and early mornings with him came rushing back. When you’d find yourself sneaking out on lunch breaks at work just to come eat his dick up or when he’d show up at your apartment around midnight because he’d work the closing shift again. With a bottle of wine and the intention of putting you through the mattress in every position after two glasses got you turned on. It was always exciting and spontaneous with Ace, something your ‘new man’ lacked. Slowly winding in his lap as you continued to make out, (y/n) caressed his torso..missing the familiar touch of his skin, taking in the scent of his cologne and immersing yourself in him. He’d run his thumbs across your throat, gently squeezing as you took his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful..I missed you.” “Yeah? You missed me, baby?” Teasing him as you bounced your ass against his crotch, subtly twerking on his visible bulge. Caressing your gentle fingertips across his freshly shaven jawline. You could feel him growing harder underneath him and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Even kissing on his neck and licking on his jugular. “Mmmm..fuck. Pull that dress up and I’ll show you just how much.” Without a single bit of hesitation, you lifted the hem and allowed your bare cheeks and slit to graze him. Shuffling around underneath you, Ace slid his thumbs into the sides of those sweats, letting them pool around his waist. Meanwhile, he couldn’t stop marking your neck and lips with tender kisses..or apologizing for how stupid he was! Being here with you again brought back a flood of memories and emotions..ones that he never wanted to lose again. He needed this to be real once more. However, you weren’t much for talking right now..if he wanted to win his girl back, all you needed were actions.

“Why are you still talking? Just fuck the shit out of me before I grow a conscience and change my mind.” Your command being heard loud and clear; forcing him to grip your waist and balance you above that aching tip. Swollen red and seeping with precum, he was eager for you and that warm cunt was welcoming him in.

“Yes ma’am..whatever you say.” Following up his remark with a toothy smirk so you knew he was going to deliver and give you exactly what you were looking for. (Y/N) reclined against the steering wheel for a moment as he slowly infiltrated that entrance. That core drooling as he made home inside of you. Both of your heads fell backwards in a haze of pleasure…enjoying the all too familiar feeling of being one!

“Shiiit..why are so fucking tight? Oh my gosh..” those breathy moans and whines escaped his mouth the second he began thrusting. Not even two pumps in and he was trying to maintain his composure. With you though, he failed pretty quick. Reacclimating to the warmth that was your insides was going to be a challenge. Even so, he’d continue to guide you up and down on his shaft, letting that thick cock stretch open those wet folds.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take this dick…just like that..” Meanwhile, (y/n)’s mouth fell ajar, overstimulated by the sensation already. You’d paw at his chest, holding onto him as he maneuvered you to his liking. Using your body like that of a flesh light. “’s so good. Missed this big fucking dick.” Hearing those words elicited another chuckle from Ace, prompting him to cradle the back of your neck in a dominant manner, pulling you close. “Yeah? Your little boyfriend ever fuck you like this?” Questioning through clenched teeth as he continued guiding your lower half..

those soft insides wrapping around him with each stroke. You’d then feel the tight clutch of his hand on the back of your head, tugging at those freshly styled wefts coursing down your back..he was aware of the minute fortune you spent each month to upkeep your beauty. From the thousand dollar hair appointments, nail salon visits and waxes..even so, he didn’t give a damn! Turning his gorgeous girl into a sloppy slut was his favorite pastime. A toothy grin on his face, watching your swollen tits bounce and drool seep from the corners of your mouth, along with the loud moans following suit.

“..I’ll take that as a no. You’re squeezing me like you haven’t come in ages, babe.” Those taunts harbored more truth than you’d care to admit. As shameful as it was to be cheating, you’d never be happy with someone who couldn’t give you a nut! Hypocritical as it was abhorrent, you too would never be satisfied until you got what you desired. And that desire was the guy slamming balls deep up inside of you at the moment. Pounding that sensitive little core..letting that fat mushroom tip split you open and begging for that sweet cunt to siphon him for every last drop of cum he had. “You’re fucking dripping..you must’ve needed this bad. Goddamn..” referring to the creamy release you had drizzling his cock. Making a mess of his lap. “Y—yeah..you’re the only one who can make me cream like this.” Cock drunk and giggling as he catapulted you up and down. The vehicle began to sway due to the heavy activity taking place and the windows also began to fog up as a result. That’s when you’d feel his palms colliding with your asscheeks, egging on your bouncing. It was in the midst of those heavy handed smacks that he’d begin pleading his remorse. Telling you how sorry he was for how he mistreated you. As cute as it was, you weren’t interested in any half assed apologies, but rather….

”…if you’re really sorry, you’ll nut in me. This is your pussy so act like it..” Uttering those words with a wide smile on your face whilst meeting his strokes with heavy bounces..nearly made Ace convulse. He loved when you spoke to him in such a domineering manner. You’d feel a sudden twitch inside of you and his hands guiding you as you slammed down on that cock. Your cheeks grazing the outer rim of the steering wheel..both of you so close to your peak that you’d claw into one another’s skin.

Covered in a sheen of sweat and saliva..begging the other to get you there and revealing all of your deepest confessions for one another..including the fact that he wanted you to be his forever and that you weren’t leaving this parking lot without him. You’d clearly chosen who you wanted to be with.

“…damn right it’s my pussy, princess. I don’t care who you bring home. You belong to me and I belong to you..no one else can come between that. Ever again.”

not to mention..you were begging for his cum yet again. You’d often divulge in the throes of pre-climatic bliss that you wanted to have his kid..be so full of his seed that there was no way you weren’t pregnant and Ace certainly had no objections to it. Maybe it was the sensation of being cream pied or the fact that you really wanted a family with him. Either way, he constantly fantasized about seeing you full with his seed; how adorable you’d look with a bump and he just couldn’t maintain his composure.

“Yes..please come in me. Want your baby—“ having to laugh again at how cute and pathetic you were becoming. But alas, there was no room for shame right now. You’d plead with your last breath to feel that womb stuffed again.

“That right, gorgeous? Does my pretty girl want me to get her pregnant?..” “Yes, nut in this fucking pussy, daddy. Please!” certainly a far cry from the headstrong woman who was yelling at him before. Now, you were reduced to a desperate little cumslut, pleading to be bred. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long. After experiencing your second orgasm in close succession, Ace would pin you down and force his cock up into you, going as fast as he could muster. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna take every drop. You’re going to have my baby and I’m going to take such good care of you both. Gonna marry you—be a better man this time around..” That soft flesh ricocheting as a result..loud grunts and curse words filling the car as he prepared to do the same to you.

“M fucking coming, babe! Hold still—shit!—“ in that moment, that orgasm would rip through his body and just as you requested, all of his warm seed coursed through your insides and didn’t stop for a solid two minutes..having not had a proper orgasm since you guys split up. He was still twitching inside of you, holding you to his chest as you both cried from how amazing it felt. Tears on both of your faces as a result of ecstasy.

“Damn, I guess I wasn’t the only one who needed that.” Teasing him amidst your cute giggles. Leaning up, (y/n) kissed the tip of his nose and caressed his cheek..unable to believe that you were here with him again. He’d gently stroke the side of your face as well..glaring at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you, (y/n)..so much. I never thought I’d get the chance to tell you that again. Feels so good.” And you shared his sentiment. He was the only one it ever felt genuine from and damn sure, the only guy you meant it to. Any guilt or shame had long since absolved and you knew this was exactly where you should’ve been. ”I love you too, Ace. I’m so glad you showed up.” It was going to be a long day, as you had some explaining to do. But for now..

“Shit..he’s calling me.”

“Ignore it..let me hold you a little bit longer, okay?”

you wanted to remain in this moment for as long as possible. After all, this is where you were happiest and there was no one who’d give you the high that he could.

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elderwisp · 1 day ago

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[ light rattling ]

Frances: The hell?

Frances: Christ. Atlas. Atlas! Wake up!

Atlas: Hmm? Oh! Hello you.

Frances: Found you.

Atlas: Good job but you never really needed me to tell you that.

Frances: Are you sober?

Atlas: Definitely coming down, that’s for sure.

Atlas: [ rustling ]

Frances: You decent?

Atlas: [ snorts ] Sure. What? Did you want some? Should have told me sooner since I’m empty.

Frances: You promised me this would stop. That was our deal.

Atlas: Promises are such a big commitment for something with such little return. I need something consistent, something I know.

Frances: Did he really mess you up that badly?

Atlas: Don’t.

Frances: Because everything changed when he came into our lives.

Atlas: Stop.

Frances: You can’t even acknowledge him because you know it’s true.

Atlas: Stop it.

Frances: ROWAN! His name was Rowan and he ruined everything!

Atlas: Ruined everything?! Hah… Hahaha! No, no you’re wrong-

Frances: You’re so delusional you can’t even see it. Of course you can't, how could you?

Atlas: Get out.

Frances: I am trying to help you!

Atlas: I said get out-

She grabs him by the shoulders

Frances: Were we not enough? Was I never enough? I’ve been here the entire time! All he ever did was leave you! I... I shouldn’t have said that.

Atlas: [ voice breaks ] oh god…

Frances: Hey. No, no. I’m sorry.

Atlas: [ whispers ] He didn’t ruin me, he only set me free.

Frances: This is the price of freedom?

Atlas: No, this is the price of a heartbreak. This part is my fault.

Frances: You can’t keep blaming yourself.

Atlas: What makes you think I was in the right?

Frances: Because you’re my brother. I know you.

Atlas: [ small huff ] And you should know you can’t change a thing.

Frances: I can. You’re going to get better. You have to.

Atlas: How naive do you have to be to believe it’s a choice? I-

Frances: Are you ready to lose it all?

Atlas: … Say what you came here to say, Frances.

Frances: I don’t want this to be the rest of our lives. This has to be the last time. It needs to. [ pauses ] It needs to be or else I’m done.

?: [ hurried knocking ]

Frances: You expecting someone?

Atlas: Trouble.

Frances: What?

?: [ banging ] I know you’re in there Atlas! Open the fucking door!

Frances: What did you do?

Atlas: You should… Stay here. Don’t come out until I say so.

#leave. lose. lost. such powerful words for one person to handle.#SO #i won't say much except for this #there is intention behind nearly every line in this scene #whether it's how atlas sees frances how frances sees atlas #how both process the world and what it means to be on same coin just a dif side #the coin being expectations and realities #such a good (well not for them) conversation to write and it won't be the last #we'll see how this flashback ends in a few weeks but back to the present for a bit #tessellate #tessellate: atlas #tessellate: frances #tw: drug addiction #tw: alcohol #ts4 #simblr #sims 4 story #sims community

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urfavleo777 · 3 days ago

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warnings: smut, oral (f&m), language, fingering

Luigi helps his girlfriend relieve stress after a long day at college

You stumble into Luigi's dorm, your body heavy with the weight of the day. Uni is a nightmare, and you feel the tears threatening to spill any second. Your mind races, emotions all over the place. You just need to be somewhere safe.

Luigi is already sitting on his bed, flipping through a book, but when he sees your face, he immediately sets it aside. "Hey… what’s going on?" he asks, his voice soft with concern.

You don’t say anything at first, just wrap your arms around him tightly as if you're afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your breath shaky as you fight back the tears. "I spend hours on studying and poring over books, but the next day I forget half of it. I’m so dumb.”

He sighs softly, his hands gently rub your back, pulling you closer. “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“To not to.” you mumble.

He laughs softly, “Well, yes. But it’s because you’re too hard on yourself. You were just explaining all of this to me yesterday.”

You cling to him a little tighter, trying to steady your breath. The warmth of his embrace is grounding, but the storm inside your head refuses to calm. "I know," you whisper, "but it feels like nothing's sinking in. Every day is just one more reminder that I'm not good enough."

Luigi pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes soft but firm. "Listen to me," he says gently. "You’re not dumb, okay? You’re working hard, and that means something. It’s not about remembering everything at once. It’s about the effort you put in, and you’re doing that." He pauses, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. "If studying were easy, it wouldn’t be worth anything. You’re going through the struggle now so that it gets easier later."

You close your eyes, trying to let his words sink in, but the self-doubt still lingers. "I just don’t know how to keep going when I feel like I’m failing."

"My baby." You almost drift off when he calls you like this and places a kiss on your forehead. "Everyone has those moments. Hell, I have them too. But you’ve got to give yourself grace. You’re allowed to have tough days. Just don’t quit."

You inhale deeply, letting the comfort of his presence settle over you. "But what if I can’t do it? What if I keep forgetting everything?"

The despair in your voice makes his heart ache, and he pulls you back against his chest.

“Maybe you just need to approach it differently,” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “Your whiteboard isn’t helping?”

“No,” you sigh, “I just keep looking at it and nothing really sticks.”

His hands move gently, tracing small circles on your back as he holds you close, as if trying to melt away some of the tension weighing on you. "It's okay," he murmurs, a cocky smile plays on his lips. "We'll come up with a better idea.”

You are too weary to read the ambiguity of Luigi’s words, so all you manage to do is just sigh and immerse yourself in his touch.

Luigi rolls you over and your lips are instantly on his as you lay a hand on his neck, “Or maybe it’s just stress and you need someone to help you relieve it?”

You gasp out, fingers lacing through his hair, “Lu,” you grind down onto him as you trail your kisses lower, down along the line of his jaw to his neck.

Luigi lifts his head just as you look down at him and you let out a moan, pulling him up for a long kiss. Your hand glides down his chest, your fingertips barely grazing the ridges of his abs, tracing slow, soothing patterns. Moans escape your lips and you tug on his hair, earning a groan from him. Your eyes bounce from his lips to his eyes, “Please.”

“So eager.”

Luigi’s fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. He rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

“Baby, you're soaked through your panties..." He pants out.

Your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure.

Taking your moan as an invitation, Luigi carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. Then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart… feel good?” He croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

Your legs are already shaking before he’s even started and it makes him smile against you, blowing on your cunt to see your cute reactions. He uses his pretty fingers to spread your hole open, licking at you so passionately it’s like he’s making out with your wet pussy.

His skilled tongue is nearly too much for you, making you grab at his hair and tug harshly but it just makes him moan, the vibrations causing you to lift your hips off the bed and Luigi has his eyes on you the whole time, peering up at you with his big, bambi eyes.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “Let me hear you. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

And then it happens. You feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. Luigi continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure. The waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak.

"Did so well for me, baby," he coos, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips in an attempt to pull you back down to earth.

“Mhmm, Lu…”

“Yeah? What do you need?” He smirks.

Mind too preoccupied and taken up with thoughts of taking him down your throat. Thoughts you’d spent nearly a week daydreaming about. Maybe he was the reason why you could never concentrate on your studies. “I need you in my mouth please.”

“Is this what you want? Huh?” You nod your head in response, falling to your knees as your hand began to unbuckle his belt.

His swollen tip hits the back of your throat, the sudden sensation causing you to tense up and attempt to pull away. He was far too big to fit inside your tiny little mouth.

You gargle around his length, submitting to him completely, letting him use your mouth to get himself off. You reach one hand up, massaging his balls in your hand, kneading it in your palm, knowing exactly what it does to him.

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.”

His eyes shoot down to where you’re looking up at him with teary eyes, your mouth enveloping him fully, and then to where you're massaging his balls. This was definitely what he needed and deserved.

He lets out an involuntary groan. “Yeah, keep looking as you’re ruining me.”

You dig your nails into his thighs as he presses your head down hard enough to choke you of air. It doesn’t take him long before he comes with a loud groan, hips bucking without a pattern. You swallow it to the best of your ability, some leaking out and dripping down your chin. He lets out a satisfied hum, stretching out your arms in your direction. “Come here, nerd.”

You giggle, breaking the silence of the two of you heavy breathing. “Well, not quite a nerd.”

“Since I fucked some knowledge into you, yes you’re my favorite nerd.” He laughs while playing with your hands.

“Oh shut up.”

#luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione #free luigi #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione x fem

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that-weird-thing-in-the-woods · 1 day ago

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•~{ Heyyyy, so this is a short one because I’m still a little bit busy so here you go and hope you gremlins like it }~•

•Roommate•

Tim is worried about his roommate, Danny Nightingale.

Tim moved into a college provided dorm and that’s where he met Danny, Danny was chill and kind roommate [And definitely not Tim crush what are you talking about] Tim and Danny got along really well and with the added bonus that Danny doesn’t question where Tim goes at night.

And everything was fine until Danny started to get phone calls from someone called “Fruitloop” and every time he finishes a call with “Fruitloop” Danny looks stressed and frustrated and Tim has tried to ask Danny what was going on and if he could help but Danny always says not to worry about it.

Sure Tim was concerned as hell but with Danny not saying anything that would allow Tim to help him there was nothing that Tim could do so Tim left it alone….well he started to document what was happening like when the caller called and what he could hear when Danny would go into another room to answer but still Tim couldn’t do anything.

Until one day Danny went out around 6 at night and said that he had to go visit his godfather and to not wait up for him but Danny didn’t come back that night or the next.

Danny showed out three days later at 2 am with bruises on his arms and some kind of burns on his wrist that looks like he was being held down and the beginnings of a black eye and the clothes he was originally wearing are covered in blood and ripped. Tim found in him on the bathroom floor next to the med kit they keep in there.

Tim immediately asked what happened and is he ok but Danny doesn’t say anything back just trying to wrap bandages around his burned wrist with his shaking hands, Tim grabs his hand and puts it aside and starts to help Danny get bandaged up.

This is more serious than Tim thought.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•Danny has little to no contact with his parents, they know that he’s a halfa but it’s still really awkward to be around them especially his mom

•Danny took Jacks family name

•Jazz is in central city as it has a better psychology major

•Jack is low contact and Maddie is no contact

•Vlad is still a weird asshole that dani and Danny want nothing to do with

•Tim has a major crush on Danny

•Vlad tried to make more clones so he tricked Dani and Danny and did what we here love doing to this boy :) Traumatized the fuck out of him and in the escape Dani started to melt so Danny grab her core and put it inside of him soooo more to the misunderstandings :)

•When Tim finds out about Dani his mind is going to the absolute worst possible place

•Tim’s going to finish the job on Vlad if the Batfam doesn’t hold him back

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearance•

[I can’t really see Danny wearing a dress in this au unless it’s a very important event where Danny can say “Fuck gender norms!”]

•~{ And that’s it! I couldn’t really think of a background for Danny’s side of this so it leave it in your hands my feral gremlins anyway until next time Byeeeee }~•

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 days ago

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Antoine had barely been home a week when he received a worryingly short letter from Abe. The local postman had delivered it from Hines Ranch directly to his door, but its brevity read like a telegram.

Trouble with horses. When home, could use help.

If there was anyone he had never expected to hear the word “help” from, it was Abe. So the very next morning he put on his hat and made his way to the ranch. The anxious side of him spent every step imagining what could have gone wrong, fearing that the ranch itself was in trouble, or God help them, something had happened to one of Abe’s children. So when Antoine saw Will and his sister laughing childishly near the fence, he breathed a small sigh of relief. Will waved at him fondly, nodding his head toward the pen where he said his father could be found.

From ten paces away Antoine could see Abe staring stoically into the distance. Immediately, he found it odd that he wasn’t amongst the horses, fearlessly attempting to wrangle one or humming off key while he kept them clean. As Antoine walked nearer he realized that Abe was looking at not one, but two horses. The bigger of which he knew like the back of his hand, but the other a small foal he had never seen before.

