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suhsweet · 2 months ago

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double kisses ⟡ csc

wc: 5.7k+ | pair: idol!seungcheol x nonidolf!reader | genre: angst, fluff | tags: 65% sadness & 35% fluff, breaking up but getting back together, mention of divorce as a lighthearted joke, mention of being in the public eye, long-distance relationship, it is cute til it aint and then its cute again

summary: you and seungcheol, the leader of a world-famous boygroup, come up with a signal that he can use to let you know he's thinking of you even in front of the whole world... but is it enough?

authors note: i have reborn. yeah we rushed it but it's still something noooooo?

No one said dating an idol was easy. Probably because doing so would be admitting that they were dating an idol, and risk their partner's career.

However, you are dating an idol, specifically Choi Seungcheol. You of all people would know that it was challenging. Not only was he the leader of Seventeen, but Seventeen was taking over the world at a rapid pace— demand for them was at a high. This meant that you basically had to share your boyfriend.

The irregular schedules made it hard to see him. When he wasn't with you, he was either working or touring. Hours were irregular, and being apart never got easier.

You spent many nights alone wondering if this was all worth it. You had someone who you found to be your other half, who was devoted and loyal to you like no other. You desperately wanted to shout it out from the rooftops:

Seungcheol is mine!

Yet the world would come down upon the two of you if a whisper of your relationship came out. As sweet as Carats are, you feared the paparazzi or sasaengs who would take advantage of something so special to you. Most of all, you didn't want to risk Seungcheol's career. It was a dream that he worked so hard on ever since he was a teenager.

In front of the TV, his body is snuggled to your side, his head a welcome weight on your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek as you glance down at him, to his lashes and down his nose. It's a reminder, physical evidence that he's right here with you.

You aren't paying attention to the screen. You know he isn't either.

His tour starts tomorrow. Two nights in Incheon, then he's off to Japan, and then the rest of the world. Two months of touring in a completely different continent, and then he's back for a month to promote the group's next comeback. Then he's back on tour once more.

You had a list of clocks, all set to each country that he'll be visiting on your phone. The both of you shared locations. You even had the widget app that lets you draw or write little messages to each other.

Seungcheol's left a whole basket full of his clothes for you to wear when you miss him. He has a bottle of your fragrance, one of your beanies, and a pair of your favorite Gentle Monster sunglasses.

The two of you have prepared the best you can to be apart for months on end– little pieces of each other to make up for the oceans that will separate you.

You've been trying to remain optimistic, but you know it wouldn't be enough. Knowing that it's 3am in Singapore won't make up for the loss of his arms around you. Seeing his cute little drawings appear on your phone screen won't make up for the lack of his sweet kisses.

A pressure presses from behind your eyes, and you quickly blink the moisture away. It doesn't work. A tear escapes. And then another. With your eyes squeezed shut, you bury your face in your lover's hair and inhale his scent, the one you've associated to home.

You don't want to cry. To leave Seungcheol with this image of you – unhappy and upset, is cruel. You need to be excited for him to travel the world and meet people who adore his group. He's going to be doing what he loves every night! Being on stage and performing with his family! Why are you crying?!

It's not like he's going to be gone forever. He's told you that he wants a future with you. One day, he'll retire. You'll get married, have a tonne of kids, and travel the world for as long as you want.

You just need to be patient. Don't be selfish.

Except you are.

All you want to do is beg him to stay, not to leave you. You want to tell him that you're scared he'll forget about you. You trust his loyalty, but you can't help the doubt that tickles the back of your mind.

A ragged breath escapes you, and Seungcheol's head immediately jerks up. His hand is on your wrist before you can block your face from his view.

"Baby," he breathes.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimper pathetically, and then you're immediately gathered in his arms. Now that he knows that you're crying, it's as if your body has given you no choice but to let the floodgates open.

You grip his shirt, just above his heart as he tries to soothe you. Sobs rack your body. Seungcheol squeezes you close to him and presses his lips to your head.

