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sceletaflores · 3 days

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well three’s the only number we know!

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: it's probably just the weed hitting you funny, maybe it's the lighting, or the fact that they're both practically naked. you don't know what it is but oh God maybe the girls are right, art and patrick are fucking hot.

—or: things shift between art, patrick, and you.

word count: 4.4k+

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), dry humping kinda, dirty talk, drug use, friends to lovers trope is NOT cringe, patrick going to college instead of going pro cause i said so, slight tashi duncan erasure...she's brought up in conversation but...you guys can still stone me for it, nat not knowing how boarding schools work, porn with WAAAAYY too much plot, no use of y/n, not beta read yell at me if there's any mistakes lmao.

author's note: once again no one asked for this but i had to start writing it as soon as the idea pierced through my frontal cortex. i promise i'll actually write the requests in my inbox i just couldn't get over this hehe it's so dialogue heavy towards the beginning but i love yapping and i need more practice characterizing them anyway lmao okay hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig are your best friends. You’ve known them since you were thirteen and they each punched a guy for lifting up your skirt with his racket at practice once.

You don’t even remember becoming friends with them, after that day they were sort of just always there. Bumping your shoulders in the hallway when they walk past, taking up space in your room when you’re trying to study, cheering embarrassingly loud at your matches, picking you up from practice to drive around in Patrick’s Porsche with the top down every night.

They were, and still are six years later, a constant in your life. They’re so ingrained in your daily routine that you hardly remember your life before you met them, and can’t imagine your life without them in it. They're two six foot, largely obnoxious shadows that you can’t shake.

As the three of you got older, more and more rumors started spreading. You weren’t phased by it, you had no reason to be. Art and Patrick are fiercely loyal, stuck by your side all throughout the “So which one of you is she dating today?” taunts. You just classified it as petty teenage gossip, thinking it’d just fizzle out once you started college. It didn’t just fizzle out, if anything it actually got worse. You constantly hear the whispers and snickers as you walk around campus, as you sit in your lectures, as you eat lunch in the dining hall. They’re always petty jabs at you, and they’re always fucking stupid.

“Why does she need both of them! Greedy much? God, what a skank…”

“You know they only keep her around cause she totally puts out…”

"I heard she schedules them like appointments. Mondays and Tuesdays with Art, Wednesdays and Thursdays with Patrick, and Fridays are for whoever's lucky..."

"Bet she's got a scoreboard at home, tallying who's ahead in the 'who loves me more' contest…"

“Doesn’t she realize they’re just using her for a good time? How pathetic…”

It really doesn't bother you that much, you even start to think it’s kind of funny. Art and Patrick do not think it’s kind of funny. They scoff and frown at each new comment you relay to them, puffing their chests out all macho man style like they were about to go off and fight everyone on campus for calling you mean names.

“No one talks about our girl like that,” Patrick would say, Art beside him solemnly nodding his head in silent agreement. It’s probably remarks like that one that get people talking in the first place. You just smile, biting back the urge to tell them that the fierce feelings of ownership and protectiveness they have surrounding you often draws more attention than any bitchy whispers ever could.

Even the girls on your tennis team give you a hard time, badgering you with question after question of “But they’re so hot! How have you not fucked one of them yet? Come on, you must have at least thought about it…”

It’s more lighthearted coming from them, they don’t really think you’re a tramp or a skank or whatever it is people are calling you behind your back nowadays. You roll your eyes every time, telling them to shut up and mind their own damn business. The truth is you just don’t think about Art and Patrick like that. So what if your relationship is a little different than what other people might consider a “normal” best friend bond. Does that automatically mean you want to jump each other's bones? No.

Like, Patrick’s just a really physical person, he loves touch. It’s not like he’s sending you “fuck me” signals when he throws an arm around your shoulder as the two of you walk around campus, or when he shoves your feet off the mattress to sit down only to move them right back up onto his lap when he’s settled, or when he sits on the floor between your legs when there’s no more room on Tashi’s futon for all four of you. It’s just who he is, he had shitty parents he needs to be validated through touch sometimes.

It’s the same thing with Art’s doting, he just really cares about the people around him. He’s not expecting you to bend over for him every time he massages your sore shoulders after you go too hard during practice, or when he drops to a knee in the middle of the quad to re-tie your shoes after he notices the laces came loose, or when he practically forces you into the hoodie off his back if he even slightly suspects you’re cold. He’s just a nurturing guy, his grandma raised a goddamn gentleman.

It has nothing to do with you. Seriously nothing. They’re still your best friends, closer to you than brothers. You’ve been “their girl” since you were thirteen years old and you weren’t going to ruin it for some one-off, meaningless fuck.

“They’re just a bunch of jealous assholes,” Patrick commented from where he was perched next to the open window of his and Art’s room, a cigarette dangling from his lips, “They don’t know shit, don't listen to them.”

It’s late, maybe a little after eleven. You snuck into their room after curfew, like you do most nights. You’re technically supposed to be studying for your lab practical in a few days, but Patrick lured you out of your room with a text of ‘WHERE R U??? COME OVER’ followed quickly by ‘WE HAVE GRASS :]’

You were looking for an excuse to stop studying anyway, so you folded easily enough. As soon as you got there you regretted it, Patrick’s texts conveniently left out the fact that their AC was broken and it was absolutely hot as balls in their room. You felt it as soon as Art opened the door to let you in, a wave of heat and humidity spilling out into the hall.

The tiny window was cracked open as far as it could go with the shitty ceiling fan running overdrive in a feeble attempt to let some cool air flow through the room, and so Patrick could smoke without setting off the alarm.

Patrick and Art were reduced to their boxers, various articles of clothing they were probably wearing earlier strewn all around the room. You were thankful you hadn’t changed before coming over, even the thin tank and shorts you were wearing felt like too much.

“I’m not listening to them,” You repeat for the millionth time, rolling your eyes as you lean back on your hands on the carpet. “I’m just saying, it’s a little hypocritical. Like, why am I always the slut and you guys are the poor souls I’m leading on? What if you guys were the ones taking advantage of me this whole time?”

Art snorts from his spot across you on the floor, shaking his head as he meticulously rolls the second joint of the night. Patrick raises an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette with a smirk. He flicks the butt out the window, walking over to you and Art. “You’re just that irresistible,” He teases, reaching out to tousle your hair affectionately as he passes, "We’re powerless against your charms.”

You laugh dryly, the sound mingling with the lazy hum of the ceiling fan. “Right, my master plan to corrupt you both with my presence is finally starting to work after six years. I should get a medal for my sluttiness.”

Art chuckles softly, lighting the joint with practiced ease before holding it out to you. "If anyone should get a medal, it’s us. Six years of being led astray by your slutty ways," he jokes, the words punctuated by a playful nudge against your leg.

You scoff, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You take the joint, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke before releasing it in a slow, steady stream. The familiar sensation starts to seep into your bones, relaxing you despite the oppressive heat. “You guys are such assholes, literally zero help. I knew I should’ve just talked to Tashi, she’s the only normal person I know.”

Patrick joins you and Art on the floor, legs stretched out as he leans back on his palms like you. “Hey, don’t throw me in with him.” Patrick said in mock offense, bringing his hand up to clutch his chest dramatically and nodding his head towards Art. “I’m a saint.”

Art just laughs, shaking his head as he takes the joint from you. “If you’re a saint then I’m the fucking Pope, man.”

The room fills with laughter, the three of you falling into easy conversation as you pass the joint around. The pungent smoke mingles with the already thick air, swirling around in the fan's wind before it filters through the open window. The oppressive heat seems to melt away, replaced by a soothing warmth that always envelopes you when you're around Art and Patrick.

They get lost in their own animated conversation about some new movie coming out that you weren’t really interested in. You lean back, content to just let their voices wash over you. The joint continues to make its rounds, each puff adding to the hazy atmosphere that blurs the edges of reality just enough to make everything feel softer, more manageable.

You languidly study Art and Patrick through half-lidded eyes, watching how easily they interact, how relaxed they are in this moment. Miles and miles of toned, freshly tanned skin from all the tennis they’d been playing recently on display. The sweat making the sharp cut of their hips and collarbones glisten under the shitty light of their desk lamps. How their happy trails disappear temptingly into their boxers, Art’s light and Patrick’s dark.

You lick your lips, the dryness from the smoke and the sight in front of you combining to make your mouth feel like a desert. The buzz in your brain is making everything seem sharper, more vivid, and you can't help but let your eyes linger a little longer on the defined lines of their bodies.

You’ve seen them in their boxers more times than you can count, but something about this is different. The heat in the room is almost too much now, but it's doing things to you, and you're not sure if it's the temperature or something else entirely.

It’s probably just the weed hitting you funny, maybe it’s the lighting, or the fact that they’re both practically naked. You don't know what it is but oh God maybe the girls are right, Art and Patrick are fucking hot.

The realization is like a smack to the face, making you acutely aware of every detail– the way Art’s muscles ripple as he leans to pass you the joint, the obscene spread of Patrick’s hairy thighs making his boxers ride up even higher, the subtle scent of their colognes mixing with the smoke in the air.

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time, sending a shiver down your spine as you try to play it cool, pretending not to notice the way your heart stutters when Art’s fingers brush against yours as he passes you the joint.

You shift uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of your fluttering pulse and the wetness starting to gather between your thighs. That’s definitely the weed, you’d never get wet thinking about your very platonic closer-to-you-than-even-brothers-would-be best friends if you were sober. At least that's what you try telling yourself, not fully meeting Patrick’s eye as he takes the joint from you.

You must zone out for a bit, shaken by the kind of life-altering realization that you just might, a teensy tiny bit, want to fuck Art and Patrick. You don’t notice the way their conversation slowly trails off, how Patrick notices the sudden shift in your behavior. His eyes rake over you, lingering on the sliver of skin showing where your top doesn't quite meet your shorts. He shoots Art a knowing smirk, kicking his knee lightly. Art follows Patrick’s gaze, eyes darkening with understanding. He looks back over at Patrick, a tiny grin on his face as he gives him a single nod.

“I mean, it wouldn’t even be that big a deal if we did,” Patrick says casually, bringing the dwindling joint up to his lips, “If we fucked, I mean.” He clarified, head lolling to the side sluggishly.

You snap out of it, looking between the two of them– the mischievous glint in Patrick’s eyes as he exhales smoke lazily into the air, the slight pink tint to Art’s cheeks slowly reaching the very tip of his ears as he nervously chews his lower lip.

The weight of Patrick’s words settle over you, adding another layer of nearly suffocating warmth that has nothing to do with the broken AC. The implications of what he just said swirl in your mind, a heady mix of curiosity, arousal, and slight panic.

You don’t know when or how it happened, but they both seem closer than they were before. The two of them crowd around you, pressing in on either side, green and blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your thighs clench together.

You turn to Art, ready for him to shut Patrick down and defend your honor from his sleazy lines like the good cop he always is, but instead, Art’s grin widens, his eyes never leaving yours. He shifts in front of you, his hand brushing against your knee sends a jolt of electricity through you. “We’re friends,” he says softly, eyes big and earnest, as if reassuring both you and himself, “and we trust each other. It’s not like it would change anything, right?”

Never content being one-upped by Art, Patrick reaches out to settle his hand on your thigh, high up enough that his pinkie makes contact with the edge of your shorts. “Everyone’s already thinking it,” he reasons, stubbing out the joint on the plate Art was using to roll, “why not give them something to really talk about?”

The air grows heavy with tension, each breath you take feeling like a Herculean effort. Art’s fingers trace light, teasing patterns on your knee, his touch both comforting and maddeningly slow. Patrick’s hand remains firm on your thigh, "Imagine," he continues, his voice low and seductive, "what it would feel like to be touched, kissed, fucked by both of us. At the same time."

Art's hand inches higher, and you shiver at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "We could make you feel so good," Art adds, his eyes shining dark with desire. "If you want it."

You look at them, gaze trailing from Art’s sweet face to the challenge in Patrick’s eyes, daring you to break the tension or back out. Your mind races, torn between the overwhelming want coursing through you and the nagging voice of caution still present in the back of your head. But as Patrick's fingers toy with the thin material of your shorts, and Art's breath grazes your neck, the decision becomes easier.

“Maybe we should,” you hear yourself saying before you can stop, the words tumbling out, shaky but determined. Patrick's smirk widens, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he turns to Art. His gaze lingers on Art’s calm demeanor, a dare unspoken yet unmistakable. Art meets his eyes evenly, a tiny smile on his lips betrays his facade. They share a look, a sort of silent conversation shared between them before they're leaning in.

Your eyes are closed, but you can still tell it’s Art who kisses you first. Big hands coming up to gently cup your face as he leans in, you can smell the mint from gum he chews constantly. His lips are so soft, so gentle, and so hesitant; almost like he’s worried you don’t really want this. You respond eagerly, throwing your arms around his shoulders and dragging him forward. He’s on you in less than second, arms braced on either side of your hips as he really starts to kiss you.

Art’s tongue drags over the seam of your lips, licking at your mouth like he’s eating pussy. Laving quick, dirty drags of his tongue until you part your lips on a high moan so he can slip it in to brush against your own. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepens, getting messy and desperate. You can feel his heartbeat pounding up against his rib cage where his chest is pressed tightly to yours, you can feel the thick length of his hard dick burning a line through his boxers onto your thigh.

You get so caught up in kissing Art you forget Patrick’s even there until he’s trailing sloppy kisses along your jawline. “Shit, guys we should make a fucking porno,” he says into your ear, breath hot and teasing, “we’d get fucking rich.” He huffs with a low chuckle, sliding his hand up your tank to palm at your tits roughly. His chuckle dissolves into a throaty groan when his greedy hands find even more bare skin, no bra.

Art gasps against your lips, hips grinding down onto your thigh at Patrick’s words. “Fuck off,” he snaps, but the strong twitch of his dick gives him away. He rests his forehead on yours, breath coming out in ragged huffs to mingle with your own. He looks fucking wrecked, shiny blue eyes glazed over with lust, lips slick and pink, long lashes fanning over his flushed cheeks. He gives you one last quick peck before his hands come up to your shoulders and gently push you backwards.

You’re confused until you feel the warm, bare skin of Patrick’s toned chest on your back. He looms over you, using his free hand to grip your chin and force your head to the side.

The angle’s a little odd, but neither of you seem to mind. Patrick kisses like he’s trying to kill you, a mess of too much tongue and rough bites to your lips and so much spit it should be disgusting. The slick noise of your tongues sliding together has your cheeks burning with how lewd it is. Normally you’d be grossed out, maybe if it was any other guy you would be. You’d shove him off of you and kick him out of bed, but it’s not some guy; it’s Patrick. You can’t help but whine into his mouth, craving more of his brutal affection, feeling the dizzying rush of passion that borders on pain.

Art’s lips are on your neck, sucking marks onto your skin, his breath hot and uneven as he murmurs something you can't quite make out. You should tell him to stop, that people will talk if they see you all marked up, but maybe you don’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe you want people to talk. His hands are everywhere, fingers digging into your hips, tugging you closer, grounding you in the whirlwind of sensations. Patrick's grip tightens on your chin, biting your lips hard enough to make you whine, and Art responds with a low moan, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

It’s so fucking dirty, so filthy, so demeaning and you’ve never been so wet before.

You throw your head back, with a loud moan as Patrick plays with your tits under your shirt and Art lick’s a dirty stripe up your throat. “Fuck! God, Pat…” your chest heaves, back arching up into Patrick’s hands, craning your head so Art has more room to trail sweet kisses along your collar bones.

Patrick just laughs, running a hand down your stomach and into your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, the palm of his hand grinding roughly against the soaked cotton of your panties. “You’re fucking dripping all over me, holy shit,” Patrick breathes, long fingers sliding easily through the wet mess of your folds. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, staring down at where his hand disappears beneath the waistband.

“I think,” Patrick breathes, “that you need to let Art eat your pussy, and I think I need to watch.”

Your mind goes blank, sparks going off at the base of your spine as Patrick’s words echo in your ears. Art’s lips still against your neck, he’s practically whining, hands

You feel a rush of heat, your pussy aching with the need for exactly that. The thought of Art eating you out, with his gentle touches and caring eyes, juxtaposed with Patrick's commanding presence looming over the whole thing, sends your thoughts spiraling. You can hardly breathe, every nerve ending alive with anticipation and desire. The room seems to shrink around you, the air thick with tension, as you struggle to find your voice, to process the electrifying proposition that now hangs in the air between you.

You meet Art’s heavy gaze, his pupils dilated with a mix of want and need completely swallowing up the blue. His breath is hot against your skin, and you can feel the tremor in his hands as they move to caress your thighs. Patrick's presence is a steady force behind you, his hand gently but firmly guiding you to make the choice you know you both want.

Finally, you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation, “Yes.”

Art wrestles your shorts down your legs quickly, yanking them off and tossing them behind his shoulder. Your panties are quick to follow, rolling and bunching up until he huffs in frustration and rips them straight down the middle, leaving the tattered fabric to hang limply around your ankles. The surprised moan that leaves your lips at Art’s restraint finally snapping is almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Patrick’s laugh at how fast Art’s on his stomach between your legs.

Patrick hooks his thick legs over yours, keeping you spread open and exposed. Art’s eyes screw shut, his head falling to rest on the ground, like the sight of your slick pussy is just too much. “Shit,” he mutters, hips twitching slight against the floor.

“Come on, Art,” Patrick goads, “know you wanna taste this pretty pussy.” He reaches over and spreads your pussy open in a lewd “v” with his fingers, “Make our girl feel good.”