Antoine let out a small whistle as he drew close, just loud enough to get Silver’s attention without spooking her. The horse looked up at him with calm recognition in her eyes, but she made no move away from the smaller horse she was shadowing like a hawk. Abe turned at the sound of his boots, gesturing behind him at the horses. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?”

Antoine’s feet came to a stop next to Abe’s. “She is. She one of yours?”

“Not exactly.” His words grew quiet, self conscious, even, if Antoine were to guess. “I was out in the canyon riding Banjo when I saw her. She was alone by the river bank, seemed to have an injured leg even from afar. I looked far and wide but I couldn’t find her mother. I imagine they were set on by coyotes in the night, but God knows how she managed to get free.”

A silent shake of his head told Antoine that Abe must have fretted over the details more than once. “Anyhow. She was mighty afraid of me, but Lord knows she was hungry. So I went back with a handful of food and led her back here. Bandaged her up and nursed her back to health. Only a couple days later I find her in Silver’s enclosure, and now she won’t let me anywhere near the foal.”

Antoine looked back to the horse he knew well, her beady brown eyes watching them from afar. Usually she would have walked to him by now, immediately recognizing his scent as her ever-present anger abated to trust. “She’s been fierce, Antoine. I swear to you I thought she would attack me that first night I tried to get the foal back. She won’t leave her side now. And I hate to do it to her but - “

Abe’s eyes found his feet and his voice went low. “Listen. It’s not the most honest thing I’ve ever done. I’ll admit. But that there’s a purebred American Quarter Horse. Bred for racing hundreds of years back. She’ll sell for more than any one of my herding breeds even at this age. Thing is, you know, most of the cowboys are on the show circuit now, so this is what they’re after. Hell I know I’m not the one to train her, so I lined up a deal with a show ranch. Not before talking with the neighbors, I swear it. If I knew who she belonged to I wouldn’t take the money but - I mean you know times are tough - and you saw Lillie Mae. She’s getting older. I could pay for her schooling with one sale. I think I’ve got to…”

The whole time Abe spoke, talking himself back into the deal with one reason after another, Antoine watched the two horses in the sun. Every few seconds, Silver would bring her muzzle to the foal, gently nudging her as though to ensure she was still there. He didn’t need any other motivation. “I’ll match their offer.”

Abe looked up from his feet and let out an incredulous laugh. “Hell you can’t be serious. How much are they paying you out there?”

Antoine smiled and shrugged, no need to tell Abe that this contract had come at double the rate of the first one, or that Jo had leveled a competing offer to get even more for their third after the fact. Abe whistled approvingly and then shook his head. “Listen, I appreciate the offer but you don’t need to do anything of the sort. I just need help keeping Silver calm while I get the foal to the show ranch. She’ll be alright in time. She’s a tough girl. You know that.”

Antoine turned to face him, his face impressing just how serious he was. “Listen. I’ve got one stipulation. And I know she was your grandfather’s, so if you don’t want to let her go then you just say the word; but I’ll match their offer only for them both. The foal and Silver. I’ll clean out the farm’s old barn, let her spend the rest of her days resting there.”

Abe smiled, clearly trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “Play her a couple songs on that guitar, will you?”

“Every night I’m home. That’s a promise. Write it in the contract if it seals the deal.”

They looked back out to the field together, both horses trotting through the grass at their feet. “I’ll bring them over tomorrow, if that’s okay with you? Or if you need a bit more time -“

Antoine shook his head, a wide smile starting to take over his face. “No. Tomorrow is perfect. Just give me the evening to get the barn ready, and we’ll have them waiting to surprise Violette after school.”

Previous / Next

#1935 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #the darlingtons #ts4 story #sims 4 story #1930s #Antoine Duplanchier #abraham hines #William Hines

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cursedcanon · 2 days ago

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Hickey

In which you give THEM a hickey

Characters: Gojo, Choso , Sakuna, Geto , Toji and Nanami

Contains:NSFW, suggestive themes, explicit language, and sexual references.

GOJO:

You barely had time to pull away before Gojo’s wide grin nearly split his face in half. He didn’t just look excited—he looked thrilled.

“Ohhhh?? My little civilian thinks they can mark me?” he teases, practically vibrating with amusement. He immediately pulls out his phone to take a picture. “This is staying in my gallery forever. No—wait, I’m setting it as my new lock screen. Wait, better yet—I'm sending it to Geto. No, Nanami. Imagine his reaction—”

You snatch the phone from his hands before he can send your little masterpiece to his poor, unsuspecting coworker.

"gojo"

“Call me ‘Satoru’ and I’ll consider behaving.”

He does not, in fact, behave. For the next week, he brings up the hickey at every possible opportunity.

“Remember that time you got a little too excited and decided to brand me? Haha, good times.”

If you give him another one? Oh, it’s over for you. He’ll be in your personal space constantly, pointing at his neck and batting his lashes.

CHOSO:

You barely get a chance to press your lips to his neck before Choso jerks away, eyes wide with genuine horror.

“Are you… eating me?”

You blink. “What? No! Choso—”

“I KNEW IT,” he mutters, touching the damp spot where your mouth had been, looking betrayed. “You said you wouldn’t.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Choso, it’s just a hickey—”

He frowns deeply, staring at you in silence for a long time. Then, hesitantly, he leans in, lips barely grazing your neck before pulling back, looking almost proud of himself. “Did I do it?”

You check your skin. He didn’t even try to suck, but the effort is adorable. “Sure, babe. You did amazing."

SAKUNA:

You press your lips to his neck and suck lightly, leaving a dark mark on his skin.

Sukuna immediately tenses. “The fuck are you—”

You pull away, admiring your work. “Nice.”

There’s a long pause. Then, slowly, his lips curl into a grin. “Ohhh. I see how it is.”

You raise an eyebrow. “See what?”

His smirk widens. “You’re trying to assert dominance.”

You snort. “No, I just wanted to give you a hickey.”

Sukuna leans back, arms crossed. “Uh-huh. Sure. I get it. You think you’re alpha now.”

You blink. “What?”

“Go on. Say it.” He gestures at himself. “Say you own me.”

You give him a look. “I—”

“Say it.” He leans in, grinning like a madman. “C’mon, brat. Prove you’re the boss.”

You sigh. “I own—”

“NO, YOU FUCKING DON’T.” He immediately shoves you away, laughing like an asshole.

You groan. “Why are you like this?!”

He just smirks, pointing to the hickey. “Joke’s on you, this means you’re mine now.”

“…That’s not how that works.”

Sukuna shrugs. “Too bad. I make the rules.”

GETO:

You take your time kissing along his jaw before making your way down to his neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Tsk.” His voice is smooth, unimpressed. “Filthy monkey.”

You gasp, pulling away dramatically. “EXCUSE ME?”

Geto smirks, eyes glinting with amusement. “You heard me.”

“I knew you were a menace, but this?” You place a hand over your chest, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“You just left a mark on me, and you’re offended?” He laughs, stroking his thumb over the hickey. “You really are ridiculous.”

You squint at him. “I’m giving you another one just for that.”

He only smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Go on, then.”

TOJI:

You press your lips to his neck, sucking lightly.

Toji pauses mid-chew—because, of course, he’s eating something—and side-eyes you. “…The hell you doin’?”

You don’t answer, just keep going.

He chews slower. Swallows. Then, in the most deadpan voice imaginable—

“You tryna season me?”

You choke on a laugh, pulling away. “What? No!”

He wipes his neck like he expects to find marinade. “Tch. At least use some salt next time.”

You smack his arm. “It’s a hickey, Toji!”

“Yeah?” He smirks. “And what do you want me to do? Moan?”

You blink. Stare. Then, without missing a beat—

“Yes.”

Toji leans in real close, his lips brushing your ear, voice deep and rough—

“Ahhh~”

You shove him away so fast he almost falls over laughing.

NANAMI:

Nanami sighs the moment your lips leave his neck. His fingers press against the forming mark, and he turns to you with the most exhausted expression.

"Was that really necessary?" he asks, voice flat.

You nod. "Very."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be a problem at work."

You grin. "Sounds like a you problem."

Nanami just sighs again, already regretting all his life choices.

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hiiikiko · 3 days ago

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𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖊𝖇

[7: ex’s and oh…]

tlou m.list | series m.list

spiderman!ellie x reader

synopsis: could ellie be anymore confusing?? is she even worth the headache? i mean you do have better options…. particularly a blonde who invited you to a ball….. or maybe a particular masked vigilante….?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I thought you were over Abby,” Gwen arched her brow as she held up another dress against her and looked in the full length mirror opposite where you sat.

“I-I am.. I think but.. I don’t know, Gwen, I can’t keep waiting around for Ellie to wake up,” you grumbled and shook your head at the dress Gwen was holding, “No, that colours hideous.”

“Yeah.. kinda reminds me of the dress I wore in sixth grade, remember that? I threw up all over it.. ugh, now I’m nauseous,” you giggled as you made your way over to help her look through dresses, “Hey, are you not gonna get a new dress?”

You held up a dress to Gwen, “Nah, Markus is making me one, he said something about me being free advertising, wearing one of his dresses around all those snobs will do his work some justice by bringing attention to it,” you hung the dress back up.

“Ugh, lucky…” Gwen whined and flopped back onto the couch, “Not only are you getting a dress customed made for you, you have one of the hottest girls taking you to the ball? Your life is like a fucking drama, like Gossip Girl or something.”

“Lucky isn’t what i’d call it.”

ELLIE’S POV:

Ellie bit the cap of her pen, trying desperately to pay attention to what the professor was saying but her mind was still reeling from what Jesse had told her a few days prior.

After arriving at Jesse’s apartment, he pulled up a video of another Spider-Man..? They looked very identical to Ellie but.. their suit was all black and looked almost liquid, not to mention this ‘Spidey’ looked bigger.. more threatening than her. News sources around the city were saying that Spidey had wen ‘Back to Black’ which she did appreciate the pun but it didn’t make sense at all because she had never owned a black suit previously and on top of that, this Spidey seemed to be better than her.. they were stronger, faster but at the same time.. they were rougher and seemed almost animalistic in their movements.. not to mention, they looked a little too familiar for Ellie’s taste.

“Ellie? Hellooooo?”

Ellie nearly jumped out of her skin, “Y-yeah? What’s up?”

“I said class was dismissed,” the profesor chuckled and roughly pat her on the back, causing Ellie to let out a little ‘oof.’

“Yeah, sorry.. I was distracted..”

“My dear girl, you should go back home, I’ll even extend the deadline on the final essay for you, just.. just don’t tell anyone okay? It’s really not a secret anymore but you’re by far my favourite in this class, hell, maybe even the whole school,” he chuckled and waved his hand as he made his easy down the stairs, “I’ll see you tomorrow for coffee.”

“Bye professor,” Ellie smiled softly, momentarily distracted from the dire situation at hand.

Gotta find them before things get outta hand.

YOUR POV:

Abby: Did you get your dress?

You: ya

Abby: I’ll pick you up at 8 tmrw

You: k

Abby: don’t sound so enthusiastic

You: k

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone down next to you, you so did not want to go to this stupid ball. You grumbled and sat up, knowing that you should probably get something to eat, so you tossed on your favourite Spider-Man hoodie and some warm jeans and sneakers to head downstairs. You had made a little extra this month, so you decided to treat yourself to your favourite food.

You plugged your ears with your airpods and stepped into the chilly street.

“Shoulda worn a warmer jacket,” you muttered and made your way through the somewhat empty streets, shoving your hands deep into your pockets and humming softly along to the song blasting through your headphones.

The crisp night air soothed your reeling mind, almost cleansing it of Ellie and Abby.

To get to the restaurant, you had to pass through a couple alleys… you knew you shouldn’t, you could get robbed… or worse but part of you knew that wouldn’t happen because you had your guardian angel on your side.. right?

You weaved your way through garbage bags, potholes, and dumpsters. There were a few bums here and there but most were either drunk out of their minds or poor down on their luck business men.

The echoes from your hums bounced off the walls and back to you as you walked.

Fuck, this is reckless… maybe I shouldn’t be doing this..

You shove your hands deeper into your pockets and chew on your inner cheek… this was reckless but you needed to know if he would come.

Lost in thought, you didn’t even see the approaching shadow behind you until you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. Jumping with a yelp, you spun around with a smile on your face.

“I thought you’d never sho—,” your smile is quickly wiped off your face when you come face to face with a tall gangly man, his eyes red from too much alcohol, his breath sour with beer and cigarettes, and face bloated from too many drunken nights.

“Well, here I am,” he smiles crookedly and brings a knobby hand up to his chin, rubbing at the stubble there, his beady eyes roaming over your finger, clearly sizing you up.

You feign a polite chuckle, “Sorry, I-I thought you were someone else..”

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, sweetheart.”

Ew.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you scoff and turn around to head back down the alley.

“Come on! I’m a great actor,” his hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you closer.

“Hey look, I’m not fucking interested,” you say through gritted teeth.

His smile never wavers, “Why the fuck are you acting like such a bitch?” He pulls you even closer, you can feel his vile breath against your neck and a slimy hand snaking itself around your waist.

“Get off!” you yell and stomp your foot down onto his foot before pulling your knee back up and slamming it into his balls.

The man keels over, “You fucking bitch!”

You roll your eyes, raising your leg to kick him again but quickly withdraw your leg when the man pulls out a gun. Before the man could pull the trigger he’s pushed against the wall by an… invisible force…..or..? Is that webs..? You take a step closer, your eyes peering into the darkness, making out two figures, one on top and pummeling it’s arm into the pulp on the ground, the sound of grunts and please to ‘stop’ echoeing throughthe once hum filled alleyway.

Suddenly the cries stop and you feel another hand on your shoulder, you screamed and spun around.

“Woah, woah, calm down! It’s just me, you can put that er.. uh, pepper spray away?” Spidey chuckled and nodded at your glitter bottle of pepper spray that definitely would not have worked.

“H-Holy shit!” you yell exasperatedly, a breathy chuckle leaving your lips.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he yelled, you totally weren’t expecting that..

“W-What are you—?”

“You could’ve been seriously hurt!” Spidey yells and puts his hands on his head, “God, are you that reckless?”

“I-I was going t-to get d-d-dinner,” you cry.

Spidey puts his hands down, letting out a sigh, “Then come on.. let’s get your dinner.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[A/N: so sorry for the delay, a sequence of events happened that prevented me from having access to this account and giving me time to write, next chapter will be longer :p]

taglist: @elliecoochieeater @wavesgocrash @g3latin @elliesflowersblog @usuck @elliessweetheart @miss-chananandler-bong @lvlymicha @prettywhnyoucry @g0d-wont-let-me-die @errorlovernotfound99 @thatgiraffefromtlou @ilovewomenfr @abbyswh0r3

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elleandstufff · 1 day ago

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Do I Like Her? ๋࣭ ⭑

Thanos can’t admit his feelings for you until it’s too late. Or is it…? Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader

Inspired by the song Stephanie by Nafeesisboujee! Requested by Anon!

Warnings: Dual POV, angst, talking stage, indecisiveness, hiding true feelings, implied smut but nothing described, you both get with other people to try and get over the other, drinking, drug use, jealous!Thanos, ambiguous but hopeful ending, 3.3k words

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

The hum of the shitty light above you is enough to make you regret all of your decisions tonight. Your coworker had begged you to come out tonight to some club. That part actually wasn’t so bad. But just before last call, your coworker met some sleazy guy who begged the two of you to come to the twenty-four-hour diner down the street.

Now, your coworker sits in the corner booth with said guy, and the two of them are eating each other’s faces off. You sit at the dingy counter nursing a cup of coffee. You’re already up freakishly early, so you might as well stay up.

“Hey, Señorita.”

A man’s voice infiltrates your ears, but you don’t realize he’s talking to you until you look up from your coffee and see him standing right next to you. He’s tall and lean with purple hair and clothes that make you think he just came from the club like most of the diner’s crowd right now.

“Do you have a name?”

You’re not sure why you tell him, but you do. It’s not often that you entertain these sorts of things, but there’s something special about this purple-haired guy.

“I’m Thanos.” He extends a hand toward you, but instead of shaking it he just cradles your hand in his.

“What’s your real name?”

He pulls a face. “Sorry, babe. I don’t go around giving that out to just anybody.”

You smirk, ready to play along. “Well, I need to know. I’m definitely not going to be moaning Thanos all night.”

His eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting you to be so forward.

“What?” You feign innocence. “That’s why you came up to me, right? Why don’t we just skip all the talk and get the hell out of this dump?”

He smiles and threads your fingers together. “I saw you at Club Pentagon but didn’t get a chance to talk to you. Then I found you again here. That’s got to be fate, huh?”

You let your coworker know that you’re heading out, and she wishes you farewell even though she’s a little preoccupied. You walk outside hand-in-hand with the man you literally just met. His apartment isn’t a far walk, so the two of you set off on foot. The walk will give the two of you a chance to get to know each other a little bit before you end up tangled together in his bed sheets.

“It’s Su-bong,” he says, then repeats himself once you look up at him confused. “My name is Su-bong.”

“So, Su-bong, you do this often?”

“What? Bring girls home?”

You laugh. Based on his demeanor, you’re fairly certain this isn’t his first time doing this. You lift your entwined hands. “No, I meant this.”

He stalls for a minute, like your probing has him questioning everything. Why was he doing this? “No, actually. Just for you, Señorita. What about you? You do this often?”

You can’t help but smile at this man you hardly know a thing about. “Well then I’m honored. And no, this isn’t how my typical Friday nights look.”

You talk more as the two of you walk. You find out that he’s a rapper, which makes sense. He’s a bit twitchy, too. You’ve seen enough drug use in your life to know that he was on something tonight that’s starting to wear off.

You don’t waste any time when you get back to his apartment. He’s rough of course, but there’s a certain tenderness to him that sets your brain on fire. Something tells you that it’s new for him too.

You offer to leave after–even though you don’t want to–but he asks you to stay and get some rest. You had planned to just stay up and get some much needed errands done, but how could you say no? You were already feeling something toward him, which is the exact reason why you didn’t do stuff like this often. You catch feelings way too fast, and apparently even faster when the feelings are for a purple-haired rapper.

He opens up the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a pill bottle that you know is not prescription. He downs a couple and rolls over to face you. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, yeah?” He says it matter-of-factly, but there’s something to his tone that makes it sound almost like he’s pleading.

“‘Course,” you whisper, but whatever pills he took have already taken effect and he’s softly breathing beside you.

It takes you a while to drift off, and you wake before him a few hours later, but you honor the promise you made. He stirs awake not long after, and he seems surprised to still see you in his bed. Something flashes in his eyes–adoration, maybe–but he’s quick to get up. He seems different now, more walled off.

As he moves around his kitchen preparing himself a junk food filled breakfast as if you’re not even there, you try to say your goodbyes. He looks at you with his mouth full. “Oh, let me get your number.”

“So you can ghost me for three weeks and then randomly text me at two in the morning one day because you’re horny? No thanks.”

He stops you before you can get out the door with a sigh, like he can’t believe he’s doing this… “How about I give you my number then? That way you can decide if you want to ghost me or not.”