Deep down, in the deepest, ugliest depths of your conscience; you want to beg him to quit. You want him out of the public eye and to live a quiet life with you.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you immediately shove it away. Shame floods you. You knew what you were getting into when Seungcheol asked you to be his girlfriend. He warned you.

Don't be selfish.

Your sobs eventually evolve into whimpers and sniffs. Seungcheol's hand smoothes circles across your back, and it helps you pull yourself together.

The two of you are silent for another five minutes. The sounds coming from the TV fills the room, the noise becoming a little clearer while the thundering of your pulse in your ears quiets.

Seungcheol, ever so patient, murmurs 'I love you's repeatedly, and presses kisses into your hairline.

When he sees that you've calmed down, he cautiously asks if you want to talk about it. When you look at him and see the concern in his gaze, you almost cry again.

But you don't. Instead, you nod quietly.

You explain your fears of him being away. Won't he forget about you? Won't the time apart make him bored of you? He'll be too busy to think about you, let alone set time aside for calls and messages.

Seungcheol immediately stops you. His thick brows are furrowed, as he wills you to look at him. He makes sure you're looking into his eyes. "There is never a moment when you aren't on my mind. When I'm on stage, I think about you and hope that you're watching. When I exercise, I think about how I want to impress you with my muscles. When I'm on a plane, I wonder if you've eaten and if you're safe."

Your heart squeezes. Every word sounds like a vow. You believe him. How could you not? His expression is imploring, imploring you to believe him because he desperately wants you to know it's true.

"When I'm with the guys, I think about how much you'd be giggling if you were there to witness their bullshit. They always ask about you, so I can't even forget about you even if I tried! When I go through hair and makeup, I think about the looks that you liked and ask the stylists to recreate it.

I don't want you to ever think that I'll forget about you. You are my life. Everything I do is for you."

Your lips quirk up into a small smile. "You're my life too." Yet, a part of you is still unsure. "Two months is a long time."

"It'll feel like years. But you'll be on my mind for every second."

"I'll be watching every single one of your fancams that gets posted," you warn playfully. "Don't flirt too hard with the fans."

He throws his head back to laugh, and it's a beautiful sound. A giggle of your own joins it.

He looks to you once more, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling with what could only be described as adoration. "We should come up with a signal for me to use."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"You said you'll be watching every fancam of me. Give me a signal I can use to show you that I'm thinking about you."

You suck in a gush of air as your chest warms at his eagerness to make you happy, even while across the world from you.

"You'd do that?"

"You seriously think that I wouldn't? C'mon! Give me something."

You rack your brain for an idea. You think about the little habits that you both have, and ways in which you can turn them into a gesture that can easily be overlooked, but unique enough to know that it's purely for you.

Immediately think about his habit of kissing you twice.

His lips press against yours once. "One kiss for you." He leans in once more. "One kiss for me."

You're walking in the park at night, when there is hardly anyone out. He brings your joined hand to his lips, pressing two kisses into the back of your hand.

As soon as he steps into your apartment after a long day at work, you're in his arms. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and kisses it twice: once to let you know he's home, and again to let him know that he's finally reunited with you.

With your hand flat, you tap your fingers to your lips twice and bring your arm out as if blowing a kiss.

His gaze softens as he recognises where you got your idea from. One for you, and one for me. He double taps his lips then brings his arm away to blow a kiss in one fluid move. "Like this?"

"I think it's good. Looks natural."

⟡

It's the first song of the concert, and as soon as the camera shows Seungcheol on screen, he's sends a double kiss.

You're sitting next to Jeonghan dressed like you're part of the staff. The face mask you have on hides both your identity, and your blush from the cheeky gaze of Seungcheol's right hand man.

"Can't believe you find him more attractive than me," Jeonghan teases. You knock your shoulders with his. "I might be doing my military service, but at least I'll still be in the same country as you."

As the concert goes on you look out for your signal and you're impressed by the way Seungcheol makes it look so natural. Sometimes he only double taps his lips, looking into the camera with a knowing look.

He'll explain to you later on that if he only does the original signal, it is a little repetitive but he still wants you to know that he's thinking of you. You'll tell him that he doesn't have to do it for every song or every time the camera's focused on him. He'll pout and tell you that he's brainstorming of other ways he can do your signal without completely transforming it.