Art looks up at you, face flushed and eyes wide, blonde curls flopping over his forehead messily. “Is this okay?” He’s so close you can feel his hot breath fanning over your slick, aching clit.

“Yes–” You barely get the word out before Art rushes forward, trailing kisses along your inner thighs. His mouth is everywhere but where you want it to be. You whine, hips twitching towards his face in an attempt to get him to touch you. “Please, Art.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, tone way too earnest for what he’s about to do, finally sliding his tongue through the wet lips of your pussy. He drags it teasingly up the seam of you, all the way up till he’s circling your clit. His tongue laving over the tips of Patrick’s fingers each time.

Being sandwiched between the two of them is almost too much and somehow still not enough. Art splayed out on his stomach between your legs, head buried in your violently trembling thighs. Patrick plastered to your back, sweaty and firm as he spreads you wide open for his best friend's mouth.

Art’s big hands grip the sensitive skin of your inner thighs hard, his tongue licking broad strokes over your pussy as Patrick’s fingers start to rub fast circles on your clit while he spews filth over your shoulder.

“Fuck that’s so hot,” Patrick growls, “look at you, all spread out for us.”

You look down at Art to see he’s already looking at you. Sparkly eyes shiny and wet, brows furrowed as he keeps licking and licking, so messy with it that spit drips down his chin. His nose pressed up against all the right spots, making you see stars every time you blink. You never would have guessed it but he is fucking good at this, either he’s way too humble or selling himself short because holy shit.

Art's moaning and whining into your pussy like he's the one getting head, hands surely bruising your thighs with how hard he's gripping them. The roll of his hips fucking down against the ground is sinful.

“God– fucking shit, Art,” You whine pathetically, shaking with just how much ecstasy is coursing through your body. You think you may pass out.

“You like that?” Patrick asks hotly, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, “You like watching him fuck the ground like a slut while he eats your pussy?” His fingers raise to give your clit a light slap, your head rolls back onto his shoulder as you cry out.

“Mmph, Patrick-!” Your thighs clench, trying in vain to squeeze shut. Patrick keeps them spread, his free hand coming around to grip Art’s hair, roughly dragging his head up and down your pussy faster. Art groans so loud against your clit that you actually feel the vibration, his hips rutting into the ground faster.

“Art–! I’m so close, God, I’m coming, Patrick, I’m coming, I’m com-” You cry out, cut off by Patrick's mouth slamming over yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth. “Do it,” he spits, biting your lower lip meanly, “fucking come, come all over your best friends face.”

Your thighs shake as you come, hands gripping Art’s hair like a vice as you gush over his tongue. He moans into your pussy, working you through the aftershocks. He drags his tongue along you until the over-stimulation gets to be too much and you’re dragging his face away by his hair.

“Alright,” Patrick says breezily, dragging his tongue from the corner over your mouth to the hinge of your jaw to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Art got to have his fun,” he laughs, dark eyes staring pointedly at the wet patch soaking the front of Art’s boxers.

Art's too fucked out to even jab him back, chest heaving with each breath he takes. His lips are slick and red, the complete lower half of his face shining with your come, glazed over eyes half-open and dark. The sight is enough to have your pussy clenching, ready for round two. Patrick’s hips grind into your back purposely, dragging his still hard dick against your ass. “Now it’s my turn.”

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @motopoppp @nhlfs @elaci @myahswrld @angelheavensblog

if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

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shiftermeance · 3 days

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liked by bsf1, bsf2, maxverstappen1, landonorris and others

y/n.jpg how i pull up to a function after drinking my weight in alcohol 🍷 🥃🍸

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username2 so we all just here after seeing the pictures huh?

⤷username1 right? Like everyone and their mama here 😭🤣

username7 omg she’s watching both Bridgerton and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she is so real

username5 knowing how she was going last night she’s probably hungover as hell 😭🤣

⤷username6 shit from the few videos we got it looked like she was an infinity pool of just alcohol

⤷username4 I wanna know how max got her back home

username11 Hey y/n, a good remedy to hangovers is to drink ginger tea and eat chicken noodle soup like you're sick! I find that always works for me

⤷y/n.jpg oh my god, trying this now, thank you so much 🙏🏽

landonorris how are you functioning?

⤷y/n.jpg functioning? What’s that?

⤷charles_leclerc i’m surprised you can stand to look at any device

⤷y/n.jpg alright, not too much now

maxverstappen1 did you take the pills i put on the bedside?

⤷y/n.jpg yeah I did, thanks btw

⤷bsf1 wait…wait- pause- y/n answer the group chat

⤷bsf2 so your over at that man’s house again? 😟🤨

y/n.jpg we were discussing next weeks interview

bsf2 yeah girl…stand up, it looks like we netflix and chilling y/n.jpg oooh 😟 yeah no…never that

⤷username1 TEAM BLACK! WE HAVE MOTHER

⤷username3 does this mean we could potentially get black or green flags for Austria?

⤷bsf1 oh no…you done cuddled up with the man…yeah she’s cooked

y/n.jpg why is everyone saying that?? We’re literally like five feet apart? You can’t even see where we are in the picture 😭

⤷lilymhe I propose (demand) we wear our flags to support our queen on Sunday

y/n.jpg your wish is my command 🫡😋

-> Benedict Bridgeton is y/n's spirit animal

-> y/n's friend's are just teasing (hope they don't come off as bitchy) their just tired of her ass (lovingly)

-> y/n had to explain Targaryen's before watching hotd with max so he wouldn't freak out during the incest bits (90% of the show)

-> y/n got to meet sally and jimmy this trip so expect a lot of cat pictures now!

Author's note!

Hey guys! A bit of a short chapter but I do plan on having the next chapter as it will include our girl's debut on the grid and all the interviews, pictures, and ofc written parts! So bear with me until next Sunday! Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @boiohboii @ale-522 @ietss @theseerbetweenus @jaxx-7 @sainzluvrr @the-untamed-soul @ashy-kit @hc-dutch @nichmeddar @delululeclerc @sweate-r-weathe-r @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @luvsforme @samantha-chicago

༉‧₊˚ CHAMPIONS LOVE ༉‧₊˚

⤷ Following the messy breakup between Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet, Max’s manager comes up with a solution to divert the attention – a fake relationship. His new girlfriend? Two time olympic gold medalist figure skater, y/n for the USA team. Easy? Well...

#f1 smau #champions love ♡#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smau #max verstappen x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #formula one x black reader

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witchywcmans · 1 day

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FORBIDDEN FRUIT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ laios can't seem to get enough after he first tastes you. but the lines in your friendship are beginning to blur. it's only when your party happens upon your ex-lover in the dungeon that laios realizes what he should've communicated all along. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus, praise, size kink, jealousy, classic missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, mutual pining/confession, laios and reader are not good with communication (but they work it out v well), laios is self concious but reader is so kind to him !!, monster facts as dirty talk. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 4.8k

song inspiration ━━ awkward, sza / cherry, lana del rey / hunger, florence + the machine

author's note ━━ TECHNICALLY, this could be a part 2 to please, eat, so I'm just going to link as a part 2. you don't have to read please, eat before this, but if you like laios then obvi you should read it anyway!! I'm SO SORRY it took me so long to post another laios x reader 😭 I was trying to finish the manga before I wrote something else dungeon meshi-related, but life gets the way. oh well. also, this might be controversial, but in this fic I’m refuting the “laios is a virgin” allegations. SUE ME. I simply don’t believe he’s been adventuring so long and hasn’t been with anyone, that is crazzzy to me !! but that's just me 🤗 we all have our fave headcanons! my goal when I finish the manga is to write something for laios at the end of the story hehe. I hope you guys enjoy part 2! this one-shot is dedicated to @satoogojos 🫶

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. 🪽

Catching feelings for your friend was truly a fickle thing. But you guessed it was bound to happen with what you and Laios were doing behind everyone’s back. Each night, after your party tucked themselves in their bedrolls, Laios would so delicately lace your arm through his and you two would find a private area … before he completely buried his face between your thighs.

He was fixated on the way you tasted, the way he could get you to cum so easily on his tongue. You were the only dessert he wanted after every dinner. Some nights, he would have you writhing from overstimulation, but he just wanted more of you – so much more.

It was a little confusing, though, how he didn’t ask for anything in return. Laios seemed to grind against the cold, dungeon floor as his tongue lapped at your essence, sometimes cumming in his pants and moaning between your legs. Or he would politely excuse himself after he was done, taking care of himself as you cleaned yourself up. You didn’t quite understand it, and maybe neither did he. You both were just too awkward to broach the subject.

The incident with the sea serpent had changed your friendship forever. Not only did Laios save you from becoming one, but the intimacy you both now shared seemed to open you up more. You found yourself divulging more secrets to him, leaning on him when you needed someone, even being more impartial to Senshi’s monster meals. And you liked the way he smiled, how he looked at you. You liked how fearless he was. You liked how protective he was over the party, especially you. You … really liked him. Far more than a crush. In fact, you wished you could go back in time and just have a crush. But your feelings for him became deeper as you crept lower and lower into the dungeon together. Your goal was still to come out of this dungeon alive, but now … you hoped that you would make it out alive together.

What a foolish girl you had become.

You tried to remain focused on the path ahead of you, but you were clearly lost in thought today. The party had reached floor 6, which meant you were closer and closer to the deepest part of the dungeon and hopefully rescuing Laios’ sister, Falin. The last thing you expected to see on floor 6 were other adventurers, let alone your ex.

You were hesitant to call him an ex, since you two had never really been anything but a warm body in each other’s beds while living on the surface. But when your bodies collided and your eyes met his, you realized why you had taken a liking to him in the first place. He had been a butcher’s son, handy with an axe, and you had liked his big, strong hands. You almost fell right into him from the slippery dungeon floor, but those strong hands seemed to catch you like you were made of air. “It’s you,” he chuckled, setting you up straight and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Look at you … feels like it was just yesterday when we were on the surface, huh?”

Marcille looked like she didn’t want anything to do with your ex and his party, but Senshi was very kind to offer them food, if they needed it. Chilchuck seemed neutral, and Laios … you still couldn’t read Laios as easily as the rest of the party. He watched your ex like a hawk, standing behind you as if to protect you. Your ex’s hands were big, sure, but Laios was tall, his shoulders wide and intimidating even without the armor. Laios narrowed his eyes slightly whenever he saw your ex’s gaze roam over you, like he was undressing you with his eyes. And you weren’t sure if you caught it – it only lasted a second – but did Laios clench his hands into fists?

There wasn’t enough time in the world to dwell on it. Especially when you had ghosts seemingly pulling you into another area of the dungeon and waking up on a dirt path, a beautiful golden castle mounted ahead of you. Your party was initially confused, walking into the village and seeing monsters living harmoniously with humans. After becoming acquainted with the village, you and your friends were offered a warm, delicious meal with Yaad, the lord of the Golden Country. After Yaad explained the history of this village, you all were each given rooms to rest in for the night. The beds were small and cold, but far better than a bedroll.

You were used to Laios initiating with you every night, but by the time everyone went to sleep, he still didn’t call upon you. So you stood from your bed, adjusting the nightgown given to you, and walked across the hall to where Laios’ room was. You knocked on his door, and you heard the slip of a sword into a sheath behind the thin wood. He had been inspecting Kensuke for some reason, probably mulling over Yaad’s words. When he opened the door, he was dressed in loose pants and a linen shirt, droplets running down his neck. He must’ve just bathed. You couldn’t stop yourself from digging your nails into your palm.

“Can I come in?” You asked in a hushed voice, and he moved out of the way for you to step inside.

His room looked exactly like yours, but the sheets were ruffled from lack of sleep. Laios walked around you and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving you more confused than ever. You played with your hands as you stared at him, contemplating. “Is something wrong, Laios?” You inquired, stepping closer to him. “You’ve been acting weird even before we got here.”

His brow furrowed for a moment. “How do you figure?”

“Well, you …” Your tongue clicked. “You didn’t come to find me after everyone went to bed.”

He seemed to concede, shoulders dipping at your answer. Shifting on the mattress, he propped himself up against his pillows and moved Kensuke to lean against the wall. His silence was even more perplexing. This had to be the longest time Laios went without talking. He was a blabbermouth.

“I don’t understand,” you continued, walking over and sitting on the end of his bed. “Are you … are you angry with me?”

“No, no,” Laios was quick to reply, “I’m not angry with you. I’m just …”

You raised a brow, eager to hear his answer.

“That man you recognized. On floor 6,” he finally said, his fists clenching again at the memory. “I didn’t … I didn’t like the way he looked at you. And his tone. It was disrespectful to you. Unless I’m reading this all wrong.”

You were taken aback by his honesty. So he had been bothered by your ex. “Oh,” you replied, “well … me and him, we do have history, Laios. But it’s in the past.”

“I could tell.” He was picking at his nails now, any excuse not to meet your eyes. “Everyone has a life before the dungeon. It’s not about the past. I just … I didn’t like him. Or how he looked at you like … like he still wanted you. Or something.”

“Or something,” you repeated, nodding your head. A slow smile crept onto your lips at the realization. “Laios, are you jealous?”

His head jolted up, his eyes glued to his hands, searching for something unknown. Realization washed over his face, as if he hadn’t even considered this possibility. “Oh, gods,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This whole day I’ve been trying to reconcile with what I’m feeling and I knew I wasn’t mad at you – maybe just mad at the circumstances – and none of it made sense, but now …” He finally met your eyes, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “I was just jealous. How did I not realize?”

“Maybe because we didn’t talk about it,” you offered in a low voice, reaching out and lacing your fingers with his. A jolt of electricity ran through your fingertips and all the way up your arm. You wished you could hide your reaction, but it was clear as day, making Laios shift in his spot. “Laios, we should talk –”

“You’re not leaving the party, are you?” His grip on your fingers went tight, and he didn’t even realize it.

“No,” you laughed, scooting closer and running your free hand over his face. His cheeks flushed instantly when you touched him. “I think … we should talk about what’s happening between us.”

Laios’ gaze went narrow as he processed your words. “Oh,” he said blankly, and then his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“I just … because we’ve been doing this every night … it’s hard not to feel …” You sighed, unable to get the words right. But he seemed to understand, quick-witted as ever, squeezing your hand in encouragement. And then he smiled at you, all dopey and kind, and your heart began to pound. “I can’t help but think that the lines are being blurred between us. My feelings for you are … much deeper than what they were initially. And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. I needed you to know. I’m sorry if this hurts … whatever our relationship is.”

He was still smiling, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. “Well, I think –”

“And now I can’t help but wonder if maybe – just maybe – you feel the same way,” you started rambling, terrified to know how he was going to reply. “Because why would you feel jealous if you didn’t … I shouldn’t make assumptions. But I still wondered. And I can’t stop talking. Again, I don’t want this to ruin anything and I’m sorry if it does. My ex doesn’t mean anything to me anymore and he won’t ever again –”

Out of nowhere, Laios used his upper body strength to flip you onto your back, pinning you to the bed. Now your cheeks were flushed, completely caught off guard by the action. He sat in between your legs, his fingers just brushing over your waist, as he said, “I do. Feel the same. I feel like I’m the one who could’ve ruined this because I didn’t realize it sooner.”

You gave him a sad smile, reaching up to cup his chin. “You couldn’t ruin anything.”

He leaned into your palm when your hand moved to his cheek, humming under his breath. He then leaned down, his body just barely pressing against yours, as if he craved your body heat. Like a moth to a flame.

“Can we not talk about your ex ever again?” He muttered, his hands running up and down your sides. “Because when I saw him today, all I could think about was …” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What?” Your curiosity peaked.

“I’m going to sound like a jealous brute,” he sighed dramatically, nose brushing against yours as his hands moved higher, thumbs grazing over the underside of your breasts. The material of your nightgown was so thin that your peaked nipples were already visible. “I just … couldn’t stop thinking about all the times I’ve tasted you that he hasn’t. I wondered if he knew exactly how you liked it, which places made those funny sounds come out of your mouth. And then, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and all I wanted this whole day was to get you alone.”

You shuddered when his thumb brushed over one of your taut nipples, making your heel run down the back of his leg. His words alone made tingles run down your spine, but the second his hands were on you, you were properly soaked. The both of you lay there for a moment: him on top of you, nuzzling your nose, rolling his fingers over your nipples through your nightgown, eliciting breath hitches from your lips.

It was so slow, so patient, so good, but had you wanting more. And you couldn’t stop the words coming out when you blurted, “I want to have sex.”

He paused, opening his eyes for a moment, making sure he heard you properly.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you said quickly, feeling awkward. But why were you so shy all of a sudden? It’s not like he didn’t have his tongue deep inside your pussy every night. Maybe it was because there was a question still lying underneath the surface. “Why ... why don’t you want me to help you finish after you eat me out? Sometimes you just … walk away to take care of yourself.”

Laios’ face went bright red, and then he buried his face in your neck. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Your hand pushed back his cropped, blonde hair, trying to soothe his racing heart. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Because it’s … it’s big,” he sighed and lifted his head. “There. I said it. It’s just big. And the last person who saw it made me feel super self-conscious about it.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “You’re embarrassed because you have a big dick?”

His pretty golden eyes were serious, but it looked like he wanted to laugh with you. “Please, don’t make it sound trivial.”

“It’s not trivial, it’s just …” You went to cup both his cheeks. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you ever experienced. You wondered why it took you so long to realize he felt the same. “I would never make you feel self-conscious about anything. I like everything about you, Laios.”