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

You end up not ghosting him, and Su-bong struggles with how he feels about it. Usually after he hooks up with a girl, he might talk to her for a couple weeks, but it never lasts. Things either fizzle out or he just doesn’t care enough to put the effort in. But with you… there’s something different. Something special. It terrifies him.

You text him. A lot. He’s not good at responding to anyone, so he has to constantly remind himself to text you back. He doesn’t always respond, and oftentimes it’s hours after you sent the initial text, but it’s more of an effort than he’s put into anyone else.

You come over a couple times a week, too. Mostly to hook up, but the visits start getting longer with shared joints and movie nights. He likes the way your bodies fit together. He likes waking up to someone in his bed, and he likes that person being you. But he can’t admit any of this to his friends, himself, and especially you. He knows you like him, he knows you would be so good for him, but he can’t seem to let himself go past good morning texts and tender forehead kisses when he thinks you’re asleep.

One night, he asks you to come to the club with him. Not meet him there, come with him. It’s a big step for him, and he tries not to think too much about it. He pops a pill from his cross necklace just to calm his nerves.

The two of you sit in a booth at Club Pentagon with his friends. Su-bong keeps an arm tightly wrapped around you, like he doesn’t want to lose you. He’s seen the way some of his friends look at you.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you shout over the bass-boosted club music.

“I can do it,” he offers.

“No, it’s okay.” You smile sweetly. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s staring at your figure the entire time you’re at the bar until he feels his shoulder being nudged. Distractedly, he turns to see Nam-gyu.

“Do you like her?”

“Nah,” Su-bong answers, before he can even think about it. “Just a fling.”

“You sure? Because-”

“Yep, I’m sure,” he answers curtly.

He doesn’t like you that much, right? So why does he feel like shit right now?

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

You’d been talking to Su-bong for a couple of months now. You never put a label on it, but it keeps your life interesting. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish you two could take the next step into a real relationship. Su-bong is not a super affectionate person, so you’ll have to take him in whatever form you can get.

You text him probably more than you should. He hardly ever texts you first, but he keeps responding to you–even if it’s hours later–so you keep texting him. You frequent his apartment more and more often, and he even starts coming by yours. His touches get more tender, his words more soft, and you begin to think maybe you’re getting somewhere with him. You know he probably won’t be the one to make the next step, so you decide to.

One morning you bring it up as you lie with your head on his chest and your legs tangled with his. He’s staring at the ceiling thinking about whatever it is that he thinks about, smoke blowing out from between his lips.

“So, I have this weird work party thing tonight.”

He takes another hit from his vape.

“And like everybody at my work is married and bringing a plus one…”

Another hit.

“So… I was thinking maybe you could come with me?”

He immediately tenses beneath you. It’s quick and he adjusts himself, but you definitely felt it. You quickly sit up feeling like a complete idiot.

He rolls on his side to look at you. You prepare yourself for what’s about to come.

“It’s just… I thought this was more of a casual thing, you know?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, that was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I mean, I could still come I guess.”

“No, no, really it’s fine.” You get up and start throwing your clothes on as fast as you can without making it so obvious that you’re upset.

He catches your wrist. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I just remembered that I’m supposed to bring a dessert and I don’t have any of the stuff, so I should probably get started on that.”

You scramble out of his apartment before he can say much more. You don’t really have to bring a dessert, but you go to the store in a stupor anyway to try and distract yourself. You spend way too much time baking a stupid cake that tastes only half-good. You go to your work party and get introduced to a wave of husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, and significant others.

You thought you could do this casual thing, but turns out you’re not very good at it.

Texts to Su-bong get way less frequent, while texts from Su-bong are at an all time high. With the roles reversed all of a sudden, you can hardly form responses to his mirage of texts. What is even the point in texting anymore? You’ll never be anything more, so responding just makes you feel stupid.

You meet up for a couple more late-night rendezvous, but one night you decide you can’t take it anymore. You lie awake for hours deciding what you’re going to say when he wakes up. When he finally does, you squeeze your hands into fists to keep yourself from crying.

He’s groggy and barely awake, but he goes for his vape on the nightstand anyway. It’s like he knows this is coming.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

“C’mon-”

“No, Su-bong,” you stand firm. “I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry I’m not like you.”

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

Su-bong chews up his third or fourth pill of the day. He had taken more than he had wanted, but did he ever get what he wanted? No. Did he deserve what he wanted? Also no. He wanted you–he needed you–but he fucked that up. So now he didn’t deserve you and he didn’t have you. What a killer combo.

When you had asked him to come to your work party, he nearly panicked. He wasn’t the type of guy you take to office work parties. You knew that so why did you even ask? Fuck, this wasn’t your fault. It was his.

He should’ve just said yes. Should’ve just sucked down his fear and put on a nice outfit and a fake smile and shaken hands with all the people from your work that you can’t stand. Instead, he made you do that all by yourself. Who knows, maybe Ji-woon from your job turned out to not be so bad. Maybe you and Ji-woon are sucking face right now in the office break room. Ji-woon doesn’t have to do much to be less of an asshole than him!

And when you’d broken things off, you’d said that you weren’t like him. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He thought he wasn’t like you at first, too. He didn’t think he was the type of person to catch feelings after one night and blow up someone’s phone, but turns out he is that type of person. Just like you. He thought he made it obvious, when he started texting you constantly after declining your work party invitation. It still wasn’t your fault that you didn’t realize. He should’ve spelled it out for you. He wishes he still had the chance. But even if you were right in front of him, he would still struggle to find the words to tell you how he felt. Fuck, why did he have to be like this? It doesn’t really matter. He’s probably never going to see you again.

The girl in the seat beside him stirs. He had completely forgotten about her. If he squints, she almost looks like you. Actually, no she doesn’t. No one does.

“Thanos,” she purrs in his ear. “Let’s go dance!”

Thanos. You never called him Thanos, not even around his friends. He liked it better that way.

She starts kissing his jawline, and he turns so his mouth meets hers. He entertains it for a minute, but then he pulls away. She’s not you.

“Sorry, this won’t work. You should go.”

The girl looks at him bewildered, before calling him an asshole and storming away. Nam-gyu slides into the seat where the girl once was.

“Dude, what’s going on? That’s the third girl this week you’ve fumbled.”

Su-bong wouldn’t call it fumbling. He tried to make it work, tried to forget about you, but he couldn’t. So he pushed the girls away.

“C’mon, dude. Are you really caught up over that girl? I thought you said you didn’t really like her?”

“I do,” he says, jaw tense. “I do like her. So fucking much.”

“Well, then you better tell her before it’s too late…” Nam-gyu gestures toward the bar where a familiar face is sitting.

Su-bong nearly falls out of his seat. You’re here and he has another chance. He’s on his feet and halfway to you when he sees him. Some loser has his arm wrapped around your waist. It’s not Ji-woon, but it might as well be. You know what? Su-bong doesn’t care, he’s going to talk to you anyway.

“Hey, Señorita,” he says, sliding into the spot beside you.

He swears he sees your eyes light up for a minute, until the leech at your side speaks up. “Hey, buddy, she’s spoken for-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know him.”

Su-bong pulls you into a tight hug that forces the dude to drop his arm to his side. He wraps his arms around your waist so tightly, and he could just melt when he feels you wrap your arms around his neck. This probably looks really weird to the guy. Good.

You pull away from the hug, so he reluctantly does as well. Then, he starts to lean in to kiss you, and this time you stop him. “You should drink some water, go home, get some sleep.”

Shit. He didn’t realize he looks high out of his mind. At least you’re sweet about it. At least you still care.

“Uh, we gotta go,” the loser at your side says, pulling you away.

He didn’t get to tell you how he felt. Maybe it was too late for the two of you. It was definitely too late. But he still wanted to tell you how he felt. You deserved that much. Now he just needs to find a way to tell you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

The guy your coworker set you up with drags you outside. “That was weird. Who was that guy?”

“My ex?” you say, but it comes out as more of a question. Was that what Su-bong was?

The guy looks at you weird, but then he’s leaning in and so are you. You let the kiss happen. He’s not as good a kisser as Su-bong, but it distracts you at the very least.

“How about we go back to my place?” he says, pulling away.

You pause. You could go back to his place–a guy who actually likes you–or you could go inside to the guy who doesn’t like you back. Instead, you do neither. You let the guy down easy and go home to your empty bed. Maybe one day you’ll be able to move on from Su-bong.

A week or so later at work, your coworker pulls you aside at lunch. “You know that rapper guy you were hooking up with for a while?”

Your heart drops. “Yes, why? Is he okay?”

“Sounds like somebody is down bad.” She laughs. “Looks like he wrote a song about you.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s no way it’s actually about me.”

Your friend hands you her phone that has his Thanos instagram page open. There’s a picture of his new single. The title of the song is your name and the artwork is a blurry picture of the two of you. Your hand flies to your mouth. This is the guy that wanted to keep things casual?

“Says he’s performing it tonight for the first time at Club Pentagon. You going?”

That night you show up to Club Pentagon early, determined to talk to Su-bong about what the fuck is going on. You can’t find him until you spot him right before he’s about to go on. You storm up to him.

“Su-bong, what the fuck!? You tell me we need to keep things casual and then you write a song that’s very obviously about me?”

He turns to you, his microphone in one hand and his other hand fiddling with his ear piece. He looks incredibly nervous, but you can tell that he’s fully sober. “You came.”

You fold your arms stubbornly across your chest. “Uh, yeah, I came. Kinda need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“We can talk after. I promise,” he says with a shaky breath. “Just listen to the performance, please. And don’t leave without talking to me.”

You nod your head yes and find a spot to listen to his performance. As he performs, you really listen to the lyrics. Not only were they irrefutably about you, they were irrefutably a confession about his true feelings for you. Your heart leaps into your throat. He likes you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

When Su-bong finishes his performance, his eyes lock onto you and only you. You’re silently crying, tear streaks adorning your pretty face. He waits expectantly, trying to read your emotions. You don’t react at first, your eyes remaining locked onto his. But then… You smile like you’ve just seen the sun for the first time.

⛧°。Masterlist °⛧

Here it is, Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Also, I have another Thanos x reader story I’m working on that’s inspired by a song. I’m thinking about maybe making a mini-series of (unrelated) fics based off of songs. So if that’s something you want to see, comment or send me songs that remind you of Thanos (or other Squid Game characters)!

#thanos #thanos x reader #thanos squid game #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #player 230 #player 230 x reader #squid game angst

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thequeenofcurses · 3 days ago

Text

Death of a Bachelor Part 2

The Wedding

summary: you're marrying the one and only special grade sorcerer: ryomen sukuna. wk: 5.1k (sry)

<- Part 1

Sukuna POV | 3:00 am

“You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t believe it was worth it,” Nanami’s words echoed in Sukuna’s head throughout the night, sneaking into his dreams. Was tying himself down, forever, really the right decision?

Sukuna tossed and turned before eventually he just sat up and threw his covers off of him. He didn’t bother to throw a shirt on and walked straight to the kitchen. Maybe some water will help. He chugged the glass then drank another and another, yet his head still remained foggy. Fuck. I’ve never felt like this before. What the hell is this?

Not wanting to bother waking you with a text or call, Sukuna unlocks his phone and types a message to the one person he can trust to talk to right now. His assistant.

Sukuna: I know you’re awake. You want to swing by? Uraume: No. Sukuna: I wasn’t asking Uraume: IT’S 3AM SUKUNA! Sukuna: Look I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, just get over here.

Ten minutes pass until Uraume’s short figure is knocking at Sukuna’s door. They quickly enter Sukuna’s security code and just walk through the door, finding a shirtless Sukuna downing another glass of water in his kitchen.

“You made it,” Sukuna’s voice was lighter than his normal tone. You and Uraume are the only two people who get to see or hear that side of him. “I know it’s late, I just– ”

“Nervous?” Uraume concluded with a nod.

“I don’t get nervous.”

“Sure…” The silence was thick enough to slice through the air. “So, why was I summoned here at three am.”

“Stop acting like you weren’t already awake.”

“Maybe I was busy.”

“You don’t have a life,” Sukuna smirked. “I am your life.”

“Whatever,” the white haired assistant grumbled with an eye roll. They sat on a barstool near the kitchen island, arms together, waiting for an explanation.

Sukuna paced. “I don’t want any more damn water, but –” he walked back and forth around his large kitchen. “I love y/n, I really do. But for the first time in my life, something is happening to me that I can’t just overcome with my raw strength or power. It’s… unsettling.”

Uraume raised an eyebrow, watching as Sukuna continued his pacing like a caged animal. “You’re unsettled because this isn’t something you can just fight your way through. You actually have to feel it.”

Sukuna stopped mid-step, scowling at them. “Tch. Don’t start getting all philosophical on me.”

Uraume shrugged. “Just saying. You’re afraid of something, and it sure as hell isn’t her.”

Sukuna exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not afraid.” The words came out too fast, too defensive. Even he could hear it. He turned, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “It’s just… different. No opponent. No enemy. Just me deciding to be with her. And no matter how strong I am, I can’t control the future.”

Uraume tilted their head. “So? You still want to marry her, don’t you?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched. His thoughts flickered to you, your laughter, the way you challenged him without fear, your unmistakable otherworldly beauty, your strength, the way your nails dig into his back when he’s giving it to you so good. The way your touch softened the jagged edges of his world.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “More than anything.”

Uraume smirked, standing up. “Then quit your bitching and go to sleep. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Sukuna groaned. “You’re so damn annoying.”

“Just returning the favor.”After a hug and a promise to be early at the wedding, Uraume let themself out. Sukuna trugged back to his bed and tried to get some rest. He really did try. His mind was flooded with thoughts of you and the joy you bring him. From memories of how you two met, fighting curses together, your first date, to the moment he proposed to you.

Fuck it. I have to see her.

Your window was unlocked. Again. As frustrating as it was, you forgetting to lock it, Sukuna was glad he had an easy way to get inside your room. Damn it, woman he thought. You’re gonna be the death of me.

You’re mumbling in your sleep when the movement and sound of your blankets rustling cause you to wake. You blink back your tiredness, head still pounding from the previous night. It takes a few moments until you spot those iconic black tattoos. Sukuna had made his way into your bed.

“K-kuna?” you gasp confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I just,” he started. He gently placed a large hand on your head, running it through your hair. “I needed to see you.”

“You know, it’s bad luck to see a bride on the day of her wedding,” you joked. Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding him close as you nuzzle into his touch. “You okay?”

“Tch. Of course, I am,” he scoffs, but the way his thumb brushes against your cheek betrays his words.

You hum sleepily, watching his sharp eyes soften under the dim light. “You sure? Because I think you might be the one getting cold feet.”

Sukuna huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re really testing me, sweetheart.”

You grin lazily. “Just making sure you’re not gonna ditch me at the altar.”

His grip tightens slightly, just enough to remind you of his strength. “I should be worried about you running off,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t put it past you to get second thoughts at the last second.”

You let out a soft giggle, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

“Good.” There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You better not change your mind, woman. If you leave me at the altar, I’ll burn the whole damn city down.”

Your body leans into him, so naturally. He gives you another kiss, this time on your mouth. And then another, each kiss getting more and more dominating. “I should take you right now. Make sure you know exactly who you belong to before you walk down that aisle.”

You gasp into his mouth, nodding at his offer. He’s already seen you. Your wedding luck can’t get any worse if you let him have his way with you. Each kiss of his seemingly takes your breath away. You're panting like an animal before Sukuna finally slows down, gripping the sheets instead. This isn’t the time, he thinks to himself.

As your breathing evens out, Sukuna pulls back, letting you lay on his chest. It only takes a few moments before you’re drifting off again and he’s watching the way your lips part slightly in sleep. His hand drags over your blankets before he finally pulls away, slipping out as quietly as he came. After seeing you, his head is clearer than ever. Once Sukuna reaches his home, he’s finally able to peacefully sleep.

The next time Sukuna opens his eyes, golden sunlight spills across his sheets, creeping up his bare chest like a silent reminder that today is the day.

For the first time in hours, he feels rested. No more restless pacing, no more unanswered questions. He knows what he wants. And in just a few hours, you’ll be his.

A sharp knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Get up,” Uraume’s voice cuts through the morning stillness. “It’s your wedding day.”

Sukuna exhales through his nose, running a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. As soon as he opens the door, Uraume pushes past him, already assessing the situation with their usual cold efficiency.

"At least you don’t look like shit," they remark, scanning his face.

Sukuna smirks. “And here I thought you were gonna say something sentimental.”

“Why would I start now?” Uraume shoves a garment bag into his chest. “Shower then get dressed.”

Sukuna sighs but doesn’t argue. He strips out of his sweatpants and steps into the bathroom, quickly showering before putting on his crisp, custom-tailored suit waiting for him. Black and red, sleek, fitted to perfection, because of course, he refuses to look anything less than perfect. His hands move on instinct, buttoning the cuffs, adjusting the collar.

As he fastens the last button, Uraume watches him carefully. “You’re really doing this.”

Sukuna meets their gaze in the mirror. His reflection stares back, tattoos sharp against his skin, eyes burning with something rare and untamed.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I am.”

A rare, knowing smile tugs at Uraume’s lips. “Then let’s go. Can’t have your bride waiting.”

The ride to the shrine is quiet. Sukuna stares out the tinted window, fingers tapping idly against his knee. Uraume sits beside him, but neither of them speak. There’s nothing to say.

For the first time in years, he’s not walking into a battlefield. No enemies to kill, no grudges to settle. Just a shrine filled with people waiting for him to witness him make a promise he never thought he’d be the type to make.

The car slows to a stop just outside Meiji Jingu Shrine, its towering torii gate standing tall against the early morning sky. The sun filters through the dense forest surrounding the grounds, casting golden rays onto the stone pathways leading to the main shrine complex. The air is crisp, laced with the faint scent of cypress and incense.

As soon as Sukuna steps out, a familiar voice calls his name.

"Uncle Sukuna!"

He turns just in time to catch Yuji barreling toward him, weaving past guests and attendants. The kid skids to a stop right before impact, grinning up at him with the same bright-eyed excitement that always makes Sukuna sigh. Choso follows at a slower pace, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his formal kimono, his expression more reserved.

"You look cool," Yuji says, rocking on his heels. "Like, scary cool. But also, like… kinda groom-y."

Sukuna scoffs. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

Yuji nods enthusiastically. "Obviously."

Choso elbows him lightly. "Don’t be annoying." Then, turning to Sukuna, he hesitates before muttering, "You clean up well."

Sukuna raises a brow. "That’s the best I’m getting?"

Choso shrugs. "Yeah."

Tch. Brats.

Still, he ruffles Yuji’s hair, earning a squawk of protest, and nods at Choso in acknowledgment. This was it. His nephews, the only family he had. And somehow, knowing they were here made something settle in his chest.

"Alright," Uraume cuts in, ever the practical one. "It’s time."

Sukuna exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders. Then, without another word, he steps beneath the torii gate, following the path leading toward the main shrine, where the rest of his life is waiting.

The path toward the shrine is lined with guests, all of them bowing their heads in respect. Sukuna doesn’t care for the formalities, but he appreciates their sincerity. This isn’t a day for indulgence or power, this is something deeper. Something... personal.