At the end of the concert for the encore, all Seungcheol can do is send double kisses to the camera of every fan he can see. As Aju Nice turns into Fighting, he starts sending double kisses to the upper floors of the stadium.

Finally, he sends them to the balcony. The fans think that he's sending them to Jeonghan but you know they're for you. Some of the other members notice and join him. Most of them simply blow kisses but some of the other observant members, like Mingyu and The8, send double kisses the same way Seungcheol does. Dokyeom in particular makes a show of blowing kisses in an excessively flirtatious manner, only stopping when he sees Vernon’s confused stare from the corner of his eye.

The sight has you feeling like you're glowing. This is enough, you decide. To see Seungcheol surrounded by his dearest friends, doing what makes him happy, reminding you that he's thinking of you.

⟡

"Hi baby!" Seungcheol greets you, it's awfully bright wherever he is. The phone lights up your darkened room.

"Hi Cheollie," your voice is hoarse. It's four in the morning, where you are. You have a few hours of sleep left before you have to wake up for work.

"Shit, were you sleeping?" Seungcheol's concerned expression fills the screen. "I'm sorry baby, I thought the clock said it's four pm in Korea... Go back to sleep baby, I'll call you later."

"Okay... I love you." You nod, already feeling sleep come to you.

"I love you," he responds. Your eyes flutter close. Faintly you hear the sound of Seungcheol kissing the phone twice, and the sombre sound of the call ending.

⟡

"How many fancams did you find today, baby?" Seongcheol asks.

He's snuggled in bed just as you're walking home from work.

"Hmm, around eight I think. I didn't get to look properly because of work," you hum. "I don't think it works for Super."

Seungcheol laughs. "I told you, I'm thinking of an alternative for the cooler songs. I even enlisted Hoshi to help me."

"Great, so now Hoshi knows that I'm insecure and needy," you joke with a pout.

"No love. To Hoshi, I'm the one who's insecure and needy. Did you see my sign during God of Music?"

You laugh, "I did! You were so cute."

Seungcheol preens from your praise. A drunken smile is plastered on his face, one that lets you know that he's exhausted. His words are slurred together. "I miss you baby."

"I miss you more," you promise. "Nine days to go, but who's counting?"

Cheol smirks. "Time will fly. I can't wait to have you sit on my face again."

"Cheol!" You scold.

He cackles into your AirPods. "Hey! Two months is a long time! Lotion and my hand are nothing compared to my gorgeous, stunning girlfriend. You've ruined me."

"Gross!"

"I miss you," Seungcheol sighs again once the comedic air of your banter settles.

I miss you so much more. It hurts so much. I don't ever want you to leave again, you want to say. Spend a week in bed with me to make up for your absence.

Instead, you ask about his schedule once he gets home. You want to see if you'll have at least a full day with him. You don't even need to go out or do anything special. You just want to be with him.

The upcoming comeback schedule ruins your hopes. Every day, there is something happening. Between practice, fittings, music show pre-recording, variety show filming, and radio interviews; the only time you'll get to spend with him is whenever he's home. There are days where he won't even be able to go home to sleep.

You carefully control your facial expressions from showing betrayal, and grief. You nod slowly, and try to give him a genuine smile. He sees through your act, but stays quiet. He knows there's nothing that he can do to help. Instead he tells you a funny story from tour that he hopes will distract you. It works.

⟡

The grief of your heartbreak is consuming.

It's been a week since you and Seungcheol have broken up. A week since he left to go back on tour, and a week since you've told him that you can't handle him leaving again.

You couldn't eat, or sleep, or let alone breathe ever since you left your shared apartment with a duffle bag of your things. Seungcheol insisted that you stay since he's going to be gone for a while anyway but you refuse. To be surrounded by your memories, by what could've been your future, was to torture yourself.

On the day that he flys out, you try to forget that he won't be in the same country as you. The members send you messages as well but you try to be brief in your messages in case they find a way to convince you to get back together with Seungcheol. You try to stay busy, but he seemed to live in your mind.