Your words had him melting, leaning back down into you and kissing you slowly. It was only when his tongue slipped into your mouth that his hand snaked down between your legs, just cupping your soaked entrance, the one thing he loved to eat more cheesecake. Realizing that you weren’t wearing any underwear had him reeling. “Gods …” He moaned into the kiss, his fingers simply running down your soaked folds.

As his lips broke away from yours, you asked in a tone as sweet as barometz, “Do you want to have sex, Laios?”

“Yes,” he replied, voice desperate. “Yes, please.”

Your hands went to the hem of his loose, linen shirt, breaking your kiss again to lift it over his head. For the first time, you were able to see what he looked like underneath all the armor. His shoulders were wide-set, his torso soft while also being oddly defined. Most tall-men your party encountered thought Laios was on the slender side, not believing how strong he was. But once your eyes beheld his biceps, you knew how wrong they all were. He was built and muscular and – gods, you could admire him for hours.

Laios stopped your hands from going any further, a pleading look in his eyes. He pushed your nightgown up and bunched it at the waist. “Can I taste you first?”

You nodded quickly, already intoxicated by the way he kissed you, the way he smiled at you, all eager and excited to bury his face in your pussy. It didn’t take him long; he was lightning fast, moving down your body and lifting your legs on his shoulders so he could eat you out easier. His tongue dove into your folds immediately, and he groaned at the first taste. You were acutely more aware every night that he could do this for hours, just lapping at you lazily, bringing you to orgasm over and over again. No monster compared to the way you tasted.

His nose bumped your clit as he tongued your leaking hole, practically whimpering at every drop of your wetness that reached his mouth. Large, calloused hands wrapped around your thighs, making sure they didn’t close and digging into your flesh. Your own hands fisted into the sheets, your ass lifted off the bed, but you could still grind your hips against his face. Soft whines left your lips, nothing compared to the groans Laios was making as he ate you like he didn’t have a three-course meal just an hour ago. You almost wondered if you should tell him to quiet down, afraid of the others hearing, but you were too lost in the pleasure to care.

It was clear to you the closer you got to reaching your peak that Laios wasn’t keen on stopping. And as much as you truly wanted to cum all over his tongue, you thought it was important that you both have this new experience together. It took you a few seconds to finally gather the courage to say something, his tongue feeling too good as he swirled it around your sensitive clit. “Laios,” you called, and then a little louder, “Laios.”

He lifted his head, your juices dripping down his chin. A primal urge made him want to dive back into you, but he controlled himself. His tongue licked at your essence around his mouth, and you shuddered at the sight.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, yes,” he muttered hoarsely, placing your legs so delicately back on the bed, as if they were made of glass. “Of course.” He so desperately wanted to taste you again, but he was even more excited for this, to finally feel something other than his hand wrapped around his cock. You were the first person he ever tasted, but it had been quite a while since he was truly intimate with someone, to slide into someone and feel them clench around him.

As you tugged off your nightgown, Laios began to work at the ties of his pants. But his hands stopped as they came undone, glancing up at you with hesitation. You looked so pretty sitting in the middle of his bed, waiting for him, naked and vulnerable. He felt silly for feeling so self-conscious, especially when you were so beautiful like this.

“Laios,” you cooed, caressing his arm, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And if you don’t want to, then we can stop.”

He almost choked on a laugh. “Trust me,” he replied, “I want to.”

After another beat of stalling, Laios finally stepped out of his bottoms and blushed pink from ear to ear. His cock was … well, it certainly was big. You sympathized with him; if anyone told you something about your body during sex, you would focus on that forever. But there was nothing for him to be embarrassed about. Truthfully, most males would kill to have what he did. His cock was thick and long, a few veins trailing down the shaft, curving up at his pretty red tip that was dripping with precum. You got even more wet just from staring at it, wondering what he would finally feel like inside of you.

Your mouth opened to say something, anything to make him feel better, but he was already talking: “I need a distraction so I don’t think about you staring at it.” He crawled back onto the bed and between your thighs, immediately pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself still on his mouth, and your arms wound around his shoulders instantly. His teeth tugged at your bottom lip, and he asked, “Can I just … ramble about monster facts for a minute?”

You blinked, not expecting that. Laios released your lower lip and sighed, clearly still nervous. “It’ll help me get over this feeling. I swear. Or if you want to stop this, we can. I’ll … I’ll understand –”

“Laios,” you huffed, your mouth pulling back into a sweet smile, “I want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered, nuzzling his face back into your neck, placing sloppy kisses. “Did you know that … that harpies almost exclusively have the head of a female human and it is unknown if male harpies exist?”

His voice was muffled against your neck, but you could tell he was desperate and aching. You felt his hard length against your stomach, smearing precum on the exposed skin. “Really?” You breathed out, trying to engage with him but completely failing when he licked a stripe up your neck. A moan escaped your lips.

“There’s also … there’s, uh …” He was struggling to talk now, grasping his cock and giving it a few quick pumps before teasing the head against your dripping wet folds. Your legs instinctively opened wider for him, hoping to whatever gods were out there that you could take his cock. “There also exists a seabird variant of harpies called … called, Sirens. Their wings and … their – their tail look like a seagull’s.”

You could hardly breathe as you asked, “What else, Laios?”

He began to push inside you slowly, letting you adjust with each inch. “Okay, okay … uh … bicorns … bicorns hate – oh, fuck.” Just the feeling of your tight warmth wrapped around his cock had him biting into your shoulder, like you were the forbidden fruit. He could hardly string together a word, could hardly think, as he sank deeper and deeper into you, his whole body shaking. “Bicorns hate … hate virtue. They prefer – shit – immorality. It is believed that … doing all seven deadly sins will … will allow an individual to approach a bicorn – fuck. Fuck. It feels –”

When he was finally buried to the hilt, all he could do was breathe into your neck. You whined, locking your legs around his waist. The stretch was unbelievable; your walls gripped him like a vice. But it was even better than you could’ve imagined. If you had thought originally that the night would go this way, you would’ve at least brushed your hair. Laios didn’t care though, inhaling the flowery scent as he nosed your pretty strands. You couldn’t even comprehend – whether it be from the stretch of his thick cock inside you or the overwhelming amount of butterflies in your stomach – how you were so lucky to have found him.

Not to mention, you felt even luckier that this wasn’t happening on a cold dungeon floor.

With one hand carding into his hair, you chuckled under your breath, “Had enough of reciting monster facts?”

“Mmhmm …” He groaned, unable to form a sentence. You finally felt him pull back before pushing into you in one fast, deep thrust, making you shiver. Your body was hardly used to feeling this full, but you wanted him so badly that it was humiliating, a pink blush tinting your nose. “You feel so good,” he muttered.

You pulled on his hair, and his head lifted from your neck. His lips were swollen from kissing you. Yours probably looked the same. But that didn’t matter right now as he held your gaze and began thrusting into you a little faster. His eyes were the color of melted gold, flecked with amber and brown, and you felt like you could stare into them forever while he fucked you. Laios lifted one of your legs higher on his waist, but his other hand stayed around your middle, keeping you nestled against him.

“Laios,” you whimpered, feeling him nudge your clit with each roll of his hips. Despite his desperation, his pace was tender and relaxed, making sure you were adjusting to his size. He knew he was big – clearly, it was something he’d been self-conscious about for a while – but the way you were looking at him right now … he’d never felt more at ease, more special. This was all he ever wanted: to be close to someone like this, to find intimacy with someone he had true feelings for. All the other times had been stepping stones, leading to this moment with you, where your warmth enveloped him so nicely and your gaze made him want to cum on the spot.

His hips began to move a little faster, pushing even deeper inside you, as his mouth swallowed your moans in a hungry kiss. Face going hot, you trembled, and his cock pulsed inside you with each pass. Your nails dragged down his shoulder blades, leaving marks for him to examine later, like a predator with its prey. Goosebumps raised on his skin, feeling himself get closer … and closer … and closer. If you kept digging your nails into him like that, he’d surely lose his grasp on reality. But you just felt so good, so warm, and he craved you. Craved you like you were his last meal.

“Laios,” you croaked out when his lips broke from yours, “Laios, are you close?”

He could hardly say anything else but, “Mm …”

You thought you could get there by now from his tongue teasing you earlier, but you needed a little more friction. Bumping against your clit wasn’t enough. “Okay, okay,” you rambled, reaching down between your legs to touch yourself. “Just hold off for another minute. I’ll get there.”

Laios opened his eyes, realizing what you were doing, immediately envious of your own hand. “No, let me,” he murmured, voice like honey, and found your clit easily. “Then I can taste you on my fingers after.” His excitement made you laugh, which brought a smile to his own lips.

He shifted a little, pulling back so only his tip rested inside you, and fucked back into you at a different angle, one that brushed against your special spot. The stimulation of both your clit and g-spot had your back arching, whimpers slipping out of your lips like a chant.

“Is … this … better?” He asked, panting after each word.

Your voice was strained when you answered, “Y—Yes.”

His balls slapped against the underside of your ass, and he knew how close he was, but all he cared about at this moment was cumming together. He needed to see that look on your face when you reached your peak. He only got to see it a few times, when he lifted his eyes while tasting you, watching the way your lips parted and sweat ran down your forehead.

His fingers rubbed tight circles on your aching clit – knowing exactly what you liked – and you were close. So, so close already. Laios had a way of touching you that felt inquisitive, yet effortless. Like he wanted to learn which spots made you moan the loudest, while also already knowing without even touching you. You grew to like him not just because of his dopey grin, his protectiveness, or his positivity, but also for the way he was willing to learn with you, the way he needed you. And right now, he needed you to cum more than anything.

Tension coiled in your lower abdomen, making you gasp out, “Laios – fuck – Laios, I’m gonna –”

“I know, I know,” he rasped. His pace was nearing on brutal, his whole body shaking as he held off his release for you. “Together. We’ll – together.”

And then, your muscles tighten. You clenched around his cock, and it only took one more thrust against your g-spot to have you falling apart underneath him. You put a hand over your mouth as you cried out, careful of the rest of the party hearing. Your eyes rolled back, his fingers stroking your clit through it, and it all just felt too, too good. Your orgasm went on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. As your walls spasmed around his cock, he groaned low, finally spilling into you. His hips stuttered. His mouth gasped for air against your lips, as he felt a ripple of relief from emptying himself inside you. He bit into your shoulder again to muffle his own noises. Your pussy convulsed, milking every last drop, and you were pretty sure you saw stars.

Once the aftershocks hit you both, he slumped against you, breathing in the scent of your hair again. Your fingers traced small circles onto his back muscles, your chest rising and falling with the fast beat of your heart. When his cock went soft inside you, his fingers finally left your clit and he brought them to his mouth. Your eyes were half-lidded as you watched him wrap his lips around his fingers and suck the juices off, moaning at the taste. He looked like an intricate painting; you couldn’t help but admire the sight.

His fingers left his mouth with a wet pop, and he whispered in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him, “You just taste so, so good.”

Laios kissed you again, slow and full of affection. You didn’t even care that he was still inside you; you could stay like this forever, pressed into his warm skin. Gods, you liked him so much that you immediately whimpered as his tongue slid into your mouth, and when he shuddered at your fingers on his back … you couldn’t believe you once questioned if he returned your feelings. You had both been so oblivious.

His mouth moved away from yours and he cupped your cheek. He took a moment to memorize the dusting of red across your face, the way your eyes hardly opened after sex, and then said, “Are you hungry? I think we both need a snack. It’s been a long night already.”

You giggled. “You had me at hungry.”

#my fics #fic: forbidden fruit #laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios x reader #laios touden x reader smut #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #one shot: forbidden fruit #fic: please eat

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literaila · 19 hours

Note

Can we get a scene where reader and satoru get sent to the principals office? I think it would be so chaotic

“y/n,” satoru coos, poking at your cheek. “c’mon, i know you want to say something.”

you slap his hand away, refusing to look at him.

“you’re scowling, and your mouth keeps twitching,” your face hardens even more and satoru sighs. “just let it out. it’s just us, you know? no need to feel self conscious around little old me.”

you let his stupid arrogant voice ring out, crossing your arms.

your eyes are drooping, your neck is sore and you feel… furious, idiotic, nervous, and most of all—furious.

this is all gojo’s stupid fault, with his stupid ideas, his stupid sunglasses, and his stupid gps.

seriously, how dumb can one person be?

you’ve gotten in trouble with him before—for bickering during training, or stealing his snacks, or being late for dinner because someone forgot how to tie his shoes—but it’s never been this bad.

yaga’s never had to step out of the classroom for so long to… what? avoid a heart attack? keep his head from exploding?

so if you’re ignoring satoru and secretly plotting his demise, who can blame you?

if nanami were here, he would approve.

gojo groans. “just say something,” he pleads. “i hate the silent treatment. i might die. do you want me to die?”

and maybe it’s his tone of voice, or the innocence he’s showboating, or his mental incompetence, but you break.

“go to hell,” you hiss, still staring at the chalk board.

damn it.

he grins at you, pulling on the sleeve of your shirt. “that’s not very friendly,” he tells you. “what would haibara say?”

maybe you can’t look at him because his face is another one of your breaking points. if only yaga was as susceptible to his grin as you.

“he would tell you to stop antagonizing me,” you slump down in your seat, feet tapping against the floor anxiously.

“what? i wouldn’t do that to my favorite underclassman.”

“this is all your fault.”

satoru snorts. “i cant even drive,” he argues. “and you’re the one who made the key.”

“only because i was listening to you! you told me no one would even notice.”

“i don’t recall.”

“‘c’mon, y/n,’” you mock, “‘it’ll be fine. everyone’s sleeping. don’t you wanna go for a joyride?’”

“who is that supposed to be?”

“i can’t believe you.”

satoru sighs. “how is this my fault? you’re the one who couldn’t sleep.”

you finally turn to him, eyes sharper than daggers. his smile can go to hell too.

“i hope you’ve enjoyed your life so far because it’s going to be over as soon as we get out of here.”

“go ahead and try, sweetheart.”

“i will kill you—“

satoru shakes his head. then he holds his hands up in defense. “you try and help a friend,” he says, so pitifully. “you try to be nice and instead of thank you, you get threatened.”

you lean towards him unconsciously. everything about satoru is a antithesis to evolution, to karma. “you want me to thank you for getting me potentially expelled?”

he laughs. “you’re worried about yaga? that pushover? when me and suguru broke that wall he just told us that curfew was an hour earlier.”

“well we didn’t break a wall, you dimwit! we stole a car!”

satoru taps at the table, snorting. “dimwit? that’s what you came up with?”

“it’s four in the morning!”

“is that why you’re so moody?”

“i am not moody,” you kick at his leg. “you’re just annoying.”

if nothing else, at least the bickering is a nice distraction from the actual crisis at hand.

in a couple of days you’ll probably appreciate this moment for what it is. appreciate gojo for caring about your insomnia and pulling you away from your hell of a world for at least a couple of hours.

you’ll recognize him for what he is. you’ll remember that the only reason you agreed to a late night drive with him is because of those eyes, because he smiled at you when he asked and—

you’ll look back at this fondly someday.

but for right now you would like to blame gojo for everything and punch him in his stupid face.

he nudges you back. “you’re freaking out about this for no reason.”

“we’re locked in a classroom waiting for yaga’s verdict,” you grind out, “he dragged you in by your ear.”

gojo waves a hand. he leans back in the chair, hands behind his head. “he’ll yell at us for an hour and then make us clean the common room.”

“i saw a vein on his forehead.”

“that’s always been there.”

you sigh and close your eyes. “i’m going to be homeless. i’m gonna be kicked out and i’ll have to work at a gas station for the rest of my life and i’ll probably be fired and i’ll never amount to anything.”

satoru laughs.

you whine, laying across the desk. “i’m never going to see shoko again.”

“i’m sure she’ll visit you at the gas station. you know how much she smokes.”

you make a face. “i’ll have to find some old rich guy to marry.”

“just marry me instead,” satoru suggests, easily.

you give him a blank stare. “you’re already dead in this scenario.”

he yawns, looking around. then he turns back to you. “are you really only going to miss shoko? what about me?”

“i’ll go to your funeral, i guess.”

satoru pouts. “i was helping you! i’m older and wiser. just trust me on this.”

“i trusted you when you said there was no way for yaga to find out.”

“okay…” satoru licks his lips. “so i make one mistake.”

you glare at him. “one?”

he grins. “at least if we get expelled, we’ll be expelled together.”

“are you kidding? me and one of the three special grade sorcerers? you’ll get a slap on the wrist.”

satoru contemplates this for a moment, and you suddenly realize that he looks.. tired. did he stay up just to entertain you? should you feel bad for getting him in trouble because he wanted to make you feel better? should you care about him at all?

he taps at his chin, another smile breaking his face. “you bring up a good point. i’ll just threaten yaga if he tries to kick you out.”

you groan, rubbing your eyes, deciding you don’t care if he’s tired or not. “i genuinely don’t know how you’ve survived this long.”

“well, it’s—“

and then the classroom door opens.

both of you sit up—because despite whatever satoru might say, you know he’s just feigning nonchalance. if anything, he’s at least dreading a lecture.

its just instinctual when you open your mouth, really.

“it’s all gojo’s fault—“

“she’s the one who crashed the car—“

you both turn to each other simultaneously, words clashing into one another.

satoru frowns and you point a finger at him. “it’s called parking you asshole—“

and, okay. maybe its a little bit your fault.