Yuji and Choso follow closely behind him, their presence a reminder of why he's here. His nephews, his family. The only ones who ever mattered to him. Their voices barely audible above the murmur of the crowd, until they scramble off to find their seats.

The main shrine comes into view, an elegant structure framed by tall trees and hanging lanterns. The guests are seated in rows, faces mostly unfamiliar, though a few nod their heads in recognition as he approaches.

He can already feel the weight of all their eyes on him. The anticipation. The expectation.

Just before he reaches the steps leading to the shrine, he quietly hands Uraume a small velvet box from his pocket. They take it without question.

It felt absurd to be holding onto them – the rings. Marriage, commitment, wasn’t something he ever saw himself doing. But here he is, with his past behind him and a future he never expected waiting ahead.

As he ascends the stairs, his mind drifts to you. You’re just beyond these doors. Waiting.

He could hear the soft murmurs of the crowd, feel their gazes tracing his every movement.

There’s no turning back now.

The thought flickers across his mind, but before he can give it too much attention, Nanami’s voice cuts through his thoughts, clear and sharp: “You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t believe it was worth it.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s no denying the truth in those words. He’s here because, despite everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, this matters.

He doesn’t know when it happened, when you became more than just a fleeting moment in his life. The woman who challenged him. Who made him feel things he couldn’t control.

It doesn’t matter.

Sukuna steps inside the shrine, his heart thrumming in his chest, loud enough for him to hear it over the soft sounds of the ceremony music.

Nanami’s words echo again, not just in his mind, but in the space around him. The weight of the promise he’s about to make settles in with a gravity he can’t ignore.This is worth it. For you.

The moment the ceremony begins, Sukuna stands at the altar, his gaze momentarily flickering toward the door. The air is thick with anticipation, and the soft rustle of the crowd fades into a distant hum. Then, like a dream unfolding before his eyes, you step into the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the temple’s sacred light.

Your wedding dress is a vision of elegance, designed to make even the most confident man lose his composure. The black and red fabric hugs your body in all the right places before cascading into a soft, layered skirt that flows gracefully as you move. The lace is so soft, almost translucent, a whisper of romance in every stitch. The long, flowing train drags gently behind you, catching the light with each step, creating an almost dreamlike aura as you make your way toward Sukuna.

His breath catches in his throat the second his eyes land on you, and for a moment, the world around him blurs. His heart beats a little faster, more erratically than usual, as if the weight of the moment has hit him all at once. You're breathtaking. This vision of you in this dress, is nothing like anything he ever imagined. He can’t look away, his sharp red eyes drinking in the sight of you as though he's afraid this moment will slip away if he dares to blink.

Sukuna can’t help but feel a tightness in his chest as he watches you approach, the red veil adding to your allure, making the moment feel all the more surreal. This woman, walking towards him, is no longer just the one who challenged him: she is the one who has captured his heart in a way he never thought possible.

You walk toward him, and despite the crowd’s presence, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to pull you into his arms, but he remains still, unable to tear his gaze away. His heart swells with pride, love, and an emotion he rarely allows himself to feel so fully. You are his everything.

On your slow descent toward the love of your life, you hear lots of happy chants and whistles from your co-workers. The loudest of them all being from the one and only Satoru Gojo. You shake your head at his aloofness and keep your composure.

When you reach the altar, Sukuna’s hand finally moves, the tremor in his fingers betraying his usual confident demeanor. He reaches out for you, his thumb brushing against your hand as if confirming you're really here, with him, in this moment. The dress, the ceremony, everything fades as he pulls you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're perfect," Sukuna mutters under his breath, a soft growl of appreciation that somehow, only you can hear. There's a flicker of something deep in his eyes, something tender, something real. His lips press together in a firm line as he forces himself to maintain his composure, but the awe in his expression is undeniable.

Like a deadly silent ninja, Uraume quickly sneaks past the old priest to hand him the rings then back to their seat.

The priest smiles, happily accepting them. The soft murmur of the crowd fades into silence as you and Sukuna stand facing each other, hands clasped tightly.

“We gather today to witness the union of y/n and Sukuna under the guidance of the kami," the short man starts. "Let us call upon the divine spirits to bless this marriage.” The man opens up the box with the rings, then gestures for you and Sukuna to take them. He nods, signalling for you two to state your vows.

The weight of the moment hangs between you; this promise, these words, are more than just tradition. They're a reflection of everything you've both experienced, everything you’ve shared, and everything that lies ahead.

Sukuna’s gaze doesn’t waver from you as he begins, his voice steady but filled with depth, “I won’t lie and say I always believed in something like this. In love, in a promise like marriage. But you, Y/N… you’re different. You’ve turned everything I knew upside down. You’ve made me want to be someone better. So today, I vow to you, with everything I am, that I will never stop fighting for you.” He takes your ring and slides it onto your finger.

His voice drops lower, softer, yet the intensity of his words cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and true. “I vow to protect you, no matter the cost. To shield you from the world, and to make sure that, for as long as I breathe, nothing comes between us. You are mine, and I am yours. And I will never, ever let you go. Even if the world itself crumbles, I will stand by your side.”

He pauses, his eyes softening as they meet yours. For a brief moment, you catch the flicker of vulnerability in them, something raw, something real. He inhales, then continues, his words heavy with sincerity, “I vow to stand by your side, not just as your husband, but as your equal. To never let you feel alone, to always listen when you speak, and to give you everything I have. My loyalty, my strength, and all my love.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, a rush of emotions surging through you. Sukuna, the same man who once swore he’d never be tied down, now stands before you, giving you these promises, words that hold weight far beyond what any ring or ceremony could represent. The tears you are fighting so hard to keep back start to overflow, softly drifting down your cheeks.

His lips curl into a rare, soft smile, one only you could elicit, and he finishes, his voice steady but imbued with something deeper than words, “I vow to be yours in every way, now and forever.”

The crowd stays silent, but you feel the energy of the moment, the promise that is now sealed between you both.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to say, and when you speak, your voice is clear and unwavering, despite the emotions swirling inside you. “I used to believe that love was just a word, a concept meant to keep people tied to promises they couldn’t keep. But then you came into my life, and everything changed. You showed me that love isn’t just about words or gestures. It’s about the actions, the choices we make, every single day.”

You take his ring and slide it onto his finger, your hands trembling slightly. “So today, I vow to you that I will stand by you, in the good and the bad, when the world is bright and when it’s dark. I vow to never give up on us, no matter the challenges we face. I promise to face them with you, because together, we’re unstoppable.”

You take another breath, meeting his eyes with a fierce sincerity. “I vow to love you, with everything I have, every single day. To choose you, even when it’s hard, and to never let go of what we’ve built. I promise to be your strength when you falter, your peace when the world is too much, and your home, always.”

A brief moment of silence passes between you, as if the weight of your words is sinking in, deep into your hearts.

“I vow to honor you, not just as my husband, but as my equal, my partner, my family,” you whisper, your eyes never leaving his. “I’ll never let you feel unimportant, never let you feel alone. You’re the reason I can face the future with hope. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never have to face it without me by your side.”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the weight of your words, and for a moment, you both are lost in each other’s gaze—the vows hanging in the air, binding you together forever.

Finally, the old priest smiles, his voice soft as he claps and says, “You have both expressed your vows, your promises to each other. By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

The crowd exhales in unison, the sound of applause echoing through the shrine, but all Sukuna hears is the steady rhythm of his heart. Out of the corner of his eye, Sukuna sees Geto throwing his fist into the air and Gojo waving a sign that says “Death of a Bachelor.” (Gojo’s handwriting is abysmal)

Without hesitation, Sukuna’s hand tightens around yours, and he leans down, pushing back your veil, pulling you close. His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s anything but soft. It’s rough, commanding, and filled with the intensity of everything he’s promised. It’s a kiss that doesn’t hold back, just as he never does. The passion behind it burns hot, sealing the vows with the raw, undeniable force of his love. The tenderness he’s capable of is there, but it’s wrapped in the fierceness that defines him: no hesitation, no doubt.

For a brief moment, time stands still, the kiss, everything and nothing all at once, and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is real. This is your forever.

The after-party began immediately, the transition from ceremony to celebration seamless. After a few obligatory photos, some formal, some candid (and more than a few where Sukuna looked like he was barely tolerating the process), he wasted no time leading you to the dance floor, his grip firm yet possessive around your hand.

The guests expected the first dance to be a typical “slow, romantic, something traditional” type song. Instead, the opening chords of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" echoed through the venue, the deep, familiar melody sending a ripple of surprise through the crowd.

You looked up at Sukuna, half amused, half touched. Of course, he'd do something unexpected. And yet, as he pulled you into his arms, swaying with effortless confidence, you knew there wasn’t a song more fitting for the two of you.

Your hands slid up to rest behind his neck, fingers tracing the short hairs at his nape. He held your waist, guiding you with an ease that made it feel as if you'd danced together a thousand times before. The world faded away as you moved in sync, each step, each turn, every brush of your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understood.

Sukuna leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured along with the song, his voice husky and deliberate. “No, nothing else matters.”

Your chest tightened, your heart swelling with so much joy it felt like it might burst. You tilted your head back just enough to meet his gaze, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip. There was no one else in this moment. Just you and him.

When the song ended, a small, energetic pink blur rushed toward you.

"Uncle Sukuna, dance with me!" Yuji beamed up at him, his excitement boundless as he tugged on his sleeve. Behind him, Choso and Nanami approached, both at a more measured pace, Nanami looking like he wasn’t quite sure how he ended up here.

Sukuna let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Tch. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, brat."

Yuji just grinned wider, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor. The sight of Sukuna, formidable, untouchable Sukuna, humoring a child in the middle of his own wedding made your heart swell even more. Even Choso looked a little softer as he stood beside you, watching his little brother with something close to fondness.

Maybe someday you can have your own child with him.

You used the moment to mingle, accepting congratulations from guests, exchanging a few teasing words with Utahime, and even sharing a drink with Shoko and Nanami, who looked vaguely exhausted, but resigned to the festivities.

Eventually, Sukuna found his way back to you, as if drawn by an invisible thread, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for too long. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“It’ll be time for us to go soon,” he murmured, his voice low and promising. “I’ve got plans for us.” The smirk he wore was nothing short of sinful, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “What kind of plans?”

Sukuna chuckled, his grip tightening just enough to make you feel it. “You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart.”

And with that, the night continued, filled with laughter, stolen kisses, and the unshakable certainty that no matter what came next, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the night stretched on, laughter and music filled the air, the energy never waning. But soon, the time came for the final part of the evening: the send-off.

Surprisingly, Mei Mei had volunteered to help pack your honeymoon wardrobe. Probably, because she got to shop for everything herself, and the world knows that woman can shop.

Someone, probably Uraume, had rallied the guests to gather outside, lining the grand pathway leading to the sleek, black car waiting at the end. Lanterns and soft golden lights illuminated the space, casting a warm glow over the night. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as everyone took their place, sparklers in hand, the flickering embers mirroring the stars overhead.

Sukuna stood beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders in a loose but possessive hold. He watched the scene with a raised brow, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. "Tch. Is all this really necessary?"

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Let them have their fun. It’s not every day the mighty Sukuna gets married.”

His smirk was sharp as he leaned in. “Not every day someone makes me want to.”

The moment the two of you stepped forward, the crowd erupted into cheers. Sparks danced in the air as the sparklers lit up the path, and you felt the heat of Sukuna’s palm as he laced his fingers with yours. He led you forward, your steps slow at first, taking in the smiling faces, the warmth, the love that surrounded you.

Yuji and Ino were the loudest, waving their sparklers aggressively. Nanami stood off to the side, his nod of approval as subtle as ever. Uraume watched from the distance, arms crossed, but their lips twitched slightly, almost like they were proud.

Gojo, of course, was the most obnoxious.

“MY BOY! LOOK AT HIM!” He whistled loudly, practically bouncing on his feet. “DIDN’T THINK I’D LIVE TO SEE THE DAY!”

Shoko, standing beside him with a drink in hand, smirked. “I give it six months before she realizes what a pain in the ass he is.”

Mei Mei hummed in amusement. “I would’ve put money on him staying a bachelor forever. Guess love really does make fools out of us all.”

Geto chuckled from beside her, arms crossed. “If nothing else, it’ll be entertaining to see him domesticated.”

Sukuna acted as if he hadn’t heard any of them, but you felt the way his fingers flexed slightly around yours, the way his grip tightened like he was restraining himself from turning around and making very impolite comments.

Halfway down the path, Sukuna suddenly stopped. Before you could ask why, he turned to face you, eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. Then, in front of everyone, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, one meant to remind you, and everyone watching, exactly who you belonged to.

The crowd lost it.

Yuji let out a dramatic groan. “OH COME ON! GET A ROOM!”

Gojo cheered obnoxiously. “YEAH! THAT’S MY KING!” He clapped loudly, nudging Geto. “Tell me that wasn’t the smoothest shit you’ve ever seen.”

Geto sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “I hate that I agree with you.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, raising her drink. “Cheers to that poor woman. She’s in for a lifetime of that.”

A mixture of cheers, whistles, and dramatic groans (most likely from Yuji) filled the air. When he pulled back, Sukuna looked maddeningly pleased with himself. “Had to make sure they know you're mine before I take you away.”

Your breath was shaky, but you managed to roll your eyes. “Pretty sure they already know.” You wave your hand with the wedding ring and wiggle your fingers.

With that, he led you the rest of the way to the car. The door was held open, and before you could so much as settle in, Sukuna was right beside you, his hand already back on your thigh. The car pulled away, the glow of the sparklers fading into the distance, and with it, the last remnants of the wedding night.

Sukuna exhaled, finally alone with you. His fingers traced slow circles over your skin. “You ready for the real fun to begin?”

Your stomach fluttered, anticipation thick in the air. “I should be asking you that.”

His grin was sharp, dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you're in for.”

And with that, your honeymoon truly began.

<- Part 1

A/N I meant for this to be short, but I got carried away writing. I hope you guys enjoy the fluff though <3 Only one more chapter left of this story :)

not sure if you wanted to be tagged but just in case you did: @moonchhu

masterlist | jjk masterlist

#sukuna #jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna ryomen #jjk fanfic #sukuna fanfic #wedding #divider by cafekitsune #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff

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mr-cha-n · 3 days ago

Text

Merger & Acquisition (Of My Heart)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x gn!reader

Genres: Angst, fluff, crack, office romance AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual insinuations, bad decision making

Word Count: 17.2k

Summary: Jeonghan thought navigating corporate mergers was hard—turns out, navigating corporate mergers with his ex is harder.

A/N: Missing Jeonghan hours

For more office romance, please check out Glass Towers!

"Jeonghan, just trust me! It's gonna be perfect!"

You're grinning, and it’s that grin. The one that made Jeonghan's heart do that ridiculous, fluttering thing the first time you flashed it his way. The one that’s practically a cheat code for his soul. Your eyes are sparkling like you just cracked the secret to world peace—or maybe just how to make him melt like a popsicle in the sun.

You’re gesturing to something behind him, but honestly, he’s not even looking. To take his eyes off you? Not in this lifetime, buddy.

"I’m serious!" you press, eyes wide with wild excitement. "We should get matching sweaters!"

He stares, blinking slowly like maybe he’s hearing things. You look so absurdly excited, like you've proposed something truly genius. And, for a second, just for a second, he almost gets it. Matching sweaters... Huh. He squints.

"I swear to God," he mutters, almost in awe of your audacity. "You've got a one-track mind, you know that?"

But you're already dragging him inside the store, ugging him toward a rack of sweaters in shades so painfully pastel, they might be illegal. You’re holding up two—one a disturbingly washed-out pink and the other an equally offensive lavender - and beam at him, radiating enough joy to power a small city.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at the monstrosities in your hands. "Are you trying to publicly obliterate my dignity?" he asks, deadpan. "Because I’m pretty sure this is some kind of crime."

Your laugh—sweet and impossibly bright—bounces off the walls. It’s so loud, it feels like the store itself is laughing with you. And for a split second, he doesn’t even care that you’re suggesting he wears an offence to fashion. All he hears is your laughter. And, okay, it is contagious. He can’t help but chuckle, his chest warming even as he contemplates his future in pastel hell.

"I’ll wear it if you wear it," you challenge, a wicked glint in your eyes, practically daring him to back out.

And you know Jeonghan can't resist a dare.

He crosses his arms, a perfect picture of exaggerated seriousness, mirroring how seriously you’re taking this whole thing. "Fine," he sighs dramatically. "But only because I’m too exhausted to argue with you."

Before he can even finish his thought, you're already wrapping your arms around his neck, giggling into his ear like it’s the most precious sound on earth. And just like that, any resentment he might have had about wearing a sweater straight out of a fashion crime scene? Gone. The swell of his heart forgives you, even as he silently prepares to suffer through the world’s most embarrassing outfit.

"I love you sooo much," you murmur, squeezing him a little tighter.

And, just before he can say it back, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Distracted, he fumbles for it like it’s the most urgent thing in the world—because, hey, maybe it’s a work thing or, God forbid, a text from his mom about dinner plans. When he looks up, you’re gone. The matching sweaters are gone. The street is just a blur again, and the store, with its obnoxious neon lights, has disappeared completely.

For a heartbeat, Jeonghan’s standing there, staring at the space where you were, feeling like he’s just been dropped into some weird alternate universe. The air feels thick, heavy, and for a split second, everything just feels—wrong. Empty. Off.

And in that moment, he realizes with a gut-punch of clarity: it’s all slipped away, like sand through his fingers. He’s standing in the middle of a street that doesn’t make sense, holding onto an empty promise he can’t possibly keep, his hand still tingling where you once touched him. And all he can hear now is the echo of your laugh, so bright, so full of life, fading into nothing.

And just as quickly, before he even has time to breathe, the dream shatters. Gone. Like it was never there at all.

Jeonghan wakes up with a jolt, his chest tight like a too-small sweater, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape his ribcage. The sheets are tangled around him like he'd been wrestling them all night, and he blinks at the daylight streaming through the window, a little too bright, a little too real. For a second, he’s not sure if he’s still stuck in the dream, his body caught in some weird limbo between sleep and being awake.

That laugh. That stupid, infectious laugh. It hangs in the air, teasing him like a ghost that refuses to leave. Jeonghan’s hand brushes absently over his chest, like he’s trying to wipe the sound away, like it hasn’t completely lodged itself in his mind.

“Stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head and tossing the sheets off himself, hoping to shake off whatever weird spell the dream’s put on him.

By the time he’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, his mind is a chaotic mess of swirling thoughts. Mostly, he’s thinking about the dream and how ridiculous it is that it’s still making his heart beat a little too fast. And then, of course, there’s the thing he can’t shake—the stupid, pastel sweaters.

He scoffs at his reflection, splashing water on his face like it’ll somehow help him wake up properly. Matching sweaters, he thinks bitterly. Really

Getting dressed feels like a chore, like he's moving through molasses. His eyes drift over his usual black jeans and plain tees, but then—something catches his eye. A flash of pink, hidden at the back of his closet like some kind of forbidden treasure, tucked behind other, more respectable pieces.

Jeonghan hesitates.

His fingers brush over it, and for a moment, he feels as though he's standing back in that ridiculous store, the weight of that challenge still hanging in the air. He almost laughs at himself. You can’t be serious, he thinks. But before he can stop himself, his hands are already pulling it out.