In the month that he was back in Seoul, you hardly got to see him. His schedule was so jam packed that he might as well have been overseas again. Most nights, sometimes well after midnight, you'd hear him come into your room. He'd press two kisses into your temple, and tell you that he loves you. You'd pretend to be asleep. You didn't want him to deal with you crying after being at work for long hours.

He leaves to sleep on the couch, so as to not disturb you.

In the morning he's gone once more.

You had a massive fight on the last night that Seungcheol was in the country. He tells you that he knows you've been pretending to sleep. You tell him that he should've slept in the same bed as you. You don't know what you want from him, since he can't do anything for you. It's a bitter truth that the both of you have to face. You're the one who brings up the idea of breaking up, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't want Seungcheol to deal with the ball and chain he's left back home. Seungcheol doesn't want you to deal with waiting around for him to return.

Now, an ever repeating cycle continues. You wake up, realize that you and Seungcheol have broken up. You give yourself a minute to cry, or just stare blankly at the bedroom wall. You remember that said wall doesn't belong to the home you had with him. You get out of bed, get ready for work, and then work. Sometimes you have dinner with friends or family. Other times, you have dinner alone. You go for walks, or play badminton. Badminton reminds you of Seungkwan, and thus reminds you of Seungcheol. You stop playing badminton.

Sometimes, the days are long. Those days are the days where the Seungcheol's absence are even more profound and you grieve what could have been your future with him. Other times, the days fly by and you wonder what you're doing with yourself.

On the tenth day since your breakup, you give in to the need to see Seungcheol. You open your social media for the first time in a while and are immediately presented with a fancam of Seungcheol from the night before.

The familiar chaos that is Aju Nice fills your room, as you watch Seungcheol interact with fans. He does his signature lopsided smile, looks into the camera, and sends a double kiss... It's unmistakable. He taps his lips twice, before swinging his arm out towards the camera.

'his energy seems a little down today... i hope he's okay :(', one of the replies say.

'scoups has been interacting with fans like crazy this time! i'm so jealous'

In another fancam, he tilts his head back, taps his lips twice with both of his hands and thrusts them towards the ceiling. Briefly, his face is cracked with vulnerability and remorse before it is fixed back into his charming, idol smile. Some will interpret it as him as thanking whatever deity for allowing him to live the life that he has. Really, he's just asking for a second chance.

Your heart twinges when you watch it happen. More than heartbreak, you feel the devastating guilt of breaking Seungcheol's heart when he's done nothing wrong.

What was the point of breaking up if you were happier together? But that's the thing isn't it? You wouldn't actually be with him. He's timezones away, and hardly around for you to truly feel like you're with him. You couldn't let yourself go through that. However, was not having him at all better than having pieces? Fragments?

Certainly, it hurt to be away from him during the first two months of tour. But now that you've broken up with no contact, the pain is even worse.

⟡

A week later, your phone lights up. You expect it to be your friends, or one of the members who’ve decided to call themselves ‘children of divorce’.

Instead, it’s Seungcheol. Your heart lurches at his name, and your mind shuffles through a million different reasons as to why he's texting you.

cheol ��: hey, just checking in… how are you?

you: i’m good, how about you? how’s tour?

cheol 💞: could be better. tour’s been fun, just got to italy. the kids want to drag me to the colosseum so i can experience rome the way they did.

Your heart warms, knowing his members are taking good care of him. He tells you about what's been going on. You tell him about work, and what's going on with your own friends. It's like you haven't broken up at all, and you almost ask him to FaceTime before you remember that you're no longer entitled to that privilege.

Ten minutes of catching up quickly pass by before he has to leave. You immediately wonder if he'll text you again soon. Or if you should.

⟡

You're at Dongdaemun, doing some shopping for some new clothes. Retail therapy didn't work, but it was a nice distraction. You try not to think about what Seungcheol would think of the top you're holding up. He'd like it... Not that it matters. You throw the garment over your arm, deciding to buy it but not because your ex would like it.