#I HAVE BEEN WAITING #I REFRENCED THIS LIKE FOUR TIMES IN THE ACTUAL FICS BUT NO ONE EVER ASKED.#guys… if i bring up a moment im serious #like i came up with the scenario already #so yeah reader had a nightmare and satoru decided they should steal a car since she can drive and go for a little outing #in case it was unclear #gojo x reader #a typical family #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader

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hemmingsleclerc · 2 days

Note

Charles proposing to us (we’re a super famous singer so also the public’s reactions). But overall how he’d do it, his family’s reactions, the grids reactions, etc. If you’d be up for it, maybe x male reader - but if you’re not female reader is fine :)

Happy ending ┃charles leclerc

pairing(s): charles leclerc x male!reader

fc: jonathan bailey

a/n:such a cute request, just fluff and cried while writing it, hope u like it 🤍🫶🏻🫧🐚🌊

Charles had been planning this moment for months. Ever since he met Y/N, he knew that he was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Y/N, a world famous singer, had stolen his heart with his kind soul and the way he made him laugh and completely understood him. That night, at his concert, he was going to propose.

The lights went down in the arena and the crowd went wild as Y/N took the stage. Many celebrities were there to see the concert as well. Charles was backstage, pacing nervously, holding the small velvet box that contained the ring and mentally repeating the speech he had prepared while his heart pounded in his chest.

Halfway through the set, Y/N paused to catch his breath and address the audience. "Thank you all for being here tonight. This next song is very special to me and I hope you enjoy it." The first notes of the piano filled the air and as Y/N began to sing, Charles walked to the side of the stage.

When the song ended, Y/N looked at the audience without realizing that Charles was walking right towards him, with a microphone in hand, a little nervous as the audience went crazy for his presence..

"Hello, everyone," Charles said, his voice shaking as he laughed nervously. "I'm sorry to interrupt this incredible moment, but I have something very important to ask." He turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "From the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You are my best friend and the love of my life. I can't imagine spending another day without you by my side." While Charles was saying all this, Y/N couldn't believe it.

He then knelt down as he pulled the small box out of his suit pocket and the crowd erupted in cheers, feeling lucky to witness this live. Y/N covered his mouth in shock. "Will you marry me?" Charles asked, opening the box to reveal a stunning diamond ring.

Y/N answered yes happily, unable to speak, he stood him up and kissed him passionately and hugged him lovingly. The crowd went crazy.

Backstage, Charles's family watched the proposal on a monitor. Pascale, his mother, was in tears, hugging Arthur and Lorenzo tightly. "I'm so happy for him," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "They are perfect for each other, I am happy that he never listened to those comments and decided to be happy for who he is, love is love, and no one has to forbid it.''

On the grid, news of the proposal spread quickly. Lando couldn't contain his excitement, jumping up and down and shouting, "Yes! Finally!" Max smiled hugely and quickly congratulated Charles. Pierre was smiling from ear to ear and clapping his hands vigorously on the verge of shedding a few tears, he just was so happy for his best friend.

And then there was Sebastian, who had always been like a father to Charles. He called to congratulate him personally. "I always told you to follow your heart, Charles. You deserve all the happiness in the world, no one can tell you what to do or who to be, love is for everyone and I am deeply proud and happy that you have found your person."

ynln and charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly, arianagrande and 17,582,837 others

charles_leclerc finally I married my best friend, love you endlessly 🤍🤍🤍

ynln 🤍❗️💍

zendaya so happy for both 🥹👏🏻

blakelively 😍❤️❤️

taylorswift I ADORE YOU!!! CONGRATULATIONS 💕💕

landonorris I’m sobbing, love you guys

pierregasly so proud of you charles, you really found your other half 👏🏻

arianagrande OH MY GOD!!!! I can’t even express how proud, happy and enchanted I am for u two, you’re truly made for one another 💕🫧🫶🏻 I love you both so dearly and wish you the very best 💐🌈💌

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milunalupin · 2 days

Note

REMUS GIRLIES UNITE!

first off congratulations on 100 followers ily

and can i request a remus blurb that's centered around like hopeless pining? maybe something like helpless stares and longing sighs?

Love your works

MWAH🌷

tulip my love so sorry for the wait and thank you so much for this request !! love you MUAH

— can't keep my eyes off you

remus lupin x reader ★ 1.5k words

Luck was almost never on Remus Lupin's side. He was a disgusting, ravenous werewolf for one. His scars were off putting, puffed skin stretching all over his face and body. He wasn't born into a wealthy family, and he wasn't promised a successful future.

But Remus did well in school, he'll give himself that at least. Maybe not top of the class, but enough to feel good about it. And he had the most incredible friends, always supporting him during his 'time of the month', and constantly trying to set him up with girls they thought were his type. They never were.

Finding love was never really his priority anyways, his mind focused on school and keeping his beastly secret. Aside from that, he never believed that someone would be able to fall in love with a poor, ugly half-blood with cycle issues. Unfortunately, the world decided the throw the most perfect girl his way at the start of third year.

"Gryffindor!"

Remus was caught in such a daze from your confidence walking up to the sorting hat and your almost familiar blinding grin once your house was announced that he didn't catch your name at first. He forced his eyes away and straightened his posture as you begun walking towards the red and gold embellished table.

"Who is that?"

"Seriously Moons? That's Y/N, I told you guys she was starting this year."

So why did you have to be his best friend's sister?

You were just like James in the sense that you were unbelievably kind, and the definition of loyal. He's surprised you weren't sorted in Hufflepuff with how hard-working and honest you were. But then again, it made sense for you to be in Gryffindor with your brother, you were one of the bravest people he knew, taking risks and always standing up for yourself and others.

Even though you were his best friend's sister, he really didn't get to see you much when you first started at Hogwarts. Unless you counted his shy glances during study sessions, or tipsy stares over Friday night butterbeers. The two of you didn't have any classes together, because that would mean the world was being good to Remus Lupin.

He doesn't really know when he first started to feel differently about you, but remembers feeling touched when you had begun purchasing his favorite tea. It wasn't just any tea; it was the exact same healing peppermint tea that he would drink around the full moon. How did you even notice that? You would even go as far as to bring it to his room in a warm mug, with a little too much sugar in it. But he would never bring it up to you as you could do no wrong in his eyes.

Fortunately while the other boys were trying to figure out if you knew his secret, he was grinning to himself behind closed maroon curtains. The boys cared about him, obviously. They had even been talking about becoming animagi to help him during his transformations. But to be seen by you, understood on another level that only you knew, caused a herd of hippogriffs to fly around in his stomach.

Finally, the winter holidays arrive and James had invited everyone to your house for Christmas. This was your favorite time of the year; James and your father were decorating the outside of the house while Sirius and yourself took care of the inside. The two of you always liked staying indoors to gossip while inhaling taste testing Euphemia's cooking to make sure it was up to standard.

"What are you hoping to unwrap this year Y/N, Remus perhaps?"

Your eyes widened and you turned to hit the cheeky Gryffindor in the chest, cheeks blazing with embarrassment. "Sirius! My mother is right there!"

He barked out another laugh when he saw your mother's shoulders shaking lightly with her own laughter. Your least favorite Marauder slung an arm around your shoulders and led you back out to the living to finish setting up for your friends.

The party had started the moment Remus and Peter arrived with arms full of presents. The gobstones were pulled out almost immediately, and everyone had a steaming mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and toppings. Euphemia made sure to put in exactly ten marshmallows in James and yours because if you had one more than him he would undoubtedly throw a fit.

The spiked eggnog and mulled wine came out later in the night, the group sitting in a circle next to the tree to pass presents around. The typical Quidditch gear and gag gifts were opened. Peter had taken out his camera to take a picture of you and James when you had opened your matching red and gold sweaters, "Potter" written in a sparkly font. Your gleeful smiles and infectious laughter were immortalized with a flash of a camera, the photo being displayed on the mantle straight away.

The twinkling lights hung around room reflected in your eyes, a warmth creeping into Remus' chest as he averted his gaze. Luckily all eyes were on Peter as he unwrapped a pair of knitted socks from you, striped with Gryffindor colors and his initials sewed on the side. The tall boy smiled fondly as his friend tried on his gift, with you clapping adorably in response to them fitting perfectly.

With the sun having set hours ago, the Potter house was now littered with scraps of colorful paper, candy wrappers, and board games were strewn about. The Potters and Peter had gone up to their rooms for the night, leaving Remus and Sirius to clean up at living room. Before following your brother and Pete, you walked over to the werewolf and poked his arm to get his attention (as if his attention wasn't always on you anyways).

"Hey Rem, I just wanted to let you know that I left your present in your room, in case you didn't want to open it in front of everyone," you smiled shyly, nodding awkwardly before shuffling towards the stairs, "Merry Christmas."

He wants to blame the mulled wine for his flushed face and racing heart, but he knew that nothing could be as intoxicating as you.

"Y'know Moony, your obsession might be a little less creepy if you just asked Little Potter out."

The wizard chess pieces dropped from the brunette's hands, looking up at his friend who had a shit-eating grin on his face. Remus huffed and quickly put the game pieces back in place, shaking his head. "I'm not obsessed with her, Sirius."

"Oh it's Sirius now! Struck a nerve, have I?"

Sirius had been staying with the Potters for a few years now, and it had become hard not to notice your behavior around his sandy-haired friend. He was no stranger to the way you would fix your hair around Remus, or put on your favorite outfits when you knew he was coming over. Also, you and Sirius had late night gossip sessions after James fell asleep. That was probably it.

"Pads, stop. It's not like that, and she wouldn't even like me back anyways. I'm just like you or Peter, just one of her brother's friends."

"Oh Moony," Sirius sighed dramatically, " Moony, Moony, Moony. You poor, oblivious boy."

Sirius had gone up to his room soon after, leaving Remus in the living room by himself to reflect on his feelings towards you. But how humiliating it would be if he confessed to you and you said no. He could never face you ever again, probably have to stop being friends with James at the very least to avoid any further embarrassment. Alright, he's thinking about this way too much. Remus head upstairs to his room, ready to fall asleep to hopefully dream of a life where you would look at him the way he looked at you.

On top of his pillow sat a small gift box wrapped so beautifully it couldn't have been from anyone else but you. Rough hands pulled away the delicate ribbon you had tied around the box, opening the lid to find a handmade teacup, his name painted carefully on the side. Next to the teacup laid a few bars of his favorite chocolate, a new book, and a bag of his favorite tea. His chest tightened with a new but very obvious feeling.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his daydream, the dark wood opening to reveal your lovely self smiling up at him. His mouth went dry as you stared at him with those big chocolate eyes that made him feel that just for moment you could look past every flaw and see him a man you could be with.

"Y/N-" he cleared his throat when it cracked embarrassingly, a deep blush dusting his scarred cheeks, "Thank you for the gift Y/N, I love it, really." I love you.

You nodded and pointed up the the top of the doorway, Remus lifting his head to see a sparkling spring of mistletoe.

Perhaps Remus Lupin could be lucky.

#milunalupin's 100 party !#marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus john lupin #remus john lupin x reader #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew

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mitsuyaya · 2 days

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[ it's in his kiss ] sakusa kiyoomi

contains: 900+ words. historical/royalty au, fluff-y, suggestive, kissing, reader is referred to as my lady, unedited as always

end note: this is a lil sumn for the series I'm planning on. i wrote this for noritoshi before but looking back this fits omi more

haikyuu masterlist

If escaping the clutches of your controlling family before was the most difficult problem you've ever known, you'd wager trying to decipher Sakusa’s way of thinking can compare to that. You'd admit, even all of those months you've spent and gained the trust of the infamous cold-blooded future duke, you still can't grasp how his mind works, just like what is happening at the moment.

“Should we practice kissing so it would not be too awkward during the ceremony?” you could not whip your head fast enough after those words left his mouth. As much as you try to squint your eyes to find even a trace of embarrassment or humor on his face, you still couldn't find any. The gleam in his eyes is proof enough that he is very much, serious.

“Do you say that in jest, your grace?” there's just no way that he would say that, even if he does look like he is, you just can't believe that. Sakusa doesn't say a word, only taking steps to close the gap between the both of you.

“Do I seem like the type to do so, my lady?” There's smugness laced between his words and the tone of his voice, it irritates you so much that you want to wipe it across his annoying face, god if you didn't need this man to be your husband.

In all honesty, even if you were the desperate one to cling onto this man and begged him to sign a contractual marriage, this situation still embarasses you. Even the mere idea of what's to come after your wedding sends a shiver down your spine, oh god just what will happen during your wedding night?

“I do not see a point in doing this. It's not like we would kiss for longer than a minute” you try to find a way out of this humiliating conversation, why must this conversation exist in the first place it's not like you're going to make out in front of the guests.

“If you want everyone to buy the story of us being ‘the empire's perfect couple’ ‘absolutely, hopelessly in love’ this is a necessary step” he's right, you'll die before you can admit that though, and the looks on his face with that everlasting smirk plastered on him, tells you that he can see that you understand it now, makes you want to choke yourself to death even more.

“If you are this reluctant now, what more could happen during the wedding? Should we just end this fraudulent marriage here?” parallel to his tone earlier, this feels like he's challenging you, trying to make you desperate, riling you up to make you take the bait.

Sakusa is perfect in everything he does. He knows too well, he knows you well, that's why you chose him to be your husband – the idea of that before thrills you, hoping that you can be friends even with this fake marriage that is about to happen, but now you're starting to hate it.

And because he knows you too well, you can't help but take the bait, begrudgingly of course.

“Fine. It's just a kiss anyway” you really can't win in any argument with this jerk.

“See…” he lets out a small laugh, amused by your antics, you closed your eyes wanting this to end faster. Sakusa's breath is just a few centimeters next to yours, you can feel it, just like how he gently cradles your chin with his forefinger and thumb, cradling it as if you're fragile, it's uncharacteristic of him to do so.

“There is no need for your pointless rebuttals but that is what I like about you, anyways” just right when you open your eyes and about to ask him what he meant by that, Sakusa already planted his lips against yours. In contrast to everything about him, his lips are so soft, so heavenly, so entrancing.

There's no definite pattern, no pace, just a kiss shared between two people who're very much not in love but are under a contractual marriage.

His hands are now cupping the side of your face, his touch is sending static underneath your skin, it's making your insides dance, making your mind and heart beat rapidly, like you're about to explode any moment.

Your hands find purchase in his chest, unsure whether to push him away or to pull him even closer because you just couldn't get enough of his intoxicating lips, couldn't get enough of him. Even if you hate to admit it, Sakusa is a great kisser, so much for saying he's never been in a relationship before.

If you're not entirely focused on kissing the man you just refused to kiss earlier, you would've heard someone knocking on the door but what you heard instead is a high-pitched scream and sound of teacups shattering.

“Your grace, apologies for the…Oh my!” you were quick to push him away from you, making him fall to the ground from the force. You tried to catch your breath while searching for the owner of the voice you both just heard, this is literally the worst. The poor employee, whose cheeks are still tinted with bright red, apologizes a couple of times before sprinting and slamming the door loudly.

Dear God. You wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes or Sakusa ever again. Speaking of Sakusa.

“Your grace, I am so sorry, I didn't- I wasn't-”

“This is ridiculous” great, as if this day could get any worse. Sakusa's eyes are wide open, brows narrowing, this is by far the most furious you've ever seen him. The nerves in his fist are threatening to burst from the way he's been clenching it. Oh my heavens, please help me.

“I know, p-please I am truly-” before you could apologize again you heard him say with much more intensity than you've ever heard him before, “I haven't even gotten to the next part yet. I should buy this store and fire every single one of them.”

Wait, what did he just say?

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa drabble #sakusa imagines #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader #hq drabbles #hq imagines #hq fluff

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amirasainz · 6 hours

Note

Could do you please do amira is busy and is neglecting everyone making them have meltdowns ? ❤️

Hi guys. I hope you enjoy reading this and let me know if you have any requests.

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Busy Girl

It was not uncommon for Amira to be busy. Her career as an actress demanded a lot of her attention and free time. However, each time Amira declined Carlos’s invitation to one of the races, his heart broke. What do you mean his sister has to film the third season of Euphoria? Why can’t they film it at the race track? It’s not strange for high school students to suddenly spend all their time at a race track, thank you very much. Despite Amira giving him a thousand reasonable reasons why she couldn’t make it to one of his races, Carlos’s mind immediately jumped to the thought: “Doesn’t my little sister love me anymore?”

When Carlos finally ended his “short” call with Amira, which was only 4 hours long, he couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. Why does she have to work anyway? Their family is crazy rich; there is no reason for her to work. And why does she always have to show so much skin when she is playing the role of “Maddy Perez”? Why couldn’t Maddy wear hijabs instead of bikini tops?

Carlos was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear his room door opening. “Chilli, are you ready to go?” asked Charles, still unaware of the phone call that happened 10 minutes before. “Whoa, hey, are you alright? You look… interesting.” Charles didn’t want to be rude towards Carlos. After all, the two were like brothers. But Carlos honestly looked like hell. Wild hair, shaking hands, and haunted eyes. Charles carefully lowered himself in front of Carlos. He gently placed his hands on Carlos’s thighs, patiently waiting for an answer. Taking one of Charles’s hands in his own, he answered, “Lord Perceval, Amira called and… and she said—dios mío, I can’t even say it. Well, she said that she couldn’t make it to the race this weekend.” Carlos watched as Charles absorbed this information. Charles looked down, his breathing becoming louder. “Charlie, are you crying?” asked a tear-eyed Carlos. “No,” Charles muttered, his voice thick. “Charles, please don’t cry. If you cry, I have to cry as well,” Carlos informed him, tears running down his cheeks. The two crying Ferrari drivers looked at each other, both unable to stop crying. It took them 2 hours of hugging each other and crying together for them to calm down.