“I’m not doing this,” he mutters to himself, but even he can tell his voice is a little too uncertain, like he’s trying to convince someone else.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan stands in front of the mirror again, the soft, unreasonably pastel pink sweater clinging to his frame. He tilts his head to the side, frowning at his reflection. Then, he looks back at the sweater.

It's ... fine. Actually, it's kind of comfortable. And, okay, it’s not nearly as terrible as he thought it would be. The color is soft, gentle—more like a whisper than an explosion of pastel horror, and the fabric feels a bit like a soft cloud.

Of course, none of that changes the fact that it’s ridiculous that he’s wearing it.

“What’s wrong with me?” he laughs, shaking his head at himself, unable to stop the sound from spilling out.

And then your laugh—that bright, carefree, spark-of-light laugh—flashes through his mind again. It’s like the room is a little less dark when he thinks about it, and, for just a second, he lets himself imagine that maybe... maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to go along with it. The matching sweaters, the ridiculous plans, that kind of carefree joy only you could make him feel.

But he's alone now. And the sweater is just that. A sweater.

He shakes his head, adjusting it one more time, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest as he thinks about you—your voice, your touch, your laugh—and focus on just getting out the door. He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder like he’s trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream.

“Fine,” he mutters to himself. “It’s stupid. But I’m wearing it.”

And if anyone dares to comment on it, he’s donating it to the first charity store he passes on his way home.

Jeonghan's brain feels like a blender on full speed as he pushes through the glass doors of the office building, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. He steps into the start-up chaos, where the morning energy is already off-the-charts: people darting between desks, having phone conversations that are somehow both urgent and completely pointless, and juggling coffee cups that are half-full of caffeine and stress. And there’s something else hanging in the air, something that makes him feel like he’s forgotten something super important, but of course, he has no idea what that is.

He shrugs it off and marches to his desk, where Joshua's already sitting, a fresh cup of coffee in hand and laptop open in front of him. He looks like he's already been up for hours - effortlessly composed, a picture of fcous while Jeonghan has barely kept it together this morning.

He drops his bag on the desk with a dramatic thud, letting out a long sigh.

Joshua glances at him, then at his sweater, then back up at Jeonghan’s face like he’s trying to piece together some kind of puzzle.

"I thought you didn't do pastels?"

“I don’t,” Jeonghan responds immediately, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to untangle his thoughts. “But… it’s a long story, actually. Not one I’m getting into right now.”

Joshua’s lips twitch, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with a certain someone who shall remain nameless waltzing back into your life?"

Jeonghan freezes, his whole body going cold like he's just been caught in a lie. How in the hell did Joshua figure that out?

He forces a laugh, but it’s way too high-pitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice cracking like a bad sitcom.

But Joshua isn’t letting it slide. “Sure. And I’m definitely not looking at someone who’s still wearing a sweater that belongs to their emotional turmoil.”

Jeonghan snorts. "Oh, please, the only thing emotional about this is how much I regret wearing it." He waves his hand dismissively, but can’t hide the way he checks the sweater like he's trying to make sure it’s still presentable. “Anyway, what’s going on today? Please tell me we're not having another one of those ‘I-just-want-to-innovate-the-industry’ creative meetings. I’m not sure I can sit through another round of ‘brainstorming’ where I’m expected to solve all our problems with a Pinterest board.”

Joshua’s face glitches as he shuts his laptop with a dramatic click. “Tell me you’re joking?”

Jeonghan blinks.

Joshua sighs, long and slow.

"The merger? I know you remember that the merger is happening today, right?"

"Merger? Oh. That merger." Jeonghan’s brain starts scrambling for clarity, trying to sort out the chaos of thoughts. They’ve been talking about this merger for weeks now—a rival company with a reputation for being way more corporate and buttoned-up than their own start-up chaos. Jeonghan hadn’t really paid attention. Too busy juggling project deadlines, chasing creative briefs, and making sure everyone’s sushi orders were on point.

But now, with Joshua’s reminder, the weight of reality hits him. Today’s the day. The day they officially merge with the enemy—and, if we’re being honest, it’s a little more corporate than he ever thought he’d get. Also, probably the reason for those stress dreams last night.

Jeonghan grimaces. "Right. The merger." He sighs, slumping in his chair. “I think I just blocked it out of my mind for the past week because I’m not sure I can handle becoming corporate Jeonghan.”

Joshua chuckles, setting his coffee down. "That’s the point of today. They’re bringing in their big bosses to meet with us—this afternoon, right after the all-hands meeting. It’s officially happening. The big, serious meeting where we all sit around and pretend to care about ‘synergy’ and ‘optimisation.’” He does air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes. "But, don't worry - you won't be corporate Jeonghan. You'll be corporate Mr Yoon."

Jeonghan groans, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “‘Synergy,’ optimisation...” he repeats, doing an exaggerated version of Joshua’s air quotes. “Honestly, I think I’d rather go back to bed and wake up in a parallel universe where I’m not wearing this sweater and we’re not merging. Could we please pretend we’re still a bunch of creative geniuses who just want to make awesome things? Is that too much to ask?”

Joshua smirks, clearly enjoying Jeonghan’s theatrics. “It’s the price of progress, my friend. Besides, I’m sure you’ll do just great. Just remember: don’t look too enthusiastic about the merger. We’ve got to keep some of that ‘creative chaos’ spirit alive, right?”

“Right,” Jeonghan mutters, still adjusting his sweater. “Creative chaos—that’s what we’ll call it. But, seriously, I’m really hoping they don’t ask me to do the whole ‘powerpoint presentation’ thing today. I’m already two cups of coffee in, and the only thing I can think of is whether this sweater’s a crime against fashion or a step toward self-expression.”

“Why not both?” Joshua grins, clearly enjoying the chaos of it all. “Maybe your sweater will be the key to saving us from corporate hell. You never know.”

Jeonghan shoots him a look. “If this sweater saves us from anything, I’ll personally make sure we keep it as a company mascot.”

“Deal,” Joshua says, grinning wider as he takes a sip of his coffee.

The conference room looks like a page out of Jeonghan's worst nightmares: sleek, polished, and cold enough to make an ice cube look like it’s on vacation. A long, minimalist table stretches down the middle, surrounded by chairs so expensive they probably cost more than the rest of the startup's furniture.

Jeonghan slides into the room with Joshua just behind him, trying his best to look like he belongs in a room where every person looks like they could run a Fortune 500 company. He adjusts the collar of his pastal pink sweater, wondering for the hundredth time if he's made a grave mistake. But, well, it's too late to back out now.

Joshua, in the seat beside him, has immediately begun typing away on his laptop, not a hint of nervousness in his posture. Jeonghan, on the other hand, is doing everything he can to stop himself from fidgeting. He's been in plenty of meetings before, but this one feels different. It's like everyone is playing on a higher level - every handshake more formal, every "good afternoon" more stiff.

He slouches further into his chair, doing his best to hide behind the carefully natural expressions of the other startup team members—everyone’s pretending they’re not deeply unprepared for this meeting (Jeonghan knows they are).

Just as the final few stragglers file in, Jeonghan hears it again.

The laugh.

It’s quiet, almost imperceptible, but it’s unmistakable. That laugh. The one that makes his stomach do that ridiculous fluttering thing. Jeonghan freezes, his hands stiff at his sides like he’s a statue trying to pretend it’s not about to crumble. His pulse quickens, and he does his best to shake the thought out of his brain. I'm hearing things, he tells himself. It’s probably just my brain playing tricks after that stupid dream

But no. It’s there again—soft, bubbling, infectious laughter, drifting from somewhere off to the side. Jeonghan blinks, his head snapping towards the sound like it’s the answer to a riddle he didn’t know he was solving.

And then he sees you.

There you are, standing at the front of the room, radiating effortless confidence in a sharply tailored suit, like you belong in the boardroom as much as Jeonghan belongs in a hoodie.

His heart stops.

It can't be.

He blinks. And blinks again. But you're still there. You’re still smiling, your grin as radiant as it ever was, as you exchange pleasantries with the higher-ups from the startup. The same grin that used to make Jeonghan question his entire life philosophy, every single time you flashed it his way.

What the hell?

There's no way. You can't possibly be the one running things on this side of the merger. This has to be a joke, right? His head spins, his thoughts running in frantic circles as the realisation dawns on him.

You are here. In the flesh.

A hundred questions rushes though his brain all at once - how, why, when? But most of all: Why didn't I know about this?

And then it hits him. The absurdity of the situation. The dream. The sweater. The weird sense of unfinished business he'd woken up with this morning. It all seems to click in a way that makes his brain ache with the sudden weight of it all.

Jeonghan slouches even further into his chair, if that's even possible. His stomach is in knots, and his palms are starting to get a little too clammy for comfort.

Maybe if he just... quietly gets up and leaves. Maybe if he just—

“Are you okay?” Joshua leans toward him, his voice low.

Jeonghan swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. “I—I think my ex is in charge of the merger.”

Joshua’s eyebrows furrow, confusion flashing across his face. "Yeah, I know."

Jeonghan blinks, his brain trying to process this new layer of nonsense. "You—what?"

“I thought you knew.” Joshua leans back, looking unbothered, like Jeonghan just missed a memo. “I literally brought it up this morning.”

Huh?

Oh.

That makes more sense than Joshua knowing about the dream.

Jeonghan’s brain is running full speed ahead, trying to piece together the puzzle of his existence in real-time, but nothing’s clicking. Joshua’s voice is just a dull hum in the background as his eyes are locked on you. There you are, standing at the front of the room, looking like you’ve just walked out of a business magazine. His mind keeps bouncing between the memory of you in those casual clothes, laughing over pizza, and the version of you now, all polished and corporate, like you’ve somehow always belonged here. It’s dizzying. How the hell did this happen

He forces himself to breathe and look away for a second, trying to center himself, but just as he’s about to look down at his hands—those traitors who are clammy and betraying him—he hears the sound of a microphone clicking on.

Your voice.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

And just like that, the room falls silent, hanging on every word. Your voice is smooth—confident—but there’s this little edge of warmth that makes Jeonghan’s chest tighten in a way that’s definitely not professional. He’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to let his eyes wander back to where you stand—hands moving gracefully, voice flowing effortlessly. You’re the same you he knew, but also not. Somehow both.

“Today marks an exciting new chapter for both our teams,” you continue, “and I’m thrilled to be standing here with all of you as we embark on this new journey together. As many of you know, this merger is the culmination of months of careful planning and preparation. We’re combining our strengths to create something that will redefine the industry. And we’re all here today to ensure that we’re setting the right course.”

The words are professional, perfectly crafted, and so very corporate—but it’s the way you speak them that gets to Jeonghan. It’s the way you still carry that spark, that undeniable energy, as though nothing’s changed. As though you’ve just slid seamlessly from one world to another.

Jeonghan rubs his forehead, wishing his brain would just catch up with reality. But no. Instead, it’s like everything around him is shifting, the room suddenly way too big and his sweater way too bright for comfort.

You continue with the presentation, talking about key figures from both companies, introducing executives and senior members—those faceless people Jeonghan will never need to remember—but then… you pause. Your gaze sweeps over the room, and then it locks with his.

Jeonghan freezes. Time slows, or maybe it speeds up. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, thumping against his ribcage as if it’s trying to break out.

You don’t look away.

For a split second, Jeonghan wonders if he imagined it. Maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him, but no—no, there’s a shift in your expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Then—oh, God—your gaze drops to his sweater.

You stop mid-sentence.

The room goes quiet, all eyes on you, but Jeonghan knows it’s him you’re looking at. His sweater. Specifically, that sweater.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the podium as you glance at his sweater—that damn sweater. He watches, horrified, as the corners of your mouth twitch—not with amusement—but something else. Something close to annoyance.

He can’t breathe. His hand twitches around his collar like he might rip the damn thing off and flee the building entirely.

Then, mercifully, you clear your throat. The sound snaps through the silence like a rubber band, and for a moment, it feels like the tension might break. But still, that look—that look on your face—it doesn’t go away.

"Uh..." You stop. A beat of awkwardness. You glance at him again, brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. "I’m—I’m sorry, I just... I'm a little distracted. Let me start that again.” You take a breath, visibly steadying yourself before you continue with the presentation, but Jeonghan can hear that slight crack in your voice.

He tries to make himself invisible in his chair, sinking lower, his hands buried in his lap like he could somehow physically shrink into the chair itself. The way your lips tighten as you force yourself to focus on the presentation makes Jeonghan want to disappear.

“Oh, my God,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, doing his best to keep his voice just quiet enough so only Joshua can hear.

Joshua just gives him a deadpan stare. “What happened? Is this because of the sweater?”

“Don’t. Please.” Jeonghan’s voice cracks, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt more exposed in his life.

Jeonghan’s heart is still trying to hammer its way out of his chest when the meeting finally breaks. The tension in the room has been almost unbearable, and now, as everyone starts shifting in their seats, the low murmur of conversation rising, Jeonghan begins to think maybe—just maybe—he can make a quick exit. Maybe sneak out of the room and pretend this never happened.

But before he can even attempt a graceful getaway, he feels a sharp pressure on his arm, and a voice—your voice—cuts through the noise like a knife.

“Jeonghan. Now.”

There’s no mistaking the authority in your tone, the same tone you’ve always used when you were determined to get something done, to make sure things went your way. He doesn't even need to look up to know that your eyes are narrowed with a familiar intensity.

He’s being dragged down the hall, his feet barely keeping up with the determined pace you set as you pull him into a small, secluded room just off the main conference area. The door shuts with a definitive thud behind them, and it’s as if the air in the room thickens, suffocating him.

You whirl around, closing the distance between you with a look of pure exasperation on your face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is low, but it still carries the bite of someone who’s been wronged. “Wearing that ridiculous sweater—here—of all places. You knew I’d be in charge today. You knew I’d be in this room. So why? Why would you do that?”

Jeonghan, on the other hand, is trying to appear unbothered—but inside, his mind is spinning. He's suddenly very aware of how small this room feels, how close you are, how everything about you is pulling him into a vortex of confusion he does not want to be in. But outwardly, he’s just... smirking. Of course. Because what else can he do but pretend this whole thing is no big deal?

"Why would I wear a sweater to throw you off?" His voice is as nonchallent as he can muster, the words coming out cockier than he intends. With a shrug, he adds, "With or without it, you always said I was hard to ignore, didn't you?"

He sees your face twitch, your eyes narrowing further, and something about the way you stare at him makes his breath catch. Shit.

He's panicking. He's trying to hold it together, trying to keep that sharp edge in his voice, but the truth is, looking at you right now - it's like nothing's changed. It's like he's still that idiot who'd fall for you in a heartbeat. The way your gaze locks with his, the way your presence fills up the room, makes his insides twist.

It makes his chest ache.

But you don't get to know that, not anymore.

So, instead, he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, letting the smirk stretch wider on his lips. “I mean, really. Look at you.” He gestures to your perfectly tailored suit. “You’re the one who seems all riled up. Could it be that you're the one trying to throw me off? Hmm?"

You open your mouth, about to fire back some scathing retort, but Jeonghan watches your shoulders stiffen instead. You exhale a slow breath, something like frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, voice dangerously calm now, but still carrying that edge, “I’m serious. You are not making this easy. I’m just trying to do my job, and you’re in here, wearing... that. I swear to God, are you doing this on purpose?”

“Would it even matter if I was?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, his tone light, casual, as if he doesn't feel like he’s one stupid comment away from completely combusting. “It’s not like I care what you think about my sweater. It's a free country, and I like a little colour in my life, alright?” He shrugs again, even though inside he's a mess. A nervous wreck. A miserable wreck. “You don’t get to dictate my wardrobe.”

But God, every word he says feels like it's coming out of his mouth without his permission. He watches you, sees the flicker of something that’s almost like frustration—and he can't stand it. He really can’t stand the way you're looking at him right now. He’s never been good at being calm when it comes to you.

You shake your head, running a hand through your hair in that way that’s more exasperated than anything else. “I don’t know why you do this. Why do you always make everything so complicated?”

And that’s it. Jeonghan’s breath catches, and something cracks in his chest.

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, trying to push you away with all these stupid jokes and sarcastic comments. You’re still the one who holds all the strings in this game. Even now, even after everything, he’s still just as tangled up in you as he was back then.

��I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice finally losing its bravado. His arms uncross, and he takes a slow step toward you, his gaze falling to the ground for just a moment before he looks up again. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

You blink, visibly taken aback, and for just a second—just a second—there’s a softening in your expression. A flicker of something.

He’s about to say something—anything—to regain his composure, but then the door swings open, and a voice from the hallway shatters the fragile moment.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

Jeonghan’s chest tightens again, and he forces himself to turn, pulling away from you with a rueful glance. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the sarcasm back in full force. “Just having a lovely chat about fashion choices."

As you move past him toward the door, your eyes lock for just a split second, and Jeonghan can’t help but wonder if this is where everything starts unravelling again.

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, leaving Jeonghan alone in the empty room, the weight of his own confusion pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. What the hell is he even doing?

Jeonghan's never been good at avoiding things - especially you. But he's trying. Really trying.

The second he steps into the office, he practically sprints to his desk, eyes darting across the room like he’s in a spy movie and not just trying to avoid his ex at his place of employment.

It’s a solid plan. A foolproof plan.

Except, of course, the universe hates him.

“Hey, Jeonghan, did you see that email from accounting?”

He freezes.

His heart does that stupid, traitorous thing again—racing a little too fast, a little too obvious. He forces a smile, carefully ignoring the fact that you just happened to walk by at that exact moment.

And, of course, he hears you before he sees you.

The sound of your heels clicking against the floor—the same precise rhythm only you have—cuts through the noise like some cruel reminder that he’s fighting a battle he’s already lost.

“No, I didn’t,” he replies, voice too tight, too controlled. He stares at his screen, ignoring how your gaze flickers toward him for just a split second. His palms are sweating again, but he’s good at pretending.

He doesn’t even glance up at you.

Not yet.

By some miracle, Jeonghan makes it through the rest of the week relatively unscathed. He’s been ducking behind desks, taking suspiciously long coffee breaks, and strategically avoiding eye contact like it’s an Olympic sport.

But, of course, his luck has limits.

And today, at the all-hands meeting, he knows he’s finally reached the end of the track.

Everyone from both companies is gathered in the conference hall, waiting for the latest updates on the merger, and Jeonghan?

He is mentally checked out.

Completely.

He’s sitting at the very back of the room, scrolling through his phone, barely registering the corporate bullshit being discussed at the front. He’s safe. He’s comfortable.

Until—

"Jeonghan, would you mind coming up to give an update on the latest project?”

Joshua’s voice cuts through the room like a gunshot.

Jeonghan’s entire soul leaves his body.

His head snaps up, panic settling in his bones.

And then—oh, no.

Because there you are.

Sitting right in the front row.

And you’re looking directly at him.

Your eyes flick over to him, slow, deliberate, the way a cat might look at a bird right before it destroys it for sport.

Then, just to make it worse, you raise an eyebrow.

And smirk.

Not now.

Jeonghan stands up, legs way too stiff, shoulders squared like he’s heading into battle. He’s trying to look professional, trying to appear composed, but all he can think about is you.