Ex... You hate having to call him that. You haven't texted him since he reached out after the break up. You try not to be sad about it, you broke up with him after all.

Over your shoulder, you hear someone call your name.

"Mr Choi," you start in surprise.

"Please," his smile is warm. As if he doesn't know his son's heart is broken because of you. "I told you to call me abeoji. Dad."

"Abeoji," you correct yourself hesitantly.

“How are you? It’s been a while,” the man asks gently.

"I'm..." Broken, hollow. Irrevocably sorry for hurting Cheol. "Okay. How are you?"

"Could be better. I'm going to get myself something to drink. Would you care to join me?"

The cafe is located on the upper floors of Hyundai City Outlet. It overlooks the entrance to the building, and allows you to look at Dongdaemun Plaza. At night it's a beautiful sight.

"Seungcheol told me about what happened," Seungcheol's dad says, getting your attention.

Your heart skips a beat upon hearing Seungcheol's name. The hollowness in your chest deepens. Immediately you look down at the beverage in your hands, afraid to see the disdain you expect on his dad's face. "Oh. I-It was the hardest decision I've had to make. I want you to know that I didn't want to hurt him, but I think this is how things should be."

"I know, I warned him about this happening," Mr Choi responds.

You look up at him, and his smile is still warm. There's a tinge of sadness, or pity. But no hatred. The similarities between Seungcheol and his dad has your heart squeezing painfully. You miss him so much.

"I don't know how you do it. Having a son who is hardly there to see you..."

"The way I see it, my blood runs through him, so I'm with him wherever he is... My wife on the other hand? She's my other half. When we're apart, I can't even breathe. As Seungcheol's partner, you must be going through something similar.”

You note the way he doesn't say 'ex'.

"How is he?"

"Looks as heartbroken as you, probably feeling the same as well."

Nausea mixes with the guilt in your stomach. You don't know how to respond.

"I'm not telling you what to do, but wouldn't it be better to have him in your life than not at all?"

At your silence, he sighs and goes quiet for several beats. “His mother and I are flying out to watch his concert in LA in three weeks. If you want to come with us, we’ll get the company to organize something. He doesn’t even have to know. You can just go to see how you feel.”

“Abeoji…”

“His mother misses you, you know. If not for him, consider going for her. Call it a family trip.”

⟡

It’s been three weeks since you broke up with Seungcheol. On the days when your reserve is weak, you give in to watching recent fancams of his. Unfalteringly, he continues to do your signal.

He hasn’t forgotten you at all. The thought crushes you inside.

If you got back with him, what would have to change? You’ve been telling yourself that there was nothing either of you could do. Were you okay with dealing with the irregular schedules? The fans? All eyes on him?

You've come back to your apartment with the intent of picking up a change of clothes and doing some laundry. The left side of the closet has all of your things, while the right has Seungcheol's. You suck on your bottom lip in contemplation as you consider taking one of his jackets. It's not like he'd know since he'll be gone for another couple months.

Your broken heart encourages you to give in. So you do. You pull out one of his cardigans, your favorite, from the back of his stuffed closet. Your heart squeezes at the familiar scent, and you hug it to yourself. Then you hear the sound of something crinkling in the pocket.

It's a balled up piece of paper with faint pen markings. Flattening it out, your breath is drawn from your lungs.

All across the page are random words and scribbles, but they manage to make you choke out a sob nonetheless.

park?

restaurant?

holiday?

jewellers — ask uncle

sizing – to check

seungkwan sing? > Get tissues for him

diamond > check her ig and pin > bigger = better ㅋㅋ

family? private

mr and mrs choi

honeymoon locations?

mrs choi.

my wife ♡

⟡

The distant sound of screaming fans seem to embody how you're feeling perfectly in that moment. Eomeoni, Seungcheol's mother, has her arm linked with yours and her warmth, weight, and energy are grounding. Abeoji is next to her. The three of you are walking down the private hallway to enter the section with your seats.

Eomeoni sits between you and Seungcheol's dad, the woman constantly turning to you as if checking that you haven't run off yet. She places a warm hand on your knee, gently soothing your jittery leg.