Something similar happened throughout the week to the others as well. Kika and Lily were heartbroken when they heard about Amira’s absence. Alex even had to sleep on the couch because, according to Lily, “The only one that should lie next to me is my girl.” Not that Alex didn’t agree with his girlfriend. Amira was supposed to lie between the couple, all three of them cuddling after some “night exercises.”

George and Carmen had a completely different reaction. They believed that their girl just forgot to open her calendar to the right month and that she meant to travel there. “Our poor darling probably got confused at the airport and jumped onto the wrong plane,” was George’s reasoning. Carmen agreed with him 100%. Their silly darling couldn’t survive without the couple by her side. She was truly made for them.

The worst reaction was Lando’s. When he was informed that Amira was currently filming a new season of Euphoria, Lando fainted. The journalist joked about Amira’s absence after the Qualifying. Lando, outperformed by Charles, only got P2 instead of P1. When the interviewer said something along the lines of “Maybe the absence of your lucky charm made you miss pole position,” Lando, who didn’t know this little piece of information, went deathly pale. In front of 28 cameras, he fainted. Max F. never let him live that down, always teasing him with “You fainted like a Disney princess, waiting for her prince.”

The only one who truly did anything after hearing about Amira was Lewis. His assistant quickly packed his bags and bought a one-way ticket to America. Nothing could stop him from visiting Amira. After a full day, he finally had the chance to knock on her front door. He was met with Amira’s surprised face. Before she had the chance to say anything, he wrapped his arms around her. “God, baby, I missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear, turning his face to kiss her temple. Slowly, the couple broke the hug, Lewis still keeping his hands wrapped around her waist. “Lewis, I’m really happy that you’re here. But to be honest, I wasn’t expecting any guests. I had so much filming to do, a Vogue photoshoot, helped a friend set up her apartment, taking care of MY apartment, looking for—” Lewis interrupted her ramble with a sweet kiss. “Don’t worry, love. I’m here to help you.”

Bonus (+)

Once again, Carlos’s hotel room was filled with the other drivers, except Carlos himself. All of them had their eyes on Charles, who was breathing into a paper bag. “Charles, can you tell us again what happened?” asked Pierre, who was sitting next to his best friend. After Lando rubbed his back some more, Charles started: “When Carlos called me, I immediately went to his room. When I arrived, he showed me inside. He was busy packing his bags, muttering about finally getting his revenge. He said things like, ‘I won’t let it go this time,’ ‘No one can stop me,’ and ‘This is the last time someone will ever see him.’ When I asked him what was happening, he just took my phone, showed me an article, and left. He didn’t say anything else.” After Charles’s little speech, the room plunged into silence. Oscar hesitantly asked, “Charles… what did you see?” Charles started crying again, showing his friends the mentioned article. It was filled with pictures of Amira and Lewis, all of them just a few hours old. “Oh shit. Lewis is a dead man,” muttered George, sharing a panicked look with Alex.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #amira sainz #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #pierre gasly x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x reader #george russel x carmen mundt x reader #alex albon x lily minu he x reader #oscar piastri x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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pastryfication · 8 hours

Text

meeting the family | logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x gn!reader

summary: you take logan to meet your extended family.

warnings: mentions of a harmonious, healthy family.

logan’s hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter than usual as he drove through the streets of your hometown. the calmness of the small town were a far cry from the busy streets and extravagant houses he was used to where his own family lived. his heart pounded with nerves as he glanced over at you, sitting in the passenger seat, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“it’s going to be fine, logan,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his arm. “my parents already love you. i’m sure everyone else is going to adore you as well.”

he gave you a nervous smile, his blue eyes betraying his anxiety. “i really hope so. i just want to make a good first impression.”

“you will,” you insisted. “just be yourself. then they’ll see why i love you.”

logan took a deep breath, nodding at your words. he had met your parents briefly before, but this was different. this was your mother’s birthday party, being thrown in your childhood home, and the entire extended family would be there. he felt the weight of the occasion heavy on his shoulders, knowing how important it was to you. you adored your family, and he wanted them to accept him so bad. it was incredibly important.

as you arrived at your family’s home, the warm, inviting atmosphere immediately eased some of logan’s nerves. the house was filled with the delicious aroma of a home-cooked meal, and laughter echoed from the backyard where the celebration was already in full swing.

“come on,” you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the crowd of people. you hadn’t seen them in forever, and you couldn’t wait to be reunited. “let’s introduce you to everyone.”

your boyfriend’s heart raced as he followed you, the sound of cheerful voices growing louder with each step. you first said a happy birthday to your mother, who greeted you both with a warm hug.

“logan, it’s so wonderful to finally have you here,” she said, her eyes twinkling with kindness as she gave him a genuine smile. your mother adored interacting with people. “we’ve heard so much about you.”

“it’s great to be here,” logan replied, feeling slightly more at ease.

as the introductions continued, logan found himself meeting uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents. each one welcomed him with open arms, their initial curiosity quickly turning into admiration. his manners were exceptional, and his nervous smile soon had everyone charmed.

throughout the evening, logan made an effort to engage with everyone. he listened attentively to stories about your childhood, laughed at family jokes, and even helped your dad with the barbecue, showing him how to do it in true american style, earning a nod of approval.

at one point, your little cousins dragged him into a game of football in the backyard. logan’s athletic skills quickly became apparent as he effortlessly maneuvered the ball, making the kids squeal with delight. it was clear that he was going easy on them, purposely losing the ball, and you smiled at the joy it brought your cousins. seeing him play so naturally with your family brought you immense happiness.

“he’s really something, isn’t he?” your mom said, standing beside you as you watched logan kick the ball around with the kids.

you nodded, your heart swelling with pride. “yeah, he is. i’m really lucky.”

your mom smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder. “and so is he. the two of you make a wonderful couple.”

as the night wore on, logan found himself relaxing more and more. your family’s warmth and acceptance melted away his initial nervousness.

your older cousins had dragged him away from you, probably to grill him, and you worried for a moment when you couldn’t spot them for several minutes, but they came back all sporting identical grins. it really seemed like the entire family had accepted him.

when it was time to cut the birthday cake, logan stood by your side, his arm around your waist as you rested your head against his bicep. your family gathered around, singing a birthday song for your mom. as she blew out the candles, she looked at you and and your boyfriend, her eyes filled with joy and pride.

“thank you for being here, logan,” she said, her voice sincere. “we’ve all been so excited to get to know you.”

logan smiled. he felt so welcome. “thank you for having me. it’s been an incredible night.”

later, as you and logan sat on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky, he turned to you, his expression soft and content.

“you were right,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “your family is amazing.”

you leaned even further into him. “i knew you would get along.“

logan kissed the top of your head, feeling a deep sense of happiness. “i love you,” he whispered.

“i love you too,” you replied, your heart feeling so full.

in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your family and the love you shared, logan knew that no matter where the races took him, he always had a home with you. and if all else went wrong, you could always escape here.

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zzoguri · 1 day

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finger trapped (ripped to its seams) ➵ myung jaehyun

myung jaehyun x reader

with an unexpected reunion, you and jaehyun relive the memories of cheongju—and confront what could’ve been between you two.

general genre/warnings ➵ friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward… i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so… parental issues, both of you come from cheongju for the sake of the story, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and jaehyun is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps aren’t efficient after all

word count ➵ 15.7k words

playlist ➵ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won’t work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneé rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth

a/n ➵ it's finally out! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. you can access the changmin & hanbin vers as well! please do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024

the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist stands—ready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.

but the newsroom is rarely busy unless there’s a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.

knowledge doesn’t only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. it’s only on the field that you’ll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.

“there’s a typo over there.”

“huh? where?”

“over here,” you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. “it’s supposed to say “with their climactic performance,” not climatic.”

“ah, i see it now. sorry about that,” lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you would’ve scolded the guy—go home and take a shower before you stink up the place—but you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.

“there we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?”

an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. “yeah, let’s go—”

“what’s the update?” life and arts editor kim namjoon—your editor—comes to you with a smile.

the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that he’s a little relaxed. for once, you don’t see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. it’s a nice sight but one that won’t last for long.

“we just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.” jihoon then looks at you. “i can’t believe you basically wrote seven articles. like, six profiles and one main article is a lot. you didn’t want to work on it with anyone else?”

once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. “i didn’t have a choice, did i?” it’s a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.

“unfortunately, we’re understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.” namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. “and as much as i’d love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.” without any further questions, the three of you resume with work.

there’s no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesn’t go unnoticed.

one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)

it should’ve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.

then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.

his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breath’s stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.

as your eyes drift through the passages you’ve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.

and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2019. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kim’s voice in the distance—i have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards you—i’ll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dream—

“i knew him.” the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoon’s eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. “we went to the same high school.”

you aren’t sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. it’s an old memory—your weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, you’re greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.

but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble nature’s symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.

for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all seven articles were ready to go up on the web.

“that’s all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?” jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.

“yeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.” namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. “let’s talk in my office.”

you don’t question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.

once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.

seconds pass and not a single word has been said—

“this place’s always alive,” your editor breaks the silence. “don’t you think so?”

you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.

“where’d you grow up again?”

you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. “cheongju.”

he hums. “i haven’t been there. nice place?”

“yeah, but i haven’t gone back in a while.”

“when was the last time?” his eyes finally meet yours.

your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. “2019, since i first left,” you admit.

“do you miss it?”

you’re not sure how to answer. the pavements you’ve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off of—do you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?

“is that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?” namjoon’s thumbs fiddle with each other. “because of your history with him?”

now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.

“i—i’m not a good person. and even if i didn’t make the choice to leave, i—” you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill.

“it’s okay, i understand. you don’t have to share it with me.” your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. “it must’ve been hard to relive it all.”

the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.

“so, don’t feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then i’ll be here.”

namjoon’s giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?

you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. “you know how i was a science major then?”

“yeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your university’s publication.”

your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. “i would’ve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.”

“really? like lab coat and all?”

as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. “yeah, lab coat and all! it’s crazy how my life was all set for that field, but i’m here now.” you look down at your arms. “i think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.”

namjoon nods at your words. “care to have lunch with me?” your eyes snap back to your editor. “i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

all you do is smile before getting off your seat.

spring of 2019

the season of spring has graced cheongju; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. it’s the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.

while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, you’re stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms.

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

“y/n.” you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. “let’s take attendance.”

with that, you’re beside her as you call out each name on the class list. it’s a quick process of saying your classmates’ names for them to respond in variations of “present,” until you reach the section of last names that start with an ‘m’.

“myung jaehyun.” no response.

you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.

“myung jaehyun?” when you’re met with the same reaction, you’re ready to mark the student absent—

“sorry!” the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. “sorry, i’m late.”

“oh, it’s okay! you arrived just in time.” ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, “y/n, proceed.”

myung jaehyun made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.

but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

once you’ve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. you’re ready to start the day with no bother but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“now, you can see in these,” your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and félix gonzález-torres, “that there are no borders to what constitutes art. and that’s not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.”

this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.

“as i mentioned before, i’ll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, i’m asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you aren’t working alone.” in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. “remember, inspiration doesn’t come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that you’ve never imagined.”

within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to others—even baek jiheon, aspiring valedictorian, didn’t enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didn’t enjoy her, either.) while you’re considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for them—

“hi!” in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. “do you have a partner already?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help but look him up and down. “no, why?”

“well,” jaehyun looks around the classroom, “everyone seems to have paired up except for us.” as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the dips engraved into his cheeks. “which leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.”

you don’t have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (“i’m sure they won’t mind being partners with you, right?” is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)

“unless we accept a failing mark, which i’m sure we both don’t want.” it’s not like jaehyun had a choice as well.

“okay.” with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. “we can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because i’ve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,” a cough leaves you, “training, i’m assuming, or rehearsals. i don’t really know what you call them.”

his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. “o—oh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.”

“same. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?”

with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. “great! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. park’s final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to hwang intak, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.

you don’t notice how long you spend staring at jaehyun until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each other—then, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you look back at jaehyun; he’s still looking at you.

his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksy’s works.

(you’re still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)

the first time you get to meet with jaehyun for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.

“don’t you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?”

your pencil taps against the notebook. “like, your dancing? with what?”

“whatever you like to do!” once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. “i mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?”

a scoff leaves you. “funny of you to assume that i have free time.”

“what’s your schedule like?”

“well, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.”

jaehyun reels at the thought of your schedule. “that’s brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.”

“yeah, but i’m sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training is…” his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. it’s the hope they hold that has you say, “admirable.”

a shy smile takes over his features. “yeah, but it’s only because my family is supportive of what i do.”

then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; it’s a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give up—until you settle for shaking them off.

you only muster out a hum.

“do you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?”

your lips trill. “i don’t know. watch something on youtube?”

his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this project—and you—until his eyes glint. “what do you do when you want to vent?”

“you sure have a lot of questions,” you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. “i can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.”

his eyebrows furrow. “but that wouldn’t make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.”

a beat passes.

he holds your gaze. “i want us to create something that shows us.”

inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps in—a moment only for you and him.

“i, uh, write,” you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.

“really? like, stories and poetry?”

you nod. “i like writing people’s stories more, but i do like making ones.” when you look back at jaehyun, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. “i would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhm—god this is embarrassing. forget about it.”

“huh? no, it isn’t!” he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. “i mean, you don’t have to share more if you really don’t want to, but i’d like to hear more about it.” and when his dimples appear, you almost can’t help but feel your face warm up.

“i’d make articles, i guess?” he nods along with your words. “i don’t know, it’s just interesting to hear about people’s lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?”

“that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

as you doodle on your notebook, you say, “yeah, it’s just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?” you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of jaehyun but his eyes remain on you.

“what if you interview me?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “you?”

“yeah,” he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. “think of me as your first interviewee if you want.”

the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. “huh? b—but, i don’t have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?”

when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shoulders—and his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like you’re about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you don’t know what he’s asking.

“let me draw it out for you.” you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you don’t miss his grin.) “you know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.” a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. “i don’t know if a collage would be okay.”

as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. “we can do papercut art? basically, it’s cutting up the article in a way to form an image.”

“oh, that sounds cool!”

“yeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.” a sigh leaves you. “it would be impossible for me to even do that.”

“that’s why you have me.” his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (you’re positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)

he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. “how do we feel about this?” on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as “photo of me” while the other is labeled “an article by y/n.” your head tilts. “it’ll be a three-set piece. so, it’ll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that we’ll make.”

you hum. “you know, you’re very creative.” you look at him only to see that he’s been staring at you. “like, you’re inclined to the arts. i wouldn’t have been able to think of something like this.”

“you’re just as creative,” he argues back as he writes down something.

you shake your head before retorting, “jaehyun, you’re very talented. i’ve seen the way you dance,” his movements halt, “and you’re like no other dancer i’ve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, i’m sure you’d do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.”

but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.

“i can get the photo sometime during my training,” he says as he hands you your notebook.

“then i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?”

he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. “that’s perfect! i’m looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.” you can’t help but scoff at what he calls you. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you shake your head. “it’s just a silly name.” because the reality is that you had your future planned out—and it definitely didn’t involve that field.

he shrugs. “i don’t know, i think it would fit you.”

“but you haven’t read any of my works.”

“but i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i don’t want you to feel ashamed of your works.” a fire ignites in your heart; it’s a fireplace.

you’re baffled that jaehyun, out of all people, now holds your secret, but you’re even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost can’t remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?

“anyway, i’ve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.” while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” as he takes off, you’re left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you don’t miss his little note—cute doodles btw <3

the season of spring has unfolded in cheongju; a single lilac has bloomed.

present -> a day before the interview, 2024

it’s a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and you’re in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, you’re left to scan through the same options you’ve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.

the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, you’d talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses he’s performed for you, you’re positive that he’ll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. you’ve seen her sketches and outfits she’s put together and you’re hoping that she’ll get accepted.

a sigh leaves you. you didn’t have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you weren’t seeking michelin-star food—all you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.

the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced tea—mr. kim’s convenience store had it all.

your tastebuds long for cheongju.

“planning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?”

you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. “i hate you.”

“what? i’m just saying, you’re taking a lot longer to decide today.” he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. “none of the options look good to you?”

“sort of,” you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. “i think i’m craving for something different.”

“i get it. the food here can get boring, which is why i’m planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.”

your eyebrows shoot up at jongseob’s suggestion. “really? you’d share pizza with me?”

“yeah, as long as you pay for your share.” he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. “unless… you want to pay for the whole thing.”

you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you should’ve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. “fine,” jongseob’s smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. “just order enough for us two.”

“of course,” he says as soon as you hand him some money. “i’ll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

you scoff at his joke. “just make sure to treat me to something.”

the bell by the door chimes. “sorry, can’t hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!” jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

then, you shut your eyes, and you’re transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kim’s korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including you—and you’re not alone.

your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. he’s lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for today’s afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought he’ll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and the dips in his cheeks appear—your heart thumps in your ears.

and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheongju, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.

but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. he’s grown a few inches taller and his hair doesn’t get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that he’s gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.

but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.

it’s a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with jaehyun. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time you’re there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?

you weren’t going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didn’t matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.

your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that might’ve caught his attention, but it didn’t matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. “i just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about… 20 to 30 minutes.”