You, sitting there with your arms crossed, wearing the exact same expression you always used to give him whenever he was desperately trying to impress you.

And the worst part?

It almost works.

Almost.

Standing at the podium, Jeonghan realizes immediately that he has made a mistake.

A huge mistake.

Because he cannot focus.

His brain is full of static noise.

The slides? No idea. The project? What even is a project? His own name? Questionable.

He starts talking—kind of. Words are coming out, but he’s not sure they mean anything.

Somewhere, in the distance, Joshua looks like he’s re-evaluating their entire friendship.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan’s mind keeps veering off track.

Because you’re there.

Right there.

Arms still crossed, head tilted, eyes locked onto him with that look. The look that says impress me. The look that used to make him try harder. The look that used to make his entire day.

And it is so distracting.

He stumbles through the rest of the presentation, barely making sense, barely keeping himself together, barely resisting the urge to die on the spot.

By the time he finally scurries back to his seat, he hears it—

The faintest whisper of laughter.

From you.

And it’s all he can do not to scream.

The Friday team dinner is supposed to be a casual affair. Just a bunch of coworkers, bonding over overpriced appetizers and painfully forced small talk. No stakes. No tension. Chill.

Except, Jeonghan has this suspicion—no, this certainty—that the universe has personally taken offense to his existence and is now actively trying to ruin him.

He walks into the restaurant and immediately spots you. Of course, you're sitting at the head of the table like you own the place. Everyone else has already sat down, their conversation filling the air with a hum of disinterested chatter. Jeonghan spots the seat that was “reserved” for him—right next to you.

“Hey, Jeonghan, come join us!” Joshua waves him over cheerfully, all but pushing him to the only empty seat at the table.

The thought of sitting next to you—of having to endure hours of the same damn tension—makes his stomach churn. But what can he do? He can’t just ... stand there and look like an idiot.

So, with a carefully hidden sigh, Jeonghan accepts his fate.

His steps are slow and deliberate as he slides into the chair, forcing a perfectly polite smile as he does. He keeps his gaze fixed ahead, not looking at you, not acknowledging the fact that you are literally right there.

But he doesn’t have to look—he feels you turn toward him. He knows you’re watching.

And then—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The words are light, playful—too casual. But the way you say it? The way you pause just long enough to make sure he knows you’re enjoying this?

Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something snappy, something clever to deflect the growing weight between them, but instead, he just smiles—tiredly, like he’s given up trying to fight the inevitable.

“Yeah. Guess we’re stuck together again.”

He flicks a glance around the table, where everyone is too absorbed in their own conversations to notice the invisible battlefield currently forming between the two of you. But Jeonghan notices. He notices everything.

And worse, so do you.

You hum, tilting your head slightly. “I didn’t think you were the type to shy away from good company.”

There’s a bite to it. A slight challenge. A reminder of the way you two used to talk before—when the teasing was easy, when the tension was intentional.

Jeonghan exhales through his nose, willing himself to stay composed.

“Depends on the company,” he mutters, aiming for casual, but it doesn’t quite land. Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, not when his fingers are gripping the edge of the table a little too tightly.

For a moment, there’s silence—just the lingering weight of his words.

Then, instead of responding, you just smirk and turn back to the person beside you, amusement flickering in your eyes like a silent victory.

Jeonghan barely makes it through the rest of the meal.

The conversation around him blurs into meaningless chatter, and the food tastes like cardboard because how the hell is he supposed to focus on anything when you’re right there—close enough that if he so much as shifts, his knee might brush against yours, close enough that he can still smell your perfume, close enough that every time you laugh, something in his chest tightens stupidly, unfairly, uncontrollably.

He tries so hard to focus on his plate, on anything other than you.

But his mind keeps slipping—back to old memories, back to the way you used to look at him, back to the way things were before he ruined it.

And it hits him, all at once.

How much he’s still invested in this ridiculous, unspoken battle.

How much he’s still hoping for something that’s already gone.

How impossible it is to pretend like you’re just another coworker at a casual Friday dinner when the truth is—

You’re still the only person in the room that matters.

Things take a turn for the worse.

It starts innocently enough—a vague email from his superior that’s equal parts informative and infuriating, letting him know that he’s going to be working with you on a new project. A crucial one. Something about "collaboration being key to success."

Jeonghan can feel his blood pressure spike just reading it.

For a moment, he considers drafting a quick email to HR—maybe something professional, like:

Subject: Urgent Request Regarding Project Assignment Body: Please, for the sake of workplace productivity (and my personal sanity), put a clause in the merger agreement ensuring that Y/n and I never have to be in the same room again. Ever. Thanks.

But of course, that would be unprofessional.

So instead, Jeonghan settles for the next best thing: avoidance.

He doesn’t look at you in the office. Keeps his distance like you’re a literal bomb ticking in the corner.

But there’s no avoiding it now.

He shows up to the morning meeting, already bracing himself for the collision of chaos that’s about to unfold.

“Jeonghan, you and Y/n will handle the creative direction,” Joshua announces, voice bright and cheerful like he isn’t actively ruining Jeonghan’s life.

Jeonghan forces a smile, the kind that could probably be classified as a threat in some countries. “Great. Thrilled.”

When he finally dares to glance your way, he catches it—

The look.

Just the briefest flicker of amusement in your eyes, like you know exactly how much this is going to drive him insane.

“Just like old times, huh?” you muse, sipping your coffee, your voice smooth—too smooth.

Yeah. He hates how his stomach flips at that.

The first meeting to discuss the project is, to put it mildly, a disaster.

“Let’s start by deciding on the key themes,” you say, flipping open your laptop and pulling up a presentation.

Your eyes flicker toward him, expectant.

He shrugs it off, trying to stay neutral, focusing on the screen. “Yeah, sure.” He types quickly, trying to keep his fingers from betraying him.

Your hands brush ever-so-slightly as you both reach for the same document on the table, and for a brief second, Jeonghan feels that electric connection between you. The old chemistry that used to make every second with you feel like he was walking on fire. The kind of chemistry that used to make his pulse race. And now? He feels it all over again, like it’s been reawakened.

You pull your hand back fast, but the moment hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. No words. But Jeonghan can see it in your eyes—annoyance.

Of course, you’re annoyed.

Because this? This thing between you? It’s still there. It’s always been there.

And neither of you know what the hell to do about it.

The project moves forward, takes shape, but so does the tension between you two.

“I think we should go with a more minimalist aesthetic,” Jeonghan suggests, his voice casual, but he knows the words are loaded.

You look at him over the rim of your coffee cup, eyes narrowing slightly. “Minimalist?” you repeat, incredulous. “Jeonghan, that’s your go-to for everything.”

“And?” he replies smoothly. “It works.”

“It’s predictable,” you shoot back, leaning forward. “You’ve been stuck in that box for ages. It’s time to try something different.” There’s the challenge. There’s the dig. Jeonghan can feel his temper flare, bubbling under the surface.

“You think you know better?” He’s a little too sharp, but it’s impossible to hold back.

And there it is again.

That look.

The one that always made his chest tighten. The challenge. The fire. The heat. It makes his heart beat too fast, and for a split second, he’s there again, back in that night.

It’s late. The air is thick with everything you’ve both avoided saying for God knows how long. The tiny apartment is a disaster: takeout boxes strewn across the counter, half-finished projects littering the floor like ghosts of attempts never fully made.

“You never talk about what’s going on with you, Jeonghan!” You’re on your feet, pacing now, voice rising with frustration. “It’s like you’re a wall! A goddamn wall I can’t break down!”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but even he can hear how empty it sounds. His jaw’s clenched, eyes hard as stone. “Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” You slam your hands down on the table with a force that rattles everything in the room. Anger, frustration, everything spilling out like a dam that’s finally cracked. “You shut me out every time, Jeonghan. Every time! And I’m so damn tired of it! I feel like I'm the only one holding this together."

A breathy, almost humourless chuckle escapes him, but his voice stays flat, defensive. "That's not fair."

"No?" You glare at him, hurt flashing across your face like a strike of lightning. "Then tell me, when was the last time you actually tried, Jeonghan? To show up - to be here, with me, instead of just ... floating through this like it's some casual thing?"

His jaw tightens. "That's not-"

You cut him off, standing up straight now, fire in your eyes. “I tell you things, and I don’t even know if you’re listening half the time. You joke when I’m being serious. You shut down the second anything real comes up. And I—” You stop yourself, voice cracking, barely holding it together.

His fingers curl into the hem of his shirt—the same way they always do when he’s trying to keep something inside. But still, he stays silent.

And maybe that silence hurts more than anything.

"Just say something," you whisper, your voice barely there, exhaustion bleeding into every word. "Anything."

Jeonghan exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s already decided he doesn’t know how to fix this. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything—I want you to mean it.”

That hits him. Hard. He knows it’s true—he’s been so closed off for so long, pretending everything’s fine, and maybe it never was.

“I don’t need you to fix me,” he says, his voice colder than it should be, every word sharp like glass. “I just need you to stop pushing.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, nodding to yourself like you’ve heard it a thousand times. "Okay," you whisper, voice barely a breath. "Got it."

You stand, grabbing your coat, your bag—anything to keep your hands busy, your mind elsewhere. Jeonghan stays sitting, motionless, like maybe if he doesn’t move, none of this will be real.

And that only makes it worse.

His voice finally breaks the silence, quiet but cutting. "So that's it?"

You freeze for half a second, then shake your head, slow. "No, Jeonghan. You ended this way before I ever did."

His breath hitches, just slightly, just enough for you to notice - but it's not enough. He doesn't stop you.

Doesn't ask you to stay.

Doesn't fight for it.

So you walk away, closing the door softly behind you.

Jeonghan blinks, pushing the memory back as quickly as it came. The sting is still there, lingering under his skin, burning.

"Maybe you're right," he mutters, forcing his focus back on the task at hand, pretending it’s not tearing him up inside. "I'll rethink the design."

You meet his gaze for a beat, something flickering in your eyes—satisfaction, maybe—but you don’t say a word.

The office is quiet.

Late-night quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in your bones, heavy and unmoving. The kind that makes you feel like if you breathe too loudly, you might disturb something fragile—something that’s been stretched too thin, waiting to break.

Most of the team has already left, abandoning their desks for the promise of sleep, leaving behind the low hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic click of Jeonghan’s fingers against the keyboard.

The project drags on, never-ending, details shifting like sand. But Jeonghan isn’t really focused on any of that anymore.

His mind keeps wandering.

His eyes keep drifting to you, sitting across from him, scribbling furiously on a notepad, the stack of papers in front of you growing steadily higher.

You’ve barely spoken since the argument earlier that afternoon—sharp words and stubborn silences widening the already vast distance between you. And Jeonghan is starting to wonder if this… whatever fragile truce exists between you, is about to snap.

Still, he can’t help but watch you.

The way your brow furrows in concentration. The way you bite the edge of your pen, like it’s the only thing tethering you to the room.

You look up suddenly. Your gaze meets his, and for a second, everything in the room goes still. His stomach flips.

His fingers still over the keyboard, his breath catching just enough for him to feel pathetic about it.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “You ever think about how we used to joke about working these ridiculous hours and still getting paid like it’s a 9-to-5?”

The words catch him off guard.

Like a memory materializing out of nowhere—late nights spent in this very same office, takeout boxes stacked on the desk, laughter echoing between you as you made fun of the corporate grind, passing time with inside jokes and shared exhaustion.

His lips twitch before he can stop them. Without thinking, he mutters, “Yeah, we used to joke that if we worked this much overtime, we’d need to start paying rent here.”

You grin—a small, genuine smile. One that shouldn’t affect him as much as it does.

And just like that, for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, and Jeonghan catches the way your eyes soften just a bit. “I miss that,” you say, voice distant, almost melancholic. “I really miss that.”

The words are quiet. Honest.

They land between you with the kind of weight Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do with.

His heart skips, hope flaring in his chest before it’s immediately smothered by the cold, logical certainty that he’s taught himself to live with.

You miss that.

The late nights. The way things used to be. The version of you that existed before everything fell apart.

You don’t mean him.

And still—still, Jeonghan is stupid enough to want to believe it, even for a second.

You exhale, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.” You hesitate, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the table again. “I just… I don’t know.”

You pause, and when you speak again, your voice is quieter, more uncertain.

“The merger, everything… it’s been a lot to handle. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. If I’m really where I’m supposed to be.”

Jeonghan freezes, his thoughts swirling. Your voice is quiet, almost vulnerable in a way that he hasn’t heard in a long time. He hasn't heard this from you in a long time—not this version of you, the one with the mask cracked, revealing something deeper, something real.

Before he can think too much about it, the words leave his mouth.

“I think you’re doing just fine.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his, startled.

His voice is steady, but his heart isn’t. He leans forward slightly—like he wants to get closer, but knows better.

“You’re good at what you do,” he says, softer now.

You shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just faking it. I thought I had it all figured out, but...” You hesitate, glancing down at your hands, clasped tightly in front of you. “But I don’t. Not anymore.”

And God.

The way your voice cracks. The way your words linger. The way you sound so tired, so uncertain, so—

So much like him.

Something twists in Jeonghan’s chest, sharp and unforgiving.

He wants to fix it. He wants to reach across the table, to close the distance between you, to say something—anything—to make it better.

But he knows he can’t.

He knows he shouldn’t.

So instead, he just says—quieter than before—

“I think… I think you’ve always known exactly what you’re doing. Even when you doubt yourself.”

Your gaze softens, and for the first time in a long while, you smile—a small, bittersweet thing.

A smile that isn’t just for him—it’s for everything that came before.

For the memories.

For the version of you that once existed together.

For something that will never fully fade.

The realization creeps in slowly, settling into his bones like a weight he can’t shake.

Jeonghan is still in love with you.

Deeply, hopelessly, impossibly in love with you.

And maybe—maybe—he never stopped.

Maybe all this time, he’s been pretending. Trying to convince himself that the past is over. That whatever was between you is gone.

But now?

Now he knows the truth.

The past isn’t gone. Not for him.

And you?

You’ve moved on. You’ve found your place. Built a life without him in it.

You’ve figured it out. And maybe—maybe—that’s something Jeonghan can’t do.

Not without you.

He exhales shakily, the weight of the truth pressing on his chest.

He doesn’t say anything.

He can’t.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

He looks at you one last time. His gaze lingers, and he knows.

Deep down, he knows.

You’re not his anymore.

On paper, the company retreat probably sounded like a good idea—team bonding, trust-building exercises, maybe even a temporary escape from the soul-crushing chaos of the merger.

In practice?

Jeonghan is one minor inconvenience away from throwing himself into the nearest ravine.

First, Joshua confiscated the small tumbler of gin he’d carefully smuggled in ("It’s literally a wellness retreat, Jeonghan." / "And alcohol would greatly improve my well-being, Joshua.").

Then, he tripped over a cursed log in the middle of the path, landing straight into a muddy ditch and missing out on all the good barbecue meat while he scrambled for a change of clothes.

And now he’s been paired with you for a “group hiking activity”, which is apparently supposed to teach teamwork.

The others have already split into their little groups, laughing, chatting, pretending like they’re not all secretly praying for a sudden earthquake to whisk them away from this corporate nightmare.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan is silently suffering, trailing behind you, doing his absolute best to not notice how good you look in your hiking gear.

He isn't sure it can get much worse, until the storm hits.

At first, it’s just a slight drizzle—barely worth acknowledging, but still enough to dampen his already miserable spirits.

Then, as the group ventures deeper into the woods, the rain turns into a full-on downpour—the kind that drowns out everything else, hammering against the trail, soaking through his clothes in seconds.

"Oh, shit, let’s find shelter!" you call ahead.

Before Jeonghan can even process what’s happening, you grab his arm—your fingers wrapping around his wrist, firm and unthinking—and pull him toward the only visible structure in sight: a small, semi-constructed shed at the edge of the clearing.

The storm is coming down so hard now that it’s impossible to hear anything over the roar of the rain.

By the time you both stumble inside, dripping and breathless, Jeonghan already knows—

This?

This is about to be a problem.

The shed is even smaller than it looked from the outside.

It’s barely holding itself together—nothing but a few sharp-looking tools hanging on the walls, broken pots stacked in precarious piles, and a couple of empty barrels.

Oh.

And you.

Standing so close that Jeonghan can feel the heat radiating off your body, the storm trapping you way too close for way too long.

He doesn’t mean to stare, but—

Your clothes are soaked, clinging to your skin. Your breathing is steady but deep, the rhythm oddly calming, almost hypnotic.

Jeonghan swallows.

This is fine.

It’s totally fine.

Just a normal work retreat. Normal rain. Normal amount of completely ignoring the fact that every single nerve in his body is currently hyper-aware of how close you are.

Your chest brushes against his, the warmth of your body a gentle pressure as you close the space between you. His breath hitches at the proximity, your exhale a soft whisper against his skin. Your arm extends, reaching for something Jeonghan doesn’t even register anymore; all he can focus on is the heat radiating from you, the way you glance at him with that look, that steady, determined gaze that’s always made his heart flutter.

"You should know," you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, the words hanging between you with an intensity that makes his pulse quicken. Your eyes flicker to his lips for a moment, before meeting his gaze once more, unwavering and focused. "I'm very determined when it comes to getting what's mine."

His heart stutters, caught somewhere in his chest as your words settle into the space between you. His breath is stolen by the closeness, the silent weight of the moment. His hand instinctively lowers, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch. The briefest of touches. Barely a graze.

You notice the shift, the slight tremor in his fingers, and your breath catches too, your eyes darkening with something he can’t quite name. And in the next heartbeat, you pull your book free from his grasp with a soft, triumphant laugh, a sound that echoes in his chest as you take a step back, dancing with victory. Jeonghan stands frozen for a moment, watching you with a quiet, stunned smile playing on his lips. The adventure, the chase—none of it compares to this. Watching you, in this small, victorious moment, he’s certain he’s never seen anything quite as beautiful.

Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably, scanning the shed like maybe, if he glares at it long enough, it will magically expand and offer him a dignified escape.

It does not.

The only space available is the narrowest possible gap between a stack of old crates and a wall of wood, and it is still far too close for comfort.

Fantastic.

“Great,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze like it might set off another chain reaction of unwanted nostalgia. “What now?”

You let out a small laugh, clearly too entertained by his suffering. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Jeonghan dares a glance at you—just a quick one—but you’re already busy adjusting the collar of your soaked jacket, trying to make yourself a little less miserable.

He exhales slowly, forcibly fixing his focus on the floor.

It’s not that he can’t handle being near you.

He can.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for weeks.

But what really messes with him is how his heart picks up speed every time you’re close. How his chest tightens, like it’s about to implode under the weight of everything unsaid.

And then he says it. Because he's an idiot.

“Why is it always you?”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. A little too sharp. A little too bitter.

But he doesn’t take them back.

Because, seriously—every single time something goes wrong, somehow, you are there. As if the universe gets some kind of sick joy out of watching him suffer.

You look at him then, the same sharp expression flickering in your eyes. “You think I want to be stuck in here with you?” you shoot back. “I didn’t exactly sign up for this either, you know.”

And, well. Fair point.

Still—

uJeonghan can’t help but laugh, low and humorless. “You’re right. I did miss this,” he drawls, sarcasm thick enough to choke on. “The chemistry. The—” he waves a hand between you, his smirk lazy, “—tension. It’s great.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed. "Is this really how we're going to do this? Right now? You just can't help yourself, can you?"