Joshua's family comes to join your section, sitting in the row behind you. Josh's mom and Eomeoni appraise each other after being apart for so long. They turn to you.

Eomeoni leans in to say something to the other woman, but you can hardly hear because of the pre-show music blasting from the speakers. Whatever she says though, Josh's mom looks intrigued.

You introduce yourself to Joshua's mom and family just as the show begins. The show goes as well as it did back in Incheon. You notice minor differences, improvements that the guys have made after months of touring. You try to train your expression when you spot Seungcheol.

He doesn't do the double kiss for every song, but it takes your breath away every time he does. Your gaze flickers to his parents, and they hardly react. The signal really is something only for the two of you.

Towards the end of the show, you forget that you know the group personally and become absorbed as a Carat. You borrow Abeoji's light-stick and wave along to the songs. You laugh in delight as you jump with Seungcheol's parents to the encore song and translate the members' English ments for the non-English speaking family members.

Later on you can’t keep your eyes from the door of the waiting room. Waiting inside with Seungcheol and Joshua’s families, the conversations milling around you is all white noise.

“Mom!” Dokyeom wails as he spots you as soon as he steps inside. The others greet you with a mix of happiness, excitement, and apprehensiveness.

“You guys did really well,” you say as you grab the phone off Eomeoni, who silently gestured for you to take a photo of her and Abeoji with Chan and Seungkwan.

“Oh let me in too!” Dokyeom yelps as he stumbles into the frame.

You don’t even bother taking a photo with the members, too concerned about the one that is the sole reason you’re even here in the first place. So you sit in a corner of the room that has a set of sofas, joined by a couple of Joshua’s cousins.

You’re asking about one of the cousin’s outfit for a party they’re going to as you do a quick headcount of the boys, and of the managers. One manager missing, one member missing.

“Where is he?” You sigh to yourself.

“Doing leader stuff,” Mingyu says as he sits on the arm of the couch beside you. You smile at him in greeting and he pats your head softly, knowing why you’re here.

You sink into the sofa, letting your head fall back on the headrest of the couch and letting Mingyu’s large form block your view of the door.

He’ll come when he’s ready.

But then you hear the delighted exclamations of Eomeoni and you couldn’t stop your head from perking up even if you tried.

All sound fades as you watch Seungcheol enter the room. He’s smiling about something with the manager accompanying him as he rips out his in-ears and grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table. Then he spots his mother and his face lights up with the toothy grin that you haven’t seen in so long.

You can't stop the tears the well up, or the sudden tightness in your chest as it brims with emotion. The loss that you've managed to sweep under the rug is suddenly coming back to you full force.

He reunites with his parents, accepting their kisses and warm embraces. Abeoji rubs soothing circles into his child’s back, and Eomeoni has Seungcheol’s face in between her small hands.

Sound comes back to you while you watch the family of three catch-up.

Mingyu nudges you. “You gonna say hi or what?”

“Nope. I think I’ll hide.” You slump in your seat and duck your head behind Mingyu’s knee. You rub a soothing palm over your chest… Has your heart ever beaten this fast before?

Mingyu chuckles and gets up. You watch with growing horror as the tallest member approaches the Chois, clapping a hand to Seungcheol’s shoulder and muttering something into his ear. When your ex-boyfriend’s gaze darts over to where you sit, you smile awkwardly and then your eyes dart down into your lap to avoid seeing his reaction.

In your peripheral, with much fear, Seungcheol’s form slowly grows closer to you, until his feet are placed in front of yours and you can see his legs are standing in front of you. And then he squats down to look up at your face.

“Hello,” his voice is precious. It’s so full of warmth, and hope… And fear.

You look at him and suck in a breath. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him. His eyes gleam as they gaze up at you and his lips are spread thin in contemplation.

“Hi,” you whisper, sending him a timid smile.

“You wanna go somewhere to talk?”

You nod, despite the nerves that set in as soon as you hear his words. He stands up and offers you his hand, and you take it. As your palms meet and fingers slide into place, it’s like you’ve completed a jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are fitting into place and your heart warms. How were you crazy enough to give up on this? On him?