“yeah, about that…”

“don’t tell me you’re taking your money back.”

at the sight of jongseob’s pout, you roll your eyes. “no, keep it. i just—i need to go.”

“what? why?”

you peek behind you. it seems like he didn’t recognize you, after all. “i’ve got… work!”

“but don’t you only have your interview with boynext—”

“hey!” your fingers snap at him. “you cannot—i mean, you just… just take the goddamn money.”

“but we’re supposed to share the pizza. you haven’t eaten.”

an exasperated sigh leaves you. “jongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.”

and you’re ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheongju—

“y/n?”

and the plan failed.

when you meet his gaze, you’re able to take in the different version of him. he’s grown so much—it’s such a pain that you weren’t there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you can’t identify them.

all it takes is one breath from you. “jaehyun.”

a beat passes.

“i’m just gonna… go through the storage,” jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, “and maybe kill myself afterwards. i don’t know.” before you can protest, he’s already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)

you and jaehyun were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

jaehyun’s fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitating—debating—on how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. “i… i wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”

“same here.” you lean your back against the checkout counter. “d—do you stay around this part of the city?”

he shakes his head. “i live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. i’m only here because…” your breath gets caught in your throat. “i don’t know.”

fate. that’s what brought us here.

“do you live here?”

you nod. “yeah, ever since—” the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.

for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples don’t appear. “i, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.”

“sorry about jongseob.” you whip out your phone and scold him through text. “he should be with us in a bit.”

jaehyun hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, “do you still like twin bar?”

“y—yeah.”

“still the grape flavor?” you don’t know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you don’t miss the slight stagger in his steps.

jaehyun finds his spot beside you. there’s still distance between you two—two tiles worth, enough space for one person—but it’s enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).

he scans jaehyun’s item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.

“oh, i’m paying—”

“no, let me,” jaehyun insists. “you can always treat me another time.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. jaehyun pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.

“i’ll just let you know when the pizza gets here.” his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.

you follow jaehyun outside to the tables in front of the mart. once he’s settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours.

while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, you’re left to swallow your own pride.

“i’ve seen your performances.” his chews halt. “you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”

with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. “i still have a long way to go.”

“you always say that, even back then.” a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. “but i admire your drive.” always have.

while a different version of jaehyun sits across you, the one you knew back in cheongju still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting five years later, he’ll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.

“there’s always room for improvement,” he says.

you hum along with his sentiment. “did you stick with early childhood education?” you’re met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the air—what did you deserve to know?

“sorry, i’m assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didn’t, by the way. and it’s also okay if you didn’t stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree before—”

“y/n,” he giggles, “you’re okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.” your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “i thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.” he lifts up the sandwich. “what about you?”

“uh, i ended up in the same course as well.” a hum of shock leaves jaehyun. “yeah,” you chuckle, “i managed to shift courses.”

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you.”

you smile at him. “thanks. now, i’m just—” you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? “—figuring things out.”

with your vagueness, jaehyun only nods before munching away. if there’s anything about you that still remains, it’s that you shouldn’t be pushed to share something you didn’t want to talk about. he still knew that.

as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.

“thanks.”

you shake your head. “don’t even worry about it. it’s only tradition.”

silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you can’t see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost can’t help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.

you glance at jaehyun who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if he’s fiddling with something.

as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, “did you ever think about coming back?”

you halt your movements. if there’s one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but you’re hit with an entirely different question, one you didn’t get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him.

because after all this talk about your yearning for cheongju, why didn’t you choose to visit? despite how much you long for mr. kim’s home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didn’t you ever come back?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheongju, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed jaehyun. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheongju.

despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasn’t always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, you’ve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you weren’t faced with jaehyun’s genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for him—regardless of your jealousy—because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

for a long time, you resented. now, it’s only guilt that held you back from going back to him.

so when you remain silent, jaehyun takes it as your answer.

and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheongju.

summer of 2019

it’s the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.

the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.

your room is your favorite place in cheongju. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.

and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where they’re off to—are they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?

despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it should’ve been easy. after all, you’ve become friends with the letters who’ve squeezed their way into math. once you’ve wrapped up on this assignment, you know you’ll wake up to another set of work to do. it didn’t help that you’re stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.

with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbers—

your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.

“what do you want?”

“the fuck? what’s wrong with you?”

you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. “i’m studying, you fucker.”

“on a sunday?” jaehyun’s question has you only groan. “what happened to resting?”

“i wish,” you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. “i’ve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. it’s annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i don’t know why it’s so hard.”

“awe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?”

your forehead rests on crossed arms. “yes. i think i’m going to die.”

“okay, then. i’ll take that as my sign.”

“sign to what?”

he chuckles as if it were obvious. “to save you! let’s go to mr. kim’s.”

a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. “no, i can’t. do you know what would happen if i don’t finish my kumon?”

“uh… no?”

“me, neither. i’m not taking my chances.”

“but, you’re not even doing anything!” jaehyun pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. “wouldn’t it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.”

as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?

but the answer was already clear. “give me 10 minutes.”

jaehyun laughs before you drop the call.

it’s the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kim’s favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.

“y/n, over here!” a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.

now, you’re certain that nothing could ever replicate this.

you walk towards jaehyun, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. “so, what do you want from here?” you ask.

“uh… i’ll be honest, i just realized i’m short on money.”

you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. “i’m short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?”

“no clue. i thought i’d have enough to get a summer crush,” jaehyun complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. “i hate inflation.”

“come on.” you fish out for the coins in your pocket. “let’s see how much we have together.” jaehyun does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.

“we can get a summer crush!”

“you can get one. i’ll be left with barely anything.” you look through the selection once more. “man, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.”

defeat casts over jaehyun’s features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.

“holy shit, it’s right there.”

“what?”

“there!” your finger points at the stack of twin bars. “we can probably get that and split it.”

jaehyun’s expression morphs into realization. “okay, let’s get—”

“dibs on grape.”

“dibs?” he furrows his eyebrows at you. “you can’t just call dibs. you’re doing it wrong. clearly, we should discuss—”

“nope,” you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. “i made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.”

“okay, but—”

“don’t tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.” as you continue to shut him down, he knows there’s no way around you.

(plus, he wasn’t a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)

“next time, we’re choosing a flavor that i want,” he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.

you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. he’s still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band you’re unfamiliar with. with how he sits, you’re afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you don’t say anything. he’ll only play it off and say he’s still one of the “youngins”... whatever that means.)

once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. “ah, my favorite kids! it’s nice to see you both.”

“yeah, it’s been a while,” jaehyun starts off. “y/n’s always busy with kumon.”

you narrow your eyes at the boy. “hey! you’re busy, too! you’ve been practicing at the studio almost every day!” the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. “every time i’m free, you’re not.”

“hey! whenever you’re free, i’m tired from training!”

“okay, let’s settle down,” mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. “isn’t the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?”

“yes, very much.” you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. “but,” you glance at jaehyun and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, “i don’t think we have a choice.”

in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days jaehyun ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.

“choice, no choice, people always say that.” mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what you’ve bought, he says, “everyone has a choice. i’m sure you two can figure it out.”

the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.

“don’t worry, mr. kim,” jaehyun nudges your shoulder. “i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” and when the dips in his cheeks appear, you find yourself smiling back.

maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.

“anyway, we’ll go ahead,” jaehyun bids farewell to mr. kim.

you giggle. “he means we’re just going to eat our ice cream at the front.”

as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. “you lovebirds go ahead. i’ll see you next time!”

“mr. kim!” you and jaehyun shout in unison before glancing at each other.

“what?!”

your best friend groans. “you know we aren’t together.”

“yeah! like, i can’t imagine it,” you join in.

still, the owner laughs at your reactions. “you two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.”

you roll your eyes at his words. “bye, mr. kim!”

with that, you and jaehyun were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. “i still can’t believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.”

“i know.” he tears the plastic wrapping off. “you would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but i’m starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.”

you hum. “i know. and i had ap stat while you had training.” your eyes dart at jaehyun who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. “oh my god, don’t tell me you can’t split it.”

“hey! it’s hard.”

as you giggle, you reach your hand out. “let me do it.” once jaehyun hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.

you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. “i know, i’m just better.”

“just shut up.” to that, another laugh leaves you.

under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you would’ve stared off to nowhere, you and jaehyun were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.

you can’t help but imagine what people saw—thought—of you and jaehyun. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?

“you know,” jaehyun starts off, causing you to look at him, “i was going through college courses the other day.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh?”

with your reaction, jaehyun giggles. “i was just curious, you know? not that i’m giving up on dance or anything, but,” he licks the popsicle, “early childhood education sounds cool.”

you hum. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“no, it’s not a bad thing!” you reassure the boy. “it’s just,” you rip your gaze off of jaehyun and look at the playground, “i always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.” the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you can’t help but smile. “but i don’t doubt it.”

the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. “what about you?” you look back at him. “would you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?”

you’re quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize it’s a serious question from him.

“no.” it’s a straightforward answer from you, but jaehyun could never settle with that

“why not?”

a sigh leaves you. “i just don’t consider it. i mean, i think about it,” all the time, “but not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.”

“but is it your dream?”

jaehyun’s question is an easy one to answer—not at all. you’ve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isn’t made for you.

but who’s to say that you’ll even enjoy journalism?

“we’ll see.” you leave it at that and jaehyun didn’t push for more.

because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parents’ disappointment—it wouldn’t only be from your lousy desires but from jaehyun’s role in your life.

the first time you mentioned jaehyun to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didn’t bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didn’t matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didn’t place first honors.)

with your parents’ oversight, something blossomed between you and jaehyun. from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.

all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand you—jaehyun’s not like you. he’ll only hold you back.

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with jaehyun, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

“how’s training?” you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to jaehyun’s flourishing ones.

“well, it’s a lot,” he chuckles as he munches a piece. “you already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.”

as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before jaehyun entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.

“you know, i never considered it before, but i like where i’m going,” he admits. “even if i’ve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.”

jaehyun knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.

“and you will,” you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you don’t know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think he’ll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will jaehyun get mad at you for something you didn’t know was wrong? would he be just like them?

“i want to make you proud.”

that’s enough to answer it all.

you shake your head. “don’t even doubt that for a second.” your arm finds it spot back to your side, and jaehyun’s loops his with yours.

although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows.

“i am proud of you,” you tell him. “always have, always will.” he can’t help but smile. all you can hope is that he’ll listen closely to your voice.

“i almost forgot,” he says out of nowhere.

“forgot what?”

as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. “close your eyes.” you furrow your eyebrows. “just do it!” you follow his orders. “and keep them closed, okay?” you let out a hum.

before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you would’ve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut.

“okay, open.”

your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. it’s a finger trap—and the other end is connected to jaehyun. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.

it’s the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. “no matter what happens, we’ll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.”

he’s filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you can’t help but hope as well.

all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.

you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama he’s watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

it’s no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, you’re with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her article’s first close.

“do you think dokyeom will be late?” you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.

she laughs. “when is he never? minho’s always assigning him coverages.”

“that’s true.” your eyes drift to the hallway. “i’m just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?”

“over another bet? or you saving his ass?”

“over helping him with an article,” you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. “for some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.”

“holy shit.” chaeyeon continues with her work. “i didn’t expect you to work on anything sports-related.”

“yeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.” you only know who to thank. “i’m going to make sure i get compensated for that. i’m planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. that’s if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.”

with the mention of the tardy writer’s name, he’s scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.

“speak of the devil,” you say as you stand up straight. “why do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.”

dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. “i’ll have you know that wasn’t the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.” before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. “damn, tough life at news.”

“no need to point out the obvious, doofus.”

“wow, harsh,” he replies to her insult. “just so you know, i bought food for us.”

“thank god,” you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. “oh my god, thank you for getting me this.” you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.

“yeah, i know. i’m just the best.” his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. “but thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldn’t stand in to help out.”

“it’s fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,” you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you can’t help but let out a quiet moan. “holy fuck, i’ve been craving this.”

“i made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.”

“yeah, i saw. thank you.” you split the chopsticks with one hand. you’re about to mix the bowl of your favorite food—

“is y/n here?” your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.

“yes?”

namjoon’s gaze lands on you. “can i talk to you for a bit?”

despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. “i hate you.”

“hey, what did i do?!” you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editor’s office.

once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. “you can take a seat,” he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.

the moment he hits the ‘enter’ key is when he finally looks at you. “sorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.”

“sorry about that,” you start off. “dokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since i’m familiar with dance, anyway.”

namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “it is fine, just make sure to inform us.” you only nod.

“anyway, i’m sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that you’d appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,” he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. “i have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.”

over the sight of your wide eyes, he can’t help but chuckle. “it’s seven articles,” he says and your mouth gapes over the number. “well, one main article and six profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.” his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.

“namjoon, that’s… a lot.”

“yes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know i’m asking for a lot but i’ll make sure to help you out with them. it’s just that we’re working on a time crunch and i don’t know anyone else i can ask but you.”

the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.

“profiles, like, those q&a transcripts?” you ask.

he nods before saying, “yes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. i’m just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. i’ll make sure to help out with the profiles.”

namjoon’s trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.

“okay.”

a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. “thank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. i’ll make sure to send you the details about this once i’m done with my appointments, and then we can see how we’ll divide the work later on.” he types something. “we’re covering a k-pop group which is why there’s one main article about the whole group and then six profiles.”

“yeah, i figured that out.” this isn’t anything out of your usual articles. “can i ask who we’re interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.” you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.

“don’t know if you’re familiar with them but they’re called boynextdoor?” you still in your seat. “wait, let me check. yes, that’s their name.”

“boynextdoor?”

namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows. “yeah. do you know them?”

you shake your head without a second thought. “no, i don’t think i do,” you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.

the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes they’ve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, they’re filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.

but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheongju seep through the cracks.

you clear your throat as you straighten your back. “i’ll be sure to research them.” you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.

a sigh leaves him. “okay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.”

he doesn’t push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)

it was never going to be easy.

“honestly, i gave up expecting to win as we practiced,” the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they don’t forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.

a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.

“oh, everyone behind us is crying!” another member points out as the camera captures the team’s bittersweet cries.

and when you catch sight of the brunette who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

such a tender moment happened a year ago; it’s shorter than the amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did jaehyun undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?

but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?

what did he go through without you?

you don’t forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. it’s a jaehyun focus. you don’t hesitate to click it.

the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.

and there they come—his dimples appear.

it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, jaehyun’s familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.

in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where he’s positioned.

jaehyun is meant to be on the stage—no, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.

you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. he’s grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.

as their performance comes to an end, you don’t bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.

fall of 2019

out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph into shades of oranges and browns. it’s a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.

it’s a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.

“you’re always like this,” your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. “always so sensitive. we’re just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?” to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future.

while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.

“answer us when you’re being talked to.” your father snaps you out of your thoughts. “what have you been doing for your grades to drop?” you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for.

with your silence, your mother sneers. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you do your own things. i told you so.” she shifts her gaze to him. “what did i tell you about y/n? you know they’ll only slack off!”

“i thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.” your father’s glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you don’t know how to swim in the foggy ocean.

“i know why.” she crosses her arms. “it’s because of that jaehyun boy, isn’t it?” she says his name laced with disgust.

you don’t think twice to defend him. “no, it isn’t!”

“don’t you dare talk back at me!”

“but i’m not! he’s done nothing.”

your father begins to raise his voice. “and that’s what’s wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesn’t care about his future.”

you always knew it would be a losing battle, but you’ll put up the fight to protect your best friend’s name. “that’s not true! he does care. he’s planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.”

“that job has no money. see, i can already see that you’re being influenced by him,” he argues back.

and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. “stop saying that about him!”

a beat passes.

“i don’t want you hanging out with him.”

“but—”

“shut up.” your mother’s words cause you to look up, meeting your parents’ faces filled with anger. “go to your room. now.” you’re nothing but a puppet for them.

was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?

despite the safety of your room, you don’t let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.

waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheongju? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?

but would you allow the waves to send you away from jaehyun?

your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you don’t think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.

as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you whole—the slow, burning pain that comes with drowning won’t compare to the burns that haven’t healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.

were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?

are you not enough?

then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, jaehyun is by your window.

you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. “are you okay?” he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. “what happened?”

you break eye contact. “what do you want, jaehyun?”

“you didn’t pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldn’t reach you,” he starts to explain.

you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. “i’m fine. my phone died.” as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesn’t believe you. “i said i’m fine.”

“i didn’t say anything.” for you are an open book to him.

he opens his arms towards you—it’s your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his dimples appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.

breathe in. breathe out.

his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.

breathe in. breathe out.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.

the tears hit jaehyun’s neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.

yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.

in your time knowing jaehyun, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?

because you didn’t know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.

jaehyun moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t there for you when you needed it then.” his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you blubber out to his neck.

“and you didn’t, as well.” his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. “and i want you to know that i’ll be here for you.”

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you.

now, your home is jaehyun.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

something about the newsroom feels odd to you. there’s nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. it’s a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesn’t resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“where is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. “when is he never?”

“maybe if he finishes his coverages on time then he’d be getting enough sleep. then, he won’t be late.”

you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. “you know that’s not true.”

she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. “yeah. apparently, if you have free time, you’re not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.” you grab your drink before facing her. “am i not allowed to do something else that’s not related to my job? i swear, this is why i’m single.”