He stiffens, a retort biting at his tongue, but he holds it back. The old banter—the biting sarcasm—is supposed to be a defense mechanism. A way to keep the walls up. But there’s no denying it now. The walls are crumbling, and so is he.

You speak again, your voice softer this time. “Jeonghan…” The way you say his name, it feels different than before, less confrontational, more—careful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge how much that does to him.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” you continue, your voice steady but gentler now. “Before it blows up in the middle of a meeting.”

Jeonghan’s breath catches.

It’s too much, too fast. The walls he’s been desperately keeping up are crumbling, and he knows that once they’re gone—really gone—there’s no putting them back up.

His pulse jumps, the back of his neck heating, a cold sweat creeping in.

A conversation like this—the one he’s been avoiding forever—feels like something he should run from.

And now that it’s here, he doesn’t know how to approach it.

He opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Because he’s not sure if he’s afraid of the past being dragged back into the light—

Or if he’s terrified of what it will mean to finally face the truth.

The truth about what happened between you, about how it ended, how he ended it.

“You think it’s really a good idea to talk about this now?” he manages to say, his voice quieter than usual. He’s trying to keep his cool, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

His hands tighten at his sides—a futile attempt to hold himself together.

You stand still, your gaze never wavering from his. "Is there ever a good time, Jeonghan?"you ask, voice firm but achingly soft. "It’s been months. We’ve been walking around like we’re strangers, and yet here we are, stuck in this damn shed, acting like the last time we spoke didn’t mean anything.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. He’s been pretending, hasn’t he? Pretending the silence between you didn’t matter, that the weight of your absence wasn’t suffocating him. That the ache in his chest wasn’t still yours.

But it was.

It is.

And as much as he hates it, he knows that now. He knows it because of the way his heart clenches at the sound of your voice, the way his breath catches when your eyes meet his.

There’s no pretending anymore.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jeonghan admits, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Everything was changing so fast, and I just… I shut down. I pushed you away when you needed me most.”

You don’t respond right away.

For a long moment, it feels like time stops, like the storm outside has swallowed up everything but this—this moment, this space, this thing between you that refuses to die.

Then—finally, softly—

“You didn’t push me away, Jeonghan.”

The way you say it—it’s not angry. Not sharp. Just tired.

“You just… withdrew,” you continue, your voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “You closed off in a way I couldn’t reach you anymore. I tried—God, I tried so hard. But you were so distant, so quiet.”

Your eyes meet his again, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let your guard down.

“I never understood why,” you murmur. “Why you couldn’t just talk to me. Why you couldn’t let me in.”

Jeonghan swallows hard.

Because how does he explain it?

He wants to say something, to explain, but the words feel inadequate, like a poor substitute for everything that’s been left unsaid. How could he explain that he was terrified? Terrified of how much you meant to him, terrified of what it would mean to feel everything he’d been holding back.

And in the end, he’d chosen the only defense mechanism he knew: silence.

“I’m sorry.”

The words barely escape his lips, a whisper, a confession, a wound reopening.

He takes a step closer before he can second-guess himself, his voice trembling.

“I was scared,” he admits, the truth cracking through his composure. “I didn’t know how to open up. I thought if I let myself feel too much… I’d lose everything.”

His voice is hoarse, stripped bare in a way he never allows. The floodgates have opened now, and the words won’t stop coming.

"You were always the one, you know," he continues, voice uneven. "I spent so long convincing myself that losing you was better than hurting you. But I never asked what you wanted."

He exhales, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “I never stopped to think that maybe not fighting for us was the thing that hurt you the most.”

The words settle between you like an exhale—heavy and fragile all at once.

Jeonghan can barely believe he’s saying it.

But he’s made the mistake of staying silent once before.

He won’t make it again.

His heart is pounding so loudly now, drowning out the storm outside, the rush of blood in his ears making it impossible to think about anything except this.

His hand twitches at his side, caught between reaching for you and knowing he has no right to.

But then—

Your fingers brush against his.

It’s barely anything. Just the smallest, hesitant press of warmth against his skin. But it wrecks him.

His breath shallows, chest tightening, lips parting slightly as his body leans in, as if drawn by some unseen force. He's not thinking about anything else. Just you. Just this.

And then, you move closer, just an inch, and his pulse spikes, his lips parting slightly, the ache to close the distance between you almost too much to bear.

"Tell me to move," he murmurs, voice so quiet it barely exists between you. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I’ll never do this again."

A pause.

A heartbeat.

A lifetime.

"But if you don’t…" His voice drops lower, barely a whisper. "I don’t think I can pretend anymore."

Your eyes flicker from his to his lips.

And Jeonghan knows this moment. He’s felt this moment before—the slow, aching pull, the gravity between you, the kind of anticipation that makes his head spin.

Maybe this time.

Maybe this time, you’ll—

Your breath catches.

Something shifts behind your eyes.

Hesitation. Uncertainty. Regret.

And then—you take half a step back. Just enough to break the spell. Just enough to make Jeonghan’s chest hollow out.

Your fingers slip from his, as if the moment had never happened.

"I can’t," you murmur, voice barely steady. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, grounding yourself. “Jeonghan… I’m not ready to go back there. Not yet.”

The words are quiet, but they land like a blow.

Not cruel. Not harsh.

But final.

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, not at first.

He lets the silence fill the space instead.

Because he gets it. The weight of the past is too much. Too much to dive back into. Too soon.

You search his face for something—answers, reassurance, something neither of you know how to give.

He forces himself to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

"I understand." His voice is softer now, tinged with something dangerously close to heartbreak.

“I didn’t expect you to be.” He exhales slowly, carefully. “I just… I needed you to know. I never stopped thinking about you.”

The storm rages on outside, but inside this moment, it’s quieter than it has been in months.

And as Jeonghan watches you turn away, watches your fingers curl slightly, like you’re fighting the urge to reach for him—

His own fingers curl at his sides.

The ghost of your touch still lingering.

Jeonghan can tell you're wasted the second he hears the knock at his door.

It's an uneven, erratic tap—like you’re struggling to find the rhythm of it, like the way you’re standing is fighting against whatever balance you thought you had. It’s nothing like the usual grace you carry, the poised, deliberate way you do everything.

His first instinct? Don’t answer.

Maybe if he ignores it, you’ll turn on your heel and trudge back to your room, drunk enough to collapse into bed and forget whatever reckless idea brought you here in the first place.

Maybe that would be the best option—save both of you from whatever petty revenge you’ve decided he deserves.

His fingers hover over the door handle.

He can hear you on the other side—your breath, shallow and unsteady, like you’re bracing yourself.

He knows he should stay inside. Let you figure it out on your own.

But of course, he doesn’t do that.

He’s never been good at resisting you.

With a soft sigh, he opens the door, half-expecting a drunken rant about how terrible he is, how he's probably ruined your life, again. You've always had a sharp tongue when you were upset, and he's sure that alcohol is only going to fuel it more.

But when the door swings open, the sight that greets him is nothing like he expected.

You’re swaying slightly, cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes hazy but burning with something Jeonghan can’t quite place.

And then, there’s the smile—mischievous, reckless.

The kind of smile that makes his pulse spike for all the wrong reasons.

"You know," you slur, voice low and playful, "I've been thinking about you all evening."

Jeonghan freezes, the words hanging between you like a strange, insistent pull. He was expecting anger. Accusations. Anything but this.

He clears his throat, tries to steady himself. "Uh—you're really drunk right now." His voice is careful, measured. "Maybe you should go back to your room."

You don’t listen.

Instead, you take a slow step forward, swaying just enough for Jeonghan to notice how unsteady you are, how the world is just a little too much for you to handle right now.

Your fingers brush the front of his shirt, then slide up to his collar, curling lightly around the fabric.

"Don’t you miss me?" Your voice softens, the playful edge gone, replaced by something rawer. "Don’t you ever think about what we could've had? I know I do."

Jeonghan’s stomach lurches, and a sudden wave of panic sweeps through him.

His first instinct is to back away. Create space. Put distance between you and this mess of a moment.

But he looks at you again, really looks at you, and what he sees wrecks him. Because behind the alcohol, behind the reckless smirk, behind the dangerously soft voice—

There’s desperation.

The same raw, aching need he’s spent months forcing himself to suppress.

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head, his voice more strained than he intends. “You’re drunk. This isn’t—this isn’t the right time for this.”

You laugh, but it’s not light. It’s not amused.

You laugh, but it’s not a light laugh. It’s heavy with something else, something he can’t quite decipher. “So you’re saying I don’t know what I want? Or maybe you don’t know what you want?”

The words sting more than they should. It’s like you’ve taken all the walls he’s spent so long building around himself and torn them down in one shot. The thought of you, standing here and waiting for him, the weight of your gaze—he can't ignore it. But it's not right to give in, either. Not like this.

He takes a step back, his hands instinctively raising to create space between the two of you. “You don’t mean this. You’re not thinking straight right now.”

You reach for him again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him a little closer than he’s comfortable with.

He can feel your breath on his skin, warm and uneven, and the tension in the air is suffocating. Every instinct in him is telling him to kiss you, to lean into the dangerous edge between the two of you and let it all unravel.

Your voice is heavy, thick with something undeniable, something Jeonghan wants so badly it hurts.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, fingers tightening against his chest. “I need you.”

Jeonghan’s heart is pounding in his chest, but he knows—

If he gives in now, this moment won’t be what he wants it to be.

It won’t be real.

Not in the way it should be.

“No."

The word comes out raw, heavier than he expected.

Your face falls, disappointment flashing across your features before the alcohol muddles your expression again.

But Jeonghan holds his ground, even as his heart aches in his chest. You deserved more than this, more than a careless, drunken mistake.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I care about you too much for that.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. Just stand there, swaying a little, staring at him. Jeonghan watches you, heart pounding in his chest, waiting for something to give. But it doesn’t.

And then, in a quiet voice, you say, "You don’t care about me."

The words are so fragile, barely holding together as they slip past your lips.

Jeonghan flinches.

Because it’s not true. It’s never been true.

"Of course, I care-"

You don't let him finish, the door closing with a slam behind you. The sharp click of the lock echoes through the room, final and unforgiving.

Jeonghan stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, his chest too tight to breathe properly.

Then—slowly—he leans against it, closing his eyes, exhaling sharply.

You won’t remember much of this tomorrow.

You won’t remember the way you looked at him, the way your voice trembled when you said you missed him. You won’t remember the way his heart nearly gave out when you touched him.

And Jeonghan—

Jeonghan prays that when the fog of alcohol lifts, you won’t resent him for this.

Jeonghan had spent the weekend stewing in his own thoughts.

The retreat, the storm, the alcohol, the way your fingers curled into his shirt like you needed him—and most of all, the quiet rejection that followed.

It’s all settled into him in ways he doesn’t want to admit.

But one thing is clear through the mess of it all:

You deserved better.

Better than a rain-soaked half-confession. Better than an almost-kiss in the dim light of a cramped shed. Better than standing outside his door, drunk and vulnerable, only to be turned away.

You deserved something real.

So Jeonghan spends the better part of Sunday evening preparing himself.

He rehearses what he’ll say, how he’ll say it, what kind of apology might be enough to make things right. He tells himself that this time, he’s going to be open, that he’s going to stop hiding behind his usual emotional armour.

That he’s not the same man you left behind.

Jeonghan isn't exactly a grand gesture kind of guy, but he figures that flowers might be a good place to start.

So he picks up a small, simple bouquet—a mix of pale pink roses and white lilies. It feels right. Not over-the-top, not desperate. Just… gentle. Sincere.

Something to tell you that he’s serious about this. About you.

About fixing what he broke.

Monday morning. A bouquet. A plan.

Jeonghan walks into the office, bouquet in hand, the familiar weight of anticipation pressing down on his chest.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but he knows you’re here—probably sorting out someone else’s mess, busy fixing problems that aren’t yours to fix.

And besides, the lingering tension between you still hasn’t been resolved. There’s still too much left unsaid.

He weaves through the office, eyes scanning each cubicle, looking for a glimpse of you. Your desk. Your chair. The little personal touches you leave behind.

But when he walks past your workspace, he barely slows down. Because, of course, you wouldn’t be there yet. You’re probably in a meeting or grabbing coffee—

Right?

Jeonghan stops by the coffee machine, hovering near a group of junior associates, waiting for the right moment.

He’s still running through his speech in his head when one of them—clipboard in hand—pauses beside him, eyes flicking to the bouquet with mild curiosity.

"Those are nice," she comments. "Are you bringing them to Y/n?"

Jeonghan blinks.

He’s pretty sure no one saw you leaving his room that night, but maybe word spreads faster than he thought.

"Uh, yeah, I was just—" His voice falters, uncertainty creeping in. "Wait, what do you mean? Are they—?"

The associate raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Didn’t you hear?”

And then, with the casualness of someone delivering a weather report—

"Y/n put in their resignation over the weekend. They’re leaving the company."

The words hit Jeonghan like a punch to the stomach. He feels the air leave his lungs, his body momentarily forgetting how to function. What?

His mind races. No. It can’t be true. You—you wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying something, without—

He forces himself to reply. "When? Why?"

The associate looks a little sheepish, as though she's not sure if she should be saying anything. "I don't know the details. Something about another job, though. It's pretty sudden - just packed up this morning, said goodbye, and - yeah."

This morning.

Jeonghan’s thoughts go numb.

His eyes dart back to the desk he had walked past minutes ago—

The empty desk.

The chair is still there, but everything else is gone. No personal belongings. No little notebooks. No coffee cup. No lingering signs that you’d ever been there at all. Just an empty space. Cold. Unfamiliar.

The associate says something else, but Jeonghan doesn’t hear her.

He barely registers her walking away.

Without thinking, Jeonghan walks swiftly towards your office, although it feels like his legs are moving on their own, his mind detached from his body. He knows he shouldn't chase after you. He has no right. But this - this is different. You're leaving.

When he reaches your office, he knocks once.

Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he pushes the door open.

And what he finds is—

Nothing.

The space is just as empty as your desk had been.

The table is stripped bare. The computer monitor is gone. The air still carries the faintest trace of your perfume, but even that is fading.

Jeonghan just stands there, clutching the flowers in his hand like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.

And then, the quiet voice he’s been trying so hard to ignore finally makes itself heard: You're too late, again.

Jeonghan slumps into his chair, staring blankly at the computer screen like it might somehow offer him answers.

It doesn’t.

It just sits there—cold, unhelpful—mirroring the hollow ache in his chest.

The bouquet on the corner of his desk is dying a slow, miserable death. The once-vibrant petals are already wilting, drooping under the weight of their own existence, looking just as pathetic as he feels.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed—how long he’s been sitting there, stuck in the endless spiral of what-ifs—until a voice yanks him back to reality with all the grace of a toddler on a sugar high.

"Jeonghan."

He blinks up, sluggish, seeing Joshua standing over him like some sort of judgmental yet well-meaning ghost, arms crossed and face set in that deeply irritating, all-knowing expression that screams I know exactly what’s going on, and I’m about to make it worse.

Joshua’s eyes flick to the flowers.

Then back to Jeonghan.

Then, like he physically cannot help himself, he smirks.

“Are those for Y/n?”

The words are light, teasing—too casual. But the look in Joshua’s eyes is something else entirely—a mix of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment, the kind that makes Jeonghan want to sink into the floor and never be perceived again.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "Uh, yeah…"

His fingers skim over the petals, careful—like touching them too much might make them fall apart completely. "I was going to give them today. I mean, I did. I wanted to, but…"

His voice trails off, disappearing into the abyss of 'things that aren't going to happen'.

Joshua doesn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he just leans against the desk, watching Jeonghan with the kind of quiet scrutiny that makes his skin itch.

"I told you, man,” Joshua finally sighs, shaking his head. “You have to start reading your emails.”

Jeonghan’s mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to say something, anything—

But nothing comes out.

He’s just so tired.

And so unbelievably stupid.

"I was going to fix it," Jeonghan mutters. The words taste bitter, hollow in his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but there they are. Out in the open. "I was going to apologise. I was going to... to make it right."

Joshua just watches Jeonghan—arms crossed, gaze unreadable—like he’s waiting to see if there’s anything left to say.

When he does speak, his voice is softer. Gentler. Like he’s stepping carefully around fragile ground.

“You know, Jeonghan… Sometimes you can’t wait around for the right moment. Sometimes, you have to make that moment yourself. No one’s gonna do it for you.” He pauses. “And it’s okay to feel bad about it. Hell, I’d be a mess too if I were you.”

Jeonghan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Congrats, Shua. You are me. This is your life now."

Joshua hums thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate. I’d like a refund.”

Jeonghan huffs out something that almost sounds like amusement—but it dies quickly, sinking beneath the weight pressing against his ribs.

His shoulders sag. His head tilts forward, gaze locked onto the wilting flowers.

"I thought I had time," he murmurs.

Joshua stays quiet. Listening.

"I thought they’d still be there," Jeonghan continues, voice barely above a whisper. "Waiting for me to get my act together."

Silence.

Thick and heavy.

And then—finally—

“I don’t even know if they’ll want to talk to me again.”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate this time.

He just smiles—small, knowing.

“Well,” he says simply, “you won’t know unless you try.”

Jeonghan doesn't get drunk on purpose. He just ... allows the alcohol to win.

Besides, it's the first step in his extremely well-thought-out, definitely-not-drunken plan to win you back. (alternatively titled: The worst idea he's ever had, and that's saying something).

Step One: Drown Your Sorrows Like a Man

One drink? Fine. Two drinks? Even better. Five drinks? You know what? Life is short, and so is his ability to keep a functional relationship. Might as well commit.

By the time he's properly marinated in alcohol and self-pity, Joshua has started looking at him with that face—half pity, half “I should have left you at the bar and gone home.” But it’s fine. Everything’s fine.

“You know what,” Jeonghan slurs, pointing an accusatory finger at his best friend. “I think I gotta— I gotta do something. Something big.”

Joshua sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, actually,” Jeonghan says, deadly serious. “I need Y/n to know I’m a changed man, Joshua.”

Joshua takes a sip of his beer, unbothered. “You are quite literally drunk in a bar, thinking of doing something stupid. So, no, you’re actually the same man.”

Jeonghan glares. “Wow. Negative energy. Get out.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Okay but, like. Metaphorically.”

Joshua shakes his head. “What’s the plan, then? You gonna text her?”

Jeonghan gasps, scandalised. “No. That’s pathetic.”

Joshua sighs in relief.

“No, I’m gonna send a voice message.”

Joshua physically lunges for the phone.

Step Two: Send a Message That Will Definitely Solve Everything

Jeonghan fumbles with his phone, blinking until his vision stabilises enough to find your contact. He hits the audio message button and clears his throat, ready to deliver the most heartfelt, sincere message of his life.

"Heyyyy," he starts. Good start. "I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like, 'couldn't pass a third-grade math test' dumb. But you knew that."

Joshua groans from the kitchen.

"But you liked me anyway. Which is crazy. And so nice of you, actually. You're so nice. The nicest." He hiccups. "And I was thinking. You always used to say that I never fight for anything - which, rude, because I am literally fighting for my life every morning when I wake up. But like, emotionally, you were right. So I'm fighting now. Right now. At this moment."

Pause. Hiccup. Thoughtful silence.

"... Okay, technically, I'm sitting on Joshua's couch. But I mean it. I am spiritually standing up for this relationship."

There's a loud thunk as Jeonghan's knees hit the coffee table from the sheer force he throws his body up with.

Joshua looks up from his phone. "DId you just break my table?"

"Shhhh," Jeonghan waves him off. "Important matters are happening." He brings the phone back to his mouth.

"Anway. Listen. I was bad at the whole relationship thing. But I'm a changed man now. I mean, not right now because I'm drunk, but like, in general, I will be. Probably. Statistically. So like. Call me. Or text. Or send, like, a pigeon, I don't care. But let's talk."

"Wow. That was awful. Are you gonna send it?"

Jeonghan grins. "Oh, it's already gone."

Joshua looks like he wants to throw himself off the balcony.

Step Three: Online Shopping

Jeonghan, still drunk and now high on the confidence of his definitely good voice message, decides he needs a gift. Something thoughtful. Something sentimental. Something way better than those shitty flowers he's glad you never had to lay eyes on.

And then it hits him. The perfect idea.

"Joshua," he says, tone dead serious. "I need a taxidermy frog."

Joshua looks at him, horrified. "You what?"

"A frog," Jeonghan's fingers are already moving at lightning speed, typing the words into a very shady-looking website. "Y/n loved that stupid frog we saw in that antique shop. Remember? Y/n said it had 'big personality'. They respected that frog."

Joshua looks like he’s physically in pain. “Jeonghan, no—”

“Too late. It’s ordered.”

Joshua stares in disbelief. "You seriously just spent—" He looks at the screen, jaw dropping. "FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS?! ON A DEAD FROG?!"

Jeonghan nods, looking very proud of himself. "Only the best for my love."

"You don't even know if she wants that!"

Jeonghan scoffs. "Joshua. It's a frog. Everyone wants a frog."

Joshua puts his head in his hands. "This is literally why you're single."

Step Four: Pass Out and Let Tomorrow-You Suffer the Consequences

The last thing Jeonghan remembers is a very smug sense of accomplishment.

He has done it. He has made his move. He has sent a heartfelt message. He has made a grand gesture. He is fighting.

He is unstoppable.

…He is also face-down on Joshua’s couch, snoring so loudly the neighbours might call animal control.

The phone, still clutched in his hand, lights up with an incoming notification.

A text.

From you.

Three words.

"Are you serious?"

Jeonghan wakes up feeling like death.

His head is pounding, his mouth drier than the Sahara, and his soul feels like it has been forcibly removed from his body and drop-kicked into the sun. He groans, rolling over onto his side, only to come face-to-face with Joshua, who is standing over him with the look of a man who has seen things.

“…Morning,” Jeonghan croaks, voice wrecked from what he can only assume was a night of tragic decision-making.

Joshua crosses his arms. “Do you remember what you did last night?”

Jeonghan thinks. He remembers alcohol. He remembers emotion. He remembers… Oh God.

His eyes fly open. “I bought a—”

“A $400 taxidermy frog? Yes. Yes, you did.” Joshua gestures to the corner of the room, where, sure enough, a very dead, very wide-eyed frog sits in an equally dead, equally wide-eyed glass case.

Jeonghan stares at it in horror, clutching his blanket like it might protect him from reality. “Oh my God.”

Joshua sighs and pulls out Jeonghan’s phone. “And you sent this,” he says, pressing play on The Message.

Jeonghan has never known true fear until now.

“Heyyyyy…” comes his own very drunk voice, echoing through the apartment like a ghost of his worst mistakes. “Soooooo. I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like—”

Jeonghan slaps the phone out of Joshua’s hand so fast, it skids across the floor. “OKAY. Got it. Yep. Thank you.”

Joshua levels him with a stare. “Oh, you’re welcome. Also, she replied.”

Jeonghan freezes. “She what?”

Joshua pulls up the message, holding it out for him to read.

Are you serious?

He stares. That’s it? No "never speak to me again"? No "please lose my number and also possibly yourself"?

Joshua claps his hands together. “And now, you’re gonna go over."

“What? No, I—” Jeonghan gestures wildly at himself. “I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can,” Joshua interrupts. “You were literally crying over this last night—”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“You sobbed into my hoodie and called me ‘a real one,’ so actually, yes, you were.”

Jeonghan glares. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, so much,” Joshua agrees. Then he gestures to the taxidermy frog still sitting ominously on the table. “Also, you’re bringing that.”

Jeonghan sits up so fast his brain almost leaves his skull. “What?! No! I’m not—this was a drunken mistake!”

Joshua gives him a look. “Yeah? So was letting her walk away the first time. And the second time. And whatever number time we’re on now.”

Jeonghan glares. “I hate you.”

Joshua pats his shoulder. “I know. Now take the frog and go.”

Jeonghan stands in front of your door, frog in hand, deeply regretting everything that has led him to this moment.

There are a lot of ways to win back an ex. A heartfelt apology. A romantic gesture. Literally any option that does not involve showing up at her doorstep, hungover, holding a dead frog in a display case like some kind of unhinged antique salesman.

But here he is.

He exhales, steadying himself. He has to do this. He has to explain everything—how he didn’t know you were working for the merging company, how the pastel sweater was not some dramatic power move, how he’s an idiot (but, like, a reformed idiot now).

Most importantly, he has to fix whatever mess he made last night.

With a deep breath, he knocks.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and there you are—standing there in sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking at him like you knew this day was coming but are still deeply unprepared for it.

Your gaze flickers to the frog. Then back to him. Then back to the frog.

“…No,” you say immediately, trying to shut the door.

Jeonghan wedges his foot in before you can. “Wait, wait, wait,” he pleads, balancing the frog case in his other hand. “Just hear me out.”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Are you seriously standing outside my apartment at—” You check the time. “Nine-thirty in the morning holding a stuffed frog?”

Jeonghan shifts awkwardly. “Technically, it’s taxidermy.”

Your expression remains unchanged. “You’re insane.”

“Passionate,” he corrects, trying to smile. “Look, I just… I wanted to talk. Properly. No drunk messages. No misunderstandings. Just—can we?” He gestures vaguely, still holding the frog case like it’s part of the conversation.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. But the frog stays outside.”

Jeonghan pouts. “It has big personality.”

You slam the door in his face.

Five seconds later, you open it again. “Get in.”

Walking into your apartment is surreal.

Mostly because it looks different. Like you took every single thing that might’ve even slightly reminded you of him and threw it into a bonfire. Jeonghan half-expects to see a sage stick burning in the corner, cleansing the air of his scent.

You sit across from him at the kitchen table, arms still crossed, watching him like he's about to unleash another round of chaos. Which is fair.

Jeonghan clears his throat, hands clasped together, like he's in a business meeting and not a shambles of a man trying to win back the love of his life.

Before he can even begin, you cut in.

“I heard you brought me flowers.”

Joshua, that absolute rat—

"Julie from legal told me."

Ah. That makes more sense.

“Well,” he starts, thrown completely off track. “I figured you might be feeling bad. I just… didn’t think you’d quit before I could even apologise.”

"Yeah, well, I guess it all got a little too much for me."

Jeonghan squints. “So you did quit because of me?”

You level him with a deadpan expression. “Jeonghan. I got a bit tipsy and practically begged you to take my clothes off.”

He blinks. “A bit tipsy seems like an understatement—”

"That doesn't mean much coming from you."

Okay. Fair.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Come on, Jeonghan. You felt it too. How could I stay there when every moment, I was bracing myself in case I heard your voice? If every time someone passed, I’d look around to check if it was you?” You shake your head. “That’s not a productive way to work, and it’s definitely not healthy. I mean, I was thrown off the second I saw you, and I don’t think I ever really recovered from that.”

Jeonghan licks his lips, hesitating. “About the sweater—”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

"I didn't know you were leading the merger when I wore it," he says quickly, desperate to clear at least one crime off his record. "I swear to God, I didn't."

You narrow your eyes. "So you just ... casually decided to wear a pastel pink sweater to the most important corporate meeting of your career?"

Jeonghan hesitates. “Uh. Yes?”

You stare at him.

He sits up straighter, suddenly feeling defensive. “I had a moment that morning, okay? I had a dream about the day we went to get them, and I thought, Hey, maybe if I wear this, then I'll feel one sliver of the same joy I did that day.” He waves his hands. “I didn’t realize that it would lead to—” another vague, exasperated gesture “—this. Besides, you know I don’t check my emails, Y/n. I didn’t even know you were going to be there.”

You blink. "You wore it because of a dream?"

" ... Technically, yes."

A pause. Then, to his absolute horror, you start laughing.

Not a mocking laugh. Not a wow-you’re-an-idiot laugh. Just… pure, unfiltered amusement, like you cannot believe this is what started all of this.

Jeonghan watches as you shake your head, covering your mouth with your hand.

"Shit," you gasp between chuckles. "I spent an entire week planning what I was going to wear, what I'd say to you when I saw you, how I'd prove to you that I'd moved on and was better without you before that meeting. And you saw right through it, without even realising."

Jeonghan is stunned and, frankly, a little offended.

“You think this is funny?” he grumbles, watching as you wipe at your eyes, still giggling.

“Oh, I know it’s funny,” you say, shaking your head. “All that effort on my part and you just—obliterated it. By accident. With a sweater.”

Jeonghan huffs, crossing his arms. “Well, excuse me for having a sentimental moment.”

“Oh, so now you’re sentimental?”

He hesitates. “...I mean. A little.”

Your laughter fades then, softening into something quieter, something a little too knowing. “I guess that’s what last night was, too?”

Jeonghan stiffens immediately.

The message.

Oh. Right.

The actual reason he's here.

His fingers drum anxiously against the table. “I… don’t suppose you ignored that?”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I listened. Multiple times, actually. Almost sent it to HR for psychological damage.”

Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his hands. “I knew it was bad.”

You tilt your head, considering. “Honestly, it started fine. You sounded, like, half composed. Then you hit the ‘I am literally fighting for my life every morning’ part and, well…” You gesture vaguely. “It kind of fell apart.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “Just a little?”

“Oh, no. It was a complete disaster.”

Fantastic. Love that for him.

Sighing, Jeonghan lets his hands drop, his fingers still fidgeting. “Look, I—” He hesitates, pressing his lips together before forcing himself to just say it. “I meant what I said.”

Your expression shifts, just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

His voice is quieter now, steadier. “I know I sounded ridiculous, but I wasn’t just talking out of my ass. I—” He swallows. “I really do regret how things ended. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve at least tried. But I didn’t, and I lost you. And now…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Now I don’t even know if I have the right to be sitting here.”

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you watch him carefully, as if you’re still trying to figure out if this is real, if it’s safe to trust what he’s saying.

Then, finally—

“You know, you could’ve said all of this before I left.”

Jeonghan winces. “I know.”

“I mean, instead of waiting until you were drunk out of your mind and making Frogbert the most cursed apology gift of all time.”

His face burns. “We don’t have to talk about Frogbert.”

“Oh, we absolutely do.”

“Y/n—”

You smile, shaking your head, but there’s something softer in your eyes now. Something that makes Jeonghan feel like maybe—maybe—he hasn’t completely lost his chance.

You sigh, leaning forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. “Look, Jeonghan. It wasn’t just you. I didn’t exactly handle things perfectly either.”

He blinks, startled. “You didn’t?”

You shoot him a look. “Wow. Try not to sound so surprised.”

“No, I just—” He rubs the back of his neck, struggling to process this information. “I kind of assumed you had everything figured out. That you were, y’know, thriving without me.”

You shrug. “I tried to be.”

The weight of that sits between you for a moment.

Jeonghan wets his lips, his hands still twitching slightly against his knees. “So… what now?”

You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know.” There’s something guarded in the way you say it, like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason. A reason to walk away, or a reason to stay.

And Jeonghan—Jeonghan is so tired of giving you reasons to walk away.

So he leans forward just slightly, his voice lower, steadier than it’s been all week. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life proving that I love you than waste another second pretending I don’t.”

Your breath catches.

And for a moment, everything stills.

Jeonghan can see it—the flicker of emotion behind your eyes, the way your fingers tighten just slightly around the edge of the table. He’s spent so much time trying to read you, but this? This is the closest he’s felt to understanding you in a long, long time.

Your lips part, but no words come. He watches as you swallow, watches as you fight the instinct to look away.

“…That’s a really unfair thing to say,” you murmur finally, voice quiet.

Jeonghan exhales a soft laugh. “Yeah. It is.” He tilts his head slightly, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowing, but there’s no real bite behind it. “God, you are so annoying.”

“Infuriating, actually,” he corrects. “But, y’know. At least I’m consistent.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now—just a little, just enough for him to notice. And Jeonghan thinks that maybe he’s finally done something right.

A beat of silence passes between you. Not tense, not uncomfortable—just quiet. Just… yours.

Then, softly: “Do you mean it?”

Jeonghan meets your gaze, unwavering. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You literally sent me a voice message saying you were spiritually standing up for this relationship.”

Jeonghan groans, slumping forward dramatically. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

“Oh, I’m never letting that go.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“…I don’t know how this is supposed to work,” you admit, quieter now. “I don’t know if it can.”

Jeonghan nods, understanding. “Me neither.” He swallows. “But I think—I think if I lost you again without at least trying this time, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

You stare at him, searching.

Then, after a moment, you let out a slow breath, sitting back in your chair. “Okay,” you murmur. “Then try.”

And Jeonghan, for the first time in forever, feels like he can finally breathe again.

Planning a romantic date is, unfortunately, not Jeonghan’s strong suit.

Oh, he can be thoughtful when he wants to be. But romantic? That requires effort. That requires vulnerability. That requires not making everything a joke to avoid feeling things. And frankly, Jeonghan has built his entire personality around not doing any of that.

But here he is.

Planning a real date. A meaningful one. A Hey-I’m-Actually-a-Decent-Boyfriend-This-Time-I-Swear kind of date.

Which is why Joshua, who is watching this entire thing unfold from the couch, looks horrified.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jeonghan says, standing in front of a fully crafted itinerary. “Is this too much?”

Joshua, staring at a literal printed schedule, does not even blink. “Yes.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You wrote out timed activities, Jeonghan.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called being insane.”

Jeonghan waves him off. “Okay, but listen. I messed up. And this—” He gestures grandly to the schedule. “This is how I fix it.”

Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have a feeling this ends with something deeply embarrassing?”

Jeonghan does not answer.

Which means Joshua is right.

Jeonghan picks you up at exactly 5:00 PM (because he planned this), and the first thing he notices is that you’re suspicious.

"Okay," you say, arms crossed, giving him that look. "What’s the catch?"

Jeonghan gasps. "Wow. Zero faith in me."

You raise an eyebrow.

“…Okay, fine. A little faith in me.”

You hum. “We’ll see.”

And that is so unfair, actually, because Jeonghan is really trying here. So instead of arguing, he just grins and takes your hand, pulling you toward the car.

"You trust me, right?"

You hesitate for a second too long.

Jeonghan squints.

"Okay," you say finally, sighing. "I trust you. For now." (Jeonghan will absolutely be holding onto that for life.)

The first stop is that little bookshop café you always used to drag him to, the one where you’d spend hours getting lost in shelves while Jeonghan sat in a corner, half-asleep, pretending to be deeply interested in a book he never actually read.

You blink when you realize where you are. “You remembered this place?”

Jeonghan scoffs, feigning offense. “Excuse me. I was a very supportive boyfriend.”

“You literally fell asleep on the couch last time we were here.”

“…I was a tired boyfriend.”

But you’re smiling now, eyes soft with something that makes Jeonghan’s chest ache.

"Come on," he says, nudging you toward the door. "I owe you a coffee. And maybe a book. Or five. Whatever shuts you up about my alleged napping problem."

Somewhere between coffee and Jeonghan deeply regretting letting you pick out a book for him ("This is 800 pages. Have you met me?"), he takes you to the park.

It’s nothing fancy—just a quiet place to walk, somewhere just yours, somewhere he can talk to you without the weight of everything pressing down too hard.

"You're still here," he says eventually, his fingers brushing against yours as you walk.

You smirk. "Yeah, well. I haven't decided if I'm staying."

Jeonghan groans. "Oh my God."

You laugh, nudging his shoulder playfully. But then, softer—“I’m glad you’re trying.”

And that—that is all Jeonghan needs.

Jeonghan was not planning on this part.

The night is winding down, and everything is going well, and he should just call it there before he does something stupid.

But then—

Then, as you’re walking past a store, you freeze.

Jeonghan follows your gaze—

And, oh.

Oh no.

Matching sweaters.

The pastel monstrosities. The ones that started everything. The ones he swore he would never wear again.

And you—you are grinning.

Jeonghan is so in love with you, it’s disgusting.

You turn to him, eyes gleaming. "One last time?"

Jeonghan exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re the actual worst.”

You tilt your head, completely unbothered. “So that’s a yes?”

Jeonghan looks at you, at your stupid smile, at the way your fingers are already reaching for the sweaters—

And, well.

What else is he supposed to do?

Sighing dramatically, he grabs the second sweater and pulls it on.

You beam at him, absolutely delighted.

"God," he groans, looking at his reflection. "This is so much worse than I remember."

"You love it."

Jeonghan turns, catching the way you’re looking at him—soft, affectionate, the way you used to, before everything got messy. Before he ruined things.

Before he got you back.

And—okay. Maybe the sweater isn’t that bad.

Jeonghan exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he admits, pulling you closer. “I really, really do.”

The thing about kissing you again is that it should be easy.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it—a lot—in the most pathetic, pining, staring-at-the-ceiling-at-2AM kind of way. It’s not like he hasn’t memorised the shape of your lips, the way you used to kiss him like you weren’t even thinking about it, like it was just natural for you to be that close.

But now, when you’re standing right in front of him, beaming at him in that stupid, unfairly charming sweater, it feels like the first time all over again.

You tilt your head slightly, as if daring him. “Are you gonna stare at me all night, or—”

Jeonghan kisses you before you can finish the sentence.

It’s not careful. It’s not calculated. It’s not like any of the times before, when he thought he had all the time in the world to figure this out.

It’s just him, leaning in like it’s the most obvious thing to do, his hands sliding against your waist like muscle memory, like they belong there. You gasp against his lips, surprised, but it melts away in an instant—your fingers curling into the fabric of his ridiculous sweater, pulling him closer, like you don’t even want him to second-guess it.

And Jeonghan—God, he could die like this.

It’s slow, and warm, and so achingly familiar that it makes his chest tighten, makes him want to grab onto you and never let go. He tilts his head, deepening it just enough to make sure you feel it, to make sure you understand—

That this isn’t just a kiss.

That this is a promise.

When you finally pull away, your breath is uneven, your lips way too tempting, and Jeonghan has never been good at restraint, so he almost kisses you again.

But then you blink up at him, slightly dazed, and—

“You taste like regret and poor life choices,” you murmur.

Jeonghan snorts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s your fault. You’re the one who made me wear this sweater.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, and he feels it against his skin, and suddenly, everything is worth it.

Because you’re here.

And so is he.

And this time, Jeonghan isn’t letting you go.

Divider Credit: enchanthings