“then date another journalist.” your joke earns a scowl from her.

“i’m never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,” she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, “a long distance relationship with how much they’ll never see or have time for each other.”

a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. “true.”

as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you can’t see his face, you spot what’s in his hand and you halt in your tracks—a finger trap.

“hey, is there someone there?” your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, he’s already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.

the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you weren’t done with your work. thankfully, it’s nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.

“there you are!” chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. “were you working on your articles again?”

“actually, i went out last night.” while you shake your head at dokyeom’s reveal, chaeyeon gasps. “yeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!”

as he nods proudly at last night’s events, she complains, “are you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.”

“i’m in sports,” he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. “you’re in news.” at this point, you’re expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.

“hey, did you hear though? there’s a k-pop group in the building.” you glance at chaeyeon.

your other friend leans on the cubicle. “really? who?”

“no clue.”

dokyeom lets out a groan. “what type of journalist are you if you can’t find out?”

“yah!” chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. “says you who can never submit on time.”

“hey, i’ll have you know that minho has been understanding!”

“whatever.” she rolls her eyes before looking at you. “that means you’ll probably be handling them. i hope they’re cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.”

a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. “i’m never dating an idol. i’d get hunted down by their fans.”

“yeah, but can’t you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?”

the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with jaehyun then—one you still cling onto.

yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. “not even.”

it’s a life you’ll keep to yourself.

“what’s the update?”

the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.

“ah, namjoon! you’re dressed so nice today.”

with dokyeom’s compliment, he can’t hold back on his smile. “thank you. are you guys done with your articles?”

as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. “and done! i just finished addressing your comments.”

“great. thanks, y/n.”

“do you have something?” chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.

namjoon nods before saying, “i just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.”

“is this the one with the k-pop group?” as dokyeom asks the question, you can’t help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.

your editor chuckles. “yes.”

“can we know—”

“no, you can’t know.”

chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. “not even a hint?”

namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. “good work, y/n!” he calls out before leaving you three alone.

“man, namjoon never tells us shit,” chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.

“to you guys, at least,” you argue with a small shrug.

still, the gut feeling remains.

something about the newsroom feels odd to jaehyun. while he’s had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that there’s something in the office. yet, the tug isn’t one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, he couldn’t shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. “i’ll go,” he says as he gets off his seat.

namjoon slowly stands up. “okay, i can bring you there—”

“it’s okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,” jaehyun says before walking to the door. “you can discuss the details without me first.”

with his manager’s nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. “okay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...”

jaehyun exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback they’ve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?

with his mind on these questions, he doesn’t realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what they’re trying to say.

he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasn’t heard in years. his muscles freeze.

when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?

his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief.

it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? it’s been five years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.

he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.

maybe he’ll hold out a little longer.

winter of 2019

out of all the seasons, jaehyun’s favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, jaehyun prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.

he can’t wait to share this season with you.

yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs.

“is y/n really not going to school anymore?” jaehyun looks up from his desk to see jiheon standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. “are they not going here anymore?”

he frowns. “huh? what kind of rumor is that?”

“i don’t know. it’s what people have been saying,” she says as she crosses her arms. “i asked because i wanted to know if my competition’s gone, you know? and you’re the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.”

jaehyun laughs in disbelief. “no, i was with them last week.”

when jaehyun last saw you, you asked for space. with what’s been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didn’t want to intrude in anything you didn’t want him to be a part of. still, jaehyun reminded you that he’ll be there if you need him.

“damn, that sucks,” jiheon groans as her shoulders slump. “these stupid rumors.” as soon as she leaves jaehyun alone, he shakes his head.

the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who aren’t on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. “baek jiheon, you’ll be in charge of attendance today.”

as jaehyun’s classmate gets off her seat, he can’t help but look at your desk that still remains empty.

“you have to message us when you land,” your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. “answer me properly.”

“yes, i will.”

once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. “don’t forget why we’re sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.”

your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from jaehyun. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavier—will you stand or crumble under it?

“who’s that?”

you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. “nothing. it’s just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.” at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“well, go on.” your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, “don’t forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you won’t get to study abroad like we planned.” her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.

“okay.”

as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheongju; you’d be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. it’s time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.

yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them should’ve given you the space to breathe, a relief you’ve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that you’re out of their sight—and with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.

the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheongju that you pass by births a storm within you. you didn’t want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didn’t have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.

the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kim’s convenience store is still open. you’ll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.

then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kim’s homemade peach iced tea.

and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his finger—the other end holds no one.

as quickly as you came into jaehyun’s life, he disappears from your view.

finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption won’t let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, it’ll let you go with no harm.

but your finger trap with jaehyun was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

interview

q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?

a: i’ve always loved dancing. growing up in cheongju, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and i’m glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.

q: compared to your other members, you’ve spent a lot of years dancing and training to become an idol. what kept you going throughout your years of training?

a: my family’s support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and brother were always there to support and [take] care of me. but i’d also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.

q: is there anything you’d like to say to those who’ve supported you as boynextdoors’s myung jaehyun? a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasn’t easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my brother, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that i’m forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [boynextdoor], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. i’m glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. onedoor, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldn’t be boynextdoor’s leader or myung jaehyun if it weren’t for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope you’ll always be proud of me the same way i’ll forever be proud of you.

taglist: @kflixnet @blankjournal @blissfullsvn @lovialy

#works of moni #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #boynextdoor #myung jaehyun #myung jaehyun x reader #myung jaehyun fluff #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor fluff #myung jaehyung imagines #boynextdoor imagines #myung jaehyun angst #boynextdoor angst

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arjwrites · 2 days

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Take A Picture, It'll Last Longer- Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: While hunting with the Winchesters, you had picked up a disposable camera to capture some memories. Each photo represented an important point in your collective journey- all the while, hinting at a budding connection behind the scenes. Warnings: None! Largely gn, but reader is occasionally referred to as "she." Slight language here and there, mostly just silly fluff! A/N: Another idea of mine that has been kicking around for a while. I hope the Sam crew appreciates this! <3

“Alright boys, hold up those shovels!!” You were perched on top of a neighboring gravestone, disposable camera held close to your face.

“You’re kidding, right? We are literally desecrating a grave, and you’re snapping pictures? This could be used as evidence one day!” Of course Sam was throwing sass. He could never just sit there and look pretty for you.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta preserve this stuff for posterity! Sam and Dean Winchester, in their natural habitat!” you laughed.

Dean, in sharp contrast to his brother’s protests, instantly struck a pose, slinging the shovel over one shoulder and gazing dramatically to the horizon like an action hero. Huffing, realizing he was outnumbered on this matter, Sam limply lifted the shovel in one hand, popped a thumbs-up with the other hand, and slapped a forced, sarcastic smile on his face.

“Perfect! Now they’ll also get to witness each of your unique brands of bullshit!”

Sam crossed his arms in a (slightly) feigned offense, looking to Dean for backup. Dean simply shrugged- “I mean, she’s got us there. That’s pretty much our bullshit in a nutshell.”

Sam fought hard to stifle the smile that was working its way to the surface. She knew them too well.

–

“What are you looking at?” Your voice broke the silence that had been dragging on for longer than you even remembered. The question had came out a little sassy, which you didn’t intend, but you were feeling a little defensive. There was no way Sam was staring at you for any good reason. You were nested against the arm of one of the motel couches, piled high in lore books, researching while sporting an unbrushed head of hair and last night’s pajamas. It was noon. Not your best look.

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry.” He held your gaze just a moment longer before returning to his work, smiling down into his laptop. You hummed, satisfied, until you felt his eyes peek back up at you.

“Hey, take a picture, Winchester! It’ll last longer!” You laughed, hiding your hint of insecurity with a bit of sass. It was a joke- completely a joke, and you thought Sam had taken it as such, until…

“You know what? You’re right. Don’t move a muscle.” Sam held his hands out as if to freeze you in your current position, turning on the dramatics as he backed away slowly before spinning on his heels to run to your side of the room.

“Sam-”

“I said don’t move!” He taunted over his shoulder.

You heard Sam rustling through your bag, but you didn’t dare turn to look- you figured you’d humor him and comply with the ridiculous request. Sam returned to his perch on the couch across from you, a grin adorning his face and the camera looking comically small in his large hand. He cranked the dial, lined it up with his right eye, and called out- “Say cheese!”

“Cheeeeeese!” You laughed, bathing in the blinding brightness- both from the camera’s flash and Sam’s mile-wide smile. If only the photo had been captured from your point of view- you could stare at that face forever.

–

“Alright everyone, gather around!” Dinner was finished, the dishes were done, a fresh round of beers were cracked. What better time for you to call for a little family photo?

“Here we go again with the paparazzi,” Bobby gruffed, ruffling your hair as he passed you.

“Excuse me, it’s called being the family historian. We need to record this touching memory!”

“Alright alright, get over here, everyone,” scolded Sam with a lighthearted tone. Having him on your side was helpful- his long arms corralled the whole crew with ease, gathering everyone in front of the couch. You smiled a silent thank you, and he winked at you in return, sending your heart aflutter.

While the team of men behind you figured out the ideal photo formation amongst themselves, you prepped the camera, winding the dial and propping it up on the tv stand while making sure to get the angle just right. After this there would only be one picture left on the camera- you had to make sure to save it for something really good.

Dean stood behind the couch, arms draped over the shoulders of Bobby to his left and Cas to his right. While Dean was already cheesing, Bobby and Cas weren’t quite as natural in front of the camera- it was taking them a second to settle in. Sam, however, was sat down on the couch, arms outstretched to beckon you in. Eager to get the picture taken, you clicked the button to trigger the countdown.

“Alright, we’ve got ten seconds everyone!” You raced over to plop yourself down next to Sam, who almost instictively wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in as close as possible. You tensed a bit, nerves on fire due to your intimate proximity to him, but your face beamed with joy. In the last few seconds before the photo snapped, Sam pressed a sneaky, soft kiss to the side of your head, returning to his former pose just before the final flash went off. Though you were able to calm your bugging eyes in the nick of time, there was little you could to stop the searing heat that flushed to your cheeks. God, you hoped that wouldn’t show up in the picture.

–

It had been a few months since any of you had so much as thought about that camera. Life had gotten a bit busy, to say the least. The end of the world had brought with it plenty of trials and tribulations, and left very little time for photo ops. That being said, you had finally reached a long awaited moment of peace. Things had died down, and there was a brief moment for you and the Winchesters to catch your breath and lay low for a bit.

It was well past midnight, and a quiet had fallen over the bunker- not the usual tense, fearful, impending-doom type of quiet. This was much more peaceful. Typically, at this hour of the night, the three of you would still be up researching or figuring out plans for your next move. Tonight, however, Dean had been able to hole himself up in his room for a while, trying to get some kind of sleep, which wasn’t usually an option for him. After dozing off and on unsuccessfully for a few hours, he emerged from his room, in search of something he knew would help knock him right out- a snack.

Drudging down the hall, Dean was drawn away from his intended destination after noticing the blue glow and soft buzz still emitting from the television. Thinking Sam had left it on before heading to bed, Dean rerouted his path in order to switch it off, mumbling to himself that this was not his job. His frustration remained up until he was able to fully take in the scene in front of him. There on the couch lay you and Sam, fast asleep. Sam’s massive frame dwarfed yours as he held you from behind, face firmly planted in your hair. One of your arms curved in front of you to wrap itself around Sam’s, and the other flopped off the couch, the TV remote dangling loosely in your grasp. Dean felt far too sappy even thinking it, but he could’ve sworn he had never seen either of you two so peaceful.

After smiling down on the two of you for a few seconds shy of creepy, Dean had a realization. He tiptoed out, careful not to disturb you two, and beelined for a little something he had recently discovered, stashed in a junk drawer. The disposable camera, long forgotten, with only the space for one serendipitous photo remaining. “Finally, you two,” Dean whispered, punctuating his sentence with the quiet click of the camera. He’d been betting on this for months, and now, you and Sam could never live it down.

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #supernatural x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fic

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therealcocoshady · 3 days

Note

If you’re taking requests, could you do one with Marshall and a plus size reader? Maybe how she doesn’t think she’s good enough for him and he makes sure she knows that she’s everything to him?

All of you ❤️

Author’s Note : THANK YOU for requesting this ❤️. As a plus size gal myself, it’s not always easy to identify with a Y/N reader 👀. So I really enjoyed writing this and I identified with the struggle ! I had fun writing this and I hope you will enjoy it. Just so you know, I write for everyone and y’all are free to imagine Reader as a plus size person ❤️

You were in your bed, mindlessly watching Marshall get ready for his day. You had a full two hours before you had to prepare for work and you had no plans of getting up before you absolutely had to. Not when the view was so tempting… On mornings when you woke up together, you enjoyed watching him get ready. He always woke up early, sticking religiously to his routine : shower, get dressed, go back to his place, gym, breakfast, and then work. You usually weren’t too talkative in the morning, enjoying cuddling and simply looking at him instead of speaking actual words. The two of you had such a chemistry that conversation wasn’t really needed most of the time. Marshall had grown accustomed to your silence and, usually, he didn’t speak much either. That morning, however, he took you by surprise.

- By the way, I wanted to ask you something, before I go, he said as was putting his clothes on.

- Mmmh ? You asked, still staring at his ass which was perfectly showcased by his boxers.

- Are you free next weekend ? I have this charity thing, I need a date, he said with a smile.

- What ? You asked confused.

- Quit staring at my ass and start listening, doll, he said playfully.

- No, no, I heard you, you said. You’re not going with Paul ? He usually goes to things with you.

- He’s going to be there, he hummed. But I get to bring a +1.

- And you want me ? You asked with a raised eyebrow.

- Well, what date could be better than the person I’m dating ? He chuckled. Plus, you could meet people, for your foundation.

- Wait… what ? You asked again.

- You should really get an appointment with an ear doctor, he pointed out. I said-

- We’re… dating ? You asked.

He was going to say something but instead, he stared at you with his mouth slightly open and a confused expression on his face. That was new. In the three months you’d been seeing each other, you had never left him speechless, except during sex. You had connected via work. You were a successful entrepreneur who had decided to give back to your community by helping the young women of Detroit through your foundation and had met him at a Charity event sponsored by his very own Marshall Mathers Foundation. You had immediately clicked and had spent the evening glued to each other, talking all this charity and your shared love of Detroit. You had been inseparable ever since and, to be fair, you hadn’t spent a lot of nights apart since you met, but you didn’t really consider that dating. Not that you’d be against it, of course. Marshall was definitely a catch and anyone would be lucky to be his girlfriend, but the notion that he would be willing to date you seemed ridiculous in your eyes. There was attraction and chemistry - that was painfully obvious - but you knew that men like him wouldn’t date women like you. You had been used to this your whole life : men would flirt with you, be willing to fuck you, see you in private, but wouldn’t consider dating you. Perks of being a curvy woman : men fantasizing about your body while being too ashamed to date you publicly. It had once been painful but you were used to it by now. You assumed Marshall was no different. He could have absolutely anyone, why would he want to date you ? You saw it as just a nice friendship and some mind-blowing sex behind closed doors but you didn’t want to get too attached and risk getting hurt. You’d been there, done that, and you were not a teenage fool anymore.

- We’re not ? He finally asked with a raised eyebrow and a sour expression.

- We never talked about it, you said.

- I didn’t think we needed to, he said as he scratched the back of his head. We sleep together nearly every night, I have toiletries in your bathroom and I know your Starbucks order by heart. What do you call that ?

- Casual sex, convenient hygiene and nice morning coffee ?

- Well that’s good to know, he scoffed as he put on his jeans.

Now he seemed pissed. He continued to get dressed in silence, searching for his clothes with his eyebrows furrowed.

- I’m sorry, you said as you got out of bed and walked to him.

- Don’t be, he said dryly. If anything, I’m sorry I assumed there was anything between us.

- No, there is, you said. I just didn’t think… I don’t know…

- What ? He sighed.

- I thought all you wanted was a good time, you shrugged. You know… as in, casually.

- I do recall specifically telling you I like you, he pointed out. And you saying it back.

- It wasn’t, like… in a friendly way ? You asked.

- For fuck’s sake, Y/N, we were both naked in your bed, he scoffed. Or should I be worried you do that with all your friends ?

- I don’t, you said as you blushed. But, you know, it’s not like we ever went on an actual date. I don’t know… I think I misread the situation. I’m sorry.

- Right, he said as he cleared his throat.

You looked at each other in an awkward silence. He put on his tee-shirt and stood close to you. His expression had turned to something hard to read and you were not sure what was on his mind.

- So… what do you think ? He asked.

- About what ? You asked carefully.

- Jesus Christ, you’re not helping me here, he sighed. About this dating thing. Is that something you’d like ? Dating me ?

- Oh, you said with a hint of surprise. Ye-yes. Of course.

- Good, he said with a hint of a smile. That saves me some embarrassment.

- What embarrassment ? You asked with a small smile.

- I might have been referring to you as my girlfriend for a while, he said almost timidly.

You opened your eyes a little wider and almost gasped. Knowing the hottest man you’d ever been with had been referring to you as his girlfriend to other people was definitely surprising to you, who had been kept a secret by so many men in the past. You tried to keep your composure, though your heart sure skipped a beat at the thought that Marshall Mathers was your boyfriend. It felt like learning you’d won the lottery three months ago but had no idea up until now.

- Would have been a shame if you’d had to go back on that statement, you said with a small smile.

- indeed, he chuckled. Imagine their faces if I told them I’d thought wrong all along. They’d make fun of me for the rest of my life and even after.

You both burst out laughing. He smiled and pulled you to him before kissing you lovingly, smiling into the kiss. You leaned into the embrace as he placed his hands on your waist, digging his fingers in your skin through the fabric of your silk nightgown.

- You’re so beautiful in the morning, he whispered. Such a vision. I don’t see that often enough.

- Because I usually stay in bed, you said as you blushed. You always wake up so early…

- Now I’m going to start to force you to get up as early as I do, he said. Because depriving me of this view is criminal. Who looks so stunning in a nightgown, seriously ? That’s ridiculous.

You felt your face turning bright red. He was always so good at telling you how attractive he thought you were and it never failed to make you blush. He kissed you again, more passionately this time.

- I have to go, he whispered. My personal trainer’s waiting for me…

- I could be your personal trainer, you said seductively. I have a little workout in mind…

- You temptress, he groaned. That’s not fair.

You giggled and grabbed his hand in an attempt to lure him back to bed. Now that you were fully awake and energized, there was no reason for you to miss an opportunity to have Marshall pleasure you.

- I really can’t, he said with a frown. See you tonight ?

- Sure, you said with a small pout.

- I’ll make it up to you, he promised.

- You better, you said with a smile.

He kissed you and went on his way, after throwing you a longing glance. You went back to bed and reached for your Satisfyer which, though it was effective, didn’t compare to Marshall.

You had a long and boring day at your office, filled with meetings with shareholders and paperwork. Your company was growing and, though you enjoyed the success and profit, it was a lot of work you didn’t enjoy. You had always thought of yourself as a creative and you weren’t the type to enjoy meetings. You took a small break, taking a much needed respite in your office when your assistant came to find you, bringing a huge bouquet of red roses.

- Nice way of asking for a raise, Natalie, you giggled.

- They’re not from me, boss, she said with a smirk.

She handed the bouquet to you and you grabbed the card that read « Be ready at eight. I’m taking you on an actual date. - Your boyfriend ❤️ ». It brought the biggest smile to your face and you forgot your assistant’s presence for a second.

- Investor trying to woo you ? She asked.

- My boyfriend, you hummed with a smile.

- I… didn’t know you had a boyfriend, she said with a smile. That’s new.

- I’m as surprised as you are, you said with an enigmatic voice.

You felt like a schoolgirl who had a boyfriend for the first time, butterflies in your stomach. Somehow, this renewed your motivation and you went on with your day. You went home and prepared for your date. At 8:00 sharp, you heard a knock on the door and you were greeted by your smiling boyfriend. He took you to dinner in a nice restaurant, and you got to enjoy a nice meal in a private room. It was technically your first date but it was all effortless. You were talking, fingers intertwined.

- Oh by the way, I have something for you, he said as he reached in his pocket.

- What is it ? You asked.

- The invite for the event I told you about this morning, he replied with a smile. There’s a dress code and stuff. I thought you might want to have the information.

- Thanks, you said as you grabbed the paper.

From the looks of it, it was set to be quite the event. Very exclusive, gathering philanthropists… and extremely classy as well. It was black tie, with mandatory tuxedos for men and floor-length gown for women, with a theme as well. According to the invite, there was to be a cultural performance as well as a silent auction, benefitting a Detroit arts institute.

- That’s… something, you said.

- I know you’re just starting out with your foundation, but I think you might meet a lot of like-minded people, he said. In a few months since starting it, you’ve done a great job and I’m sure people would like to contribute. You might also gain publicity.

- There’s going to be press ? You asked nervously.

- Just for the red carpet, he shrugged. But it’s only a couple of photographers, there’s not going to be tons of people either. It’s rather quiet, actually. Focusing on the good deeds instead of the publicity. That’s what’s nice about it. Otherwise, I would just write a check, send Paul and skip the whole thing.

- Ok, you said quietly. Good to know.

- Is there something wrong ? He asked.

- No, no, you said.

- Liar, he said with a grin. What’s wrong, beautiful ?

- Don’t you think it would be more… practical for you to take your assistant ? You asked.

- I could take her, he admitted. But I’d rather take you.

- Ok, you said with a shy smile.

- I know you’re the quiet type, he said as he stroked your hand. It’s just opera, dinner, a silent auction, and it’s for a good cause. Don’t sweat it.

- I… I don’t have a dress, though, you said. To fit the theme.

- Looks like you’re gonna have to shop, he chuckled. And I know it’s not a problem for you. I mean… I’ve seen your closet.

You smiled and agreed to look into it. You put the invite in your bag and went back to enjoying Marshall’s company. After dinner, you went back to your place. You joked about making him wait until the fifth date to « seal the deal » but he reminded you that the it had, indeed, been sealed on the very first night you met. And if the reminder wasn’t enough, his lips against yours and the promise to make you see stars convinced you to let him take you to bed.

In the following days, you were in a state of bliss. In actuality, much didn’t change. You still got to wake up next to Marshall, still shared your nights with him and exchanged sweet texts during the day, as it had been the case ever since you had first met, but it felt different. If you were being honest, you still had trouble believing that this man wanted to date you. You felt like the luckiest woman on earth. However, your good mood was soon ruined by your search of the perfect dress to wear to the event. Not only was it sort of short notice but you also had to face another obstacle : it was a glamorous event and a lot of high fashion brands didn’t cater to « your size ». Money wasn’t a problem but it wasn’t even the issue here : there was no way you could find something to wear, that would quit the theme, be elegant enough and be flattering. Even Natalie, your assistant who was usually able to make magic happen, didn’t manage to find a solution to your problem. You could already see the disaster happen : you’d be the worst dressed person there, and everyone would see how terrible of a match you were for Marshall, who everyone deemed as the most eligible bachelor in Detroit. You knew it was probably stupid to have a meltdown over an outfit but you were brought back to your younger days, when everyone would make fun of your weight and you were told that no one would ever date you. There you were now, a successful entrepreneur, feeling worthless in spite of your many accomplishments. As usual, Marshall joined you in the evening but you failed to put on a happy face and he seemed to pick on it right away.

- What’s up ? He asked.

- Nothing, you mumbled evasively.

- I think I found your one and only flaw, he chuckled. You’re a terrible liar. Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.

- I doubt you can, you sighed. I just… it’s stupid.

- Is that about the new investors you told me about ? He asked.

- No, you said. It’s about… whatever.

It was so silly, so childish that you were ashamed of telling him that you were feeling self-conscious. You were used to putting on your best foot forward and, most of the time, you felt empowered as a plus size woman. But even the strongest women have their moments of weakness and you were no exception. You looked down, hoping he would drop the subject. Bit much to your dismay, he did not.

- Tell me, he said as he cupped your cheek.

- It’s about the charity thing, you admitted with a sigh.

- What about it ? He asked.

- I can’t find a dress, you explained. I’ve been searching high and low and I can’t find anything. It’ll be a total embarrassment, I can already see it.

- That’s it ? He asked with a smile. You’re just worried about a dress ?

- Whatever, you groaned. I don’t expect you to get it. I just… look, just take someone else. It’ll be better for everyone.

- You’re going to pass on an opportunity to meet people for your foundation and do good because you can’t find a dress you like ? He asked with a frown. That’s… unlike you.

- I’m going to pass on an opportunity to embarrass us both, you snapped. You don’t want to take me. I’d feel like a charity case anyway.

He took your hand and you both sat on the sofa. You were avoiding his gaze. You couldn’t stand to feel his eyes on you. All you wanted was to disappear.

- why is that ? He asked

- Come on, you scoffed. We don’t need to address the elephant in the room.

- What elephant ? He asked again with a confused expression.

- Me ! You almost cried. I-I’m the elephant. Both literally and figuratively. Have you seen me ?

- I have, he said calmly.

- So you see what I’m getting at, don’t you ? You asked with tears in your eyes. Do you really want to take this to that event ?

You gestured at your body. The very one you tried to love but often ended up despising. The one you had been living it for years, that was both your friend and your worst enemy. Tears started streaming down your cheeks and you cried in frustration. Of course you’d never be good enough for him. You were not enough and too much at the same time. Not enough because he was himself, the successful Detroit prodigy, most attractive man on earth in the eyes of many. Too much because there was literally too much of you and your body.

- Of course I want to take you, he said as he squeezed your hand. Why wouldn’t I ?

- Because… you’re you and I’m me ! And people are going to look at us and laugh.

- Why would they laugh ? He asked. Your name is on everyone’s lips in town these days. Everyone constantly talks about your successful company, your amazing charity. There’s nothing to laugh at.

- And no matter how successful I am, I’m always going to be the fat girl, you said. And you’re always going to be Eminem. I have seen the woman you’ve been linked to over the years. They’re gorgeous.

- So are you, he scoffed.

- Come on, you sighed.

- I mean it, Y/N, he said. You are beautiful. I’m proud you agreed to be my date to this thing.

- Really ? You asked.

- Are you kidding me ? Of course I am ! You’re incredible. You’re smart, you’re successful, you’re funny as hell, and you are absolutely stunning.

- No I’m not, you scoffed.

Him calling you stunning seemed absolutely ridiculous and out of place. For God’s sake, he had dated Mariah Carey, as well as countless actresses and models. You couldn’t compete with any of them. He looked at you with an annoyed look and got up before taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. You both stood in front of the mirror.

- Here, he said softly. Look. What do you see ?

- Marshall, you sighed. I-

- Just answer, he encouraged you. What do you see ?

- You, you replied. You and me.

- I like that sight, he said with a smile. I think we look good together.

- Because you look good, you pointed out.

- Alright, he chuckled as he stepped aside. What do you see now ?

- Me, you groaned.

- And what’s wrong with you ? He asked.

- Everything, you sighed. I’m fat. I’m huge. There’s too much of me. And yet… I’m not enough. Do you want to know why I was surprised the other day ? When you said we were dating ? Because the idea that someone like you might want to date someone who looks like me is ridiculous !

- I like beautiful women, he shrugged. You’re beautiful. You think there’s too much of you ? I can’t get enough. I’ve spend the last three months trying and I just can’t. If anything, I wish there was more.

- You know what I mean, you sighed.

He shook his head and placed himself behind you, hugging you as your back was against his chest. He was looking at you lovingly, adoringly. He took your hand in his and, with the others, he traced your features.

- I love your hair, he whispered in your ear. And your face. You have such a beautiful face-

- The face isn’t the pr-

- Shut up, woman, he said as he pressed a finger to your lips. I’m not done. Your face is amazing. Your eyes, your lips… even your cheeks are adorable. And then, there’s your neck, your shoulders, your breasts… have I told you how much I love them yet ? So beautiful, so generous…

He ran his fingers on your face, your neck and gently cupped your amble bosom, teasing your nipples through your top and bra. Your boobs were so big that his hands could barely contain them but he didn’t seem to mind it one bit. His touch was making you shiver, as well as his soft voice in your ear.

- how can you seriously think there too much of this ? He teased.

- How about the rest ? You mumbled. Definitely too much…

- The rest ? You mean your stomach ? Your hips ? He asked with a smile. I’m fucking obsessed. Your skin is so soft. I fucking love touching you there.

You hummed, biting your lip and shaking your head disapprovingly. He scoffed and made you remove your top, leaving you in your jeans and bra. He gently ran his hands on your stomach, stroking the soft skin that was there, tracing the outline of your waist, digging his fingers in your hips.

- I could do this all day, he whispered. Just touching you, your skin, your curves.

Your gaze met his in the mirror and you were almost bothered by the sheer honesty. You could tell he meant it, every word. His eyes were shining with admiration, adoration even. His hands traveled to your butt, giving it a playful squeeze.

- I could lie and say the jeans make your butt look great but I’ve seen you naked, I know it looks even better without, he whispered.

He buried his face in your neck and unbuttoned your jeans before making them slide of legs. You were left in your underwear and all you could see was the cellulite and stretch marks, the excess of skin. He kept on stroking your skin, whispering sweet words in your ear, saying how he loved your curves, your plushy thighs.

- I wish you would see what I see, he said softly. Then you’d understand how proud I am to be dating you.

- I hate myself, you whispered.

- I guess I can love you for the both of us, he whispered.

You blushed and turned to face him and, before you could say anything, he captured your lips in a passionate, hungry kiss. He bit your lip, causing you to grunt before grabbing your hand and leading you to the en suite bathroom next to your bedroom. You faced another mirror and, before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, kissing every inch of your skin, your stomach, your thighs, your hips. You were putty in his hands and opposed no resistance when he made you remove your lingerie, leaving you naked, before going down on you. You were standing up and he was kneeling between your legs, getting to work, worshipping you. He was holding you firmly while his tongue explored your folds, his hands digging in your skin. You were trying to keep your balance, one leg on his shoulder while he was eating you out, like a man who hasn’t had a meal in days and you couldn’t contain your moans. His tongue was soft against your clit while his fingers were teasing your entrance. You held his head against you, begging him to keep going, which didn’t fail to amuse him. He let out a throaty laugh that sent vibrations against your pussy. He inserted two fingers, finding the right angle right away, teasing your g-spot and making you slur a few obscenities. Right when you warned him you were about to come, he stopped and looked.

- Wh-what are you doing ?! You panted. Please, keep going !

- I’m not done with you, yet, he chuckled.

He stood up and kissed you passionately, pulling you close enough so that you’d feel how hard he was, whispering something about how fucking hot and desirable you were. Then, he quickly removed his clothes before having you bend over the counter and taking you from behind.

- Look at you, he directed as he coaxed your face in front of the mirror. So beautiful, taking me so well.

You were faced with your reflection, messy hair and looking flustered, pleasure and excitement giving your face an undeniable glow. You could also see Marshall’s face, twisting in pleasure. Your gazes met in the mirror and he gave you a smirk. He picked up the pace and, next thing you knew, you were crying tears of pleasure, having your first orgasm of many that night. In the final round, the two of you collapsed in bed. Your face was buried against his chest, you were both panting and gasping for air. You were so fucked out that you had trouble forming coherent thoughts but you were feeling fantastic nonetheless.

- It’s crazy, he chuckled after a few minutes.

- What ? You mumbled.

- You’re the sexiest woman on earth and you have no idea, he said before pressing a kiss to your temple. I’m crazy about you. All of you ?

- Are you ? You asked with a yawn.

- I am, he nodded. You know, you could ask anyone in my circle, and they’d tell you I usually don’t fall that hard for anyone. But you… You’re so incredibly beautiful, inside and out. You draw me in. And I’m falling harder for you each day.

You looked at him and squeed before pressing your lips to his. He pulled you closer to him and you closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of his adoration for you. The next day, you had a surprise phone call with a stylist from LA. Apparently, Marshall had missioned them to find the perfect dress for you and they happened to have access to an archive evening gown that fit the theme, previously worn by a gorgeous actress who was your size for the premiere of a movie. The dress was flown in from California and, on the night of the event, you were feeling like a princess. When Marshall picked you up, looking dapper in a tux, he was all smiles, looking at you with excitement.

- Wow, he simply said as he took your hand. You are… wow.

- Thanks to you, you giggled.

- I’m so fucking lucky, he whispered.

- I am, you assured him.

He held your hand during the ride to the event and, as you got ready to step out of the car, you started getting nervous. Glamorous charity events were nothing new and, most of the time, you did well, but you were still wary of other people’s gaze. Marshall seemed to pick on it and brought your hand to his lips.

- How about we skip the red carpet ? You offered.

- Relax, he said with a reassuring smile. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.

He grabbed your hand and you exited the car. Thankfully, as he had promised, there wasn’t too much press, just a couple of local reporters and photographers. The two of you quietly walked the red carpet hand in hand and you smiled for pictures. You were reaching the end when you stumbled and almost lost your balance. Thankfully, Marshall caught you at the right time and you ended up in an unlikely dip pose, only for the photographers to snap pictures. For a second as he caught you, you lost your gaze in his baby blue eyes. He didn’t smile a lot - not publicly at least - but his eyes sparkled with amusement and you couldn’t help but laugh. Once your balance was restored, he secured a hand on your waist, holding you tight. One could argue it was to make sure you didn’t trip again, though he was holding you like he had just won an award. He stayed glued to your side all evening and, even as people spoke to either one of you, he didn’t break contact. All in all, you had a lovely time, meeting like-minded people, enjoying the opera and dinner. But the thing you enjoyed the most was Marshall’s hand in yours, the way he proudly introduced you as his lady.

When you got home that night, eager to remove your high heels, you met your reflection in the mirror located in the living room. You enjoyed looking and feeling beautiful one last time. As Marshall saw you looking in the mirror. He kept on gazing at you as if you were the world’s 8th wonder.

- Feeling yourself ? He asked with a smirk.

- Maybe a little, you admitted. Thank you for helping me feel beautiful tonight. I enjoyed it.

He hummed and helped you undo the zipper of the dress before you disappeared in your closet, putting on something comfier. When you reappeared, wearing silk pajamas, he was already in bed, only wearing his boxers. As soon as he saw you, he smiled.

- There it is, you giggled softly. Princess moment is over ! Not too disappointed ?

- Are you kidding me ? He asked as he pullled you in for an embrace. You’re even more beautiful in these than in the dress.

- Right, you scoffed with a headshake.

- No, really, he shrugged. You’re gorgeous in an evening dress but you in your pajamas… that’s the version of you I’m in love with.

Your heart missed a beat and, for a second, you could have sworn the world had stopped turning.

- You… you’re in love with me ?! You asked in shock.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

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