Looking up, Seungcheol’s bittersweet smile seems to express the same sentiment.

⟡

1.5 YEARS LATER

“Whatcha doing?”

You pointedly rustle the magazine in front of your face. “Doing some light reading.”

“Oh yeah? What about? Looks interesting.”

“Yeah there’s this super hot idol who just announced his engagement to this amazing, stunning, angel-on-earth of a woman…”

“Wow, what a lucky man,” Seungcheol settles onto the sofa next to your feet, pulling them onto his lap.

“Seems like his fiancée’s the lucky one: ‘I’ve always said that my members and my family come first before anything else’,” you say in your best imitation of your future husband. He laughs then shoves your shoulder lightly.

The engagement band that he proudly wears on his left ring finger catches the light, and your chest never fails to warm at the sight.

In the fire-escape of the venue where Seungcheol just performed a sold-out concert with his group, the two of you sat on the stairs for what must've been an hour. In short, you both agreed to never go for that long without the other ever again. For the rest of your lives.

Things didn't work out immediately. For a few months, your relationship still struggled as the two of you worked out how best to go about your long-distance relationship, but when you figured it out? Oh, was it good.

At the end of that year, on Christmas Eve, Seungcheol proposed to you. It was adorable; the two of you bundled up in thick puffer jackets with wooly scarves and beanies and masks so that only your eyes were visible. You were taking a walk along the Han River, a ridiculous idea since it was winter, but the festive lights made it all worth it.

You cried as he bore his heart out to you, his beautiful round eyes glistening with tears. You knew that the hand holding up the little velvet wasn't trembling from the cold, but from nerves.

As soon as the ring slid onto your finger, Seungcheol was immediately tackled into a conveniently placed pile of snow nearby.

A little while after the proposal, you propose to Seungcheol as well. Call it feminism, or equality. Really, he just told you that he wanted an engagement ring of his own.

Immediately, news agencies hear tips about a peculiar silver band that never seems to part from Seventeen's S.Coup's ring finger. Fans notice his latest contents include him having a cute, dazed smile. His instagram posts always seem to feature a photo of his left hand.

The one thing that hasn't changed though, is that he continues to give you all of his double-kisses.

#svt #svt imagines #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seventeen scoups #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #scoups imagines #seungcheol images

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snowyslytherinowl · 5 months ago

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A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 2

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 1 here

This part is heavier and less smutty than part 1, but it ofc includes a happy ending. 🫶 WARNINGS: IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE AND DISCUSSIONS OF PROSTITUTION (no graphic descriptions of either, however).

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

*GIF isn't mine; credit to @smilingformoney

“G’morning,” you mumble into Severus’s back. He didn’t hear your footsteps as you climbed down the stairs. He has to stop himself from jumping at the sudden contact, but he soon relaxes. Nothing beats the feeling of your arms snuggly wrapped around him.

“Hello, darling.” Severus tries to discreetly hide the sliced food and basket. He can only hope that you didn’t see anything on your walk into the kitchen.

“What’re you making?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleepiness. You pull away from him to pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed by Severus. Your eyes drift to the minced ham and plucked grapes resting in bowls on the counter.

He nervously chuckles and pulls the food toward him in a poor attempt to conceal his plans. “Lunch. For later, of course.”

“Mmm, I hope you enjoy it.”

He picks at his cuticles and looks at the ground, too shy to look you in the eye. “Well, er, this is a picnic for the both of us.” When you only stare at him, he nervously adds, “As long as you do not have a busy schedule for the day.”

Severus is surprised when you tear up and throw yourself into his arms. “Severus…. You really made this for me? For us?”

“I… of course,” he says. “There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with you.”

“Oh, Sev.” You pull back from the hug and kiss him. He wraps his arms around you and melts into the kiss, pouring his heart out to you.

You keep him close even when you have to break for air. You twirl his hair with your fingers and rest your head on his shoulder, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper, “I love you.”

Severus drifts from his dream into a groggy haze when he feels something wet on his neck. He first internally groans, wishing that the dream lasted for at least another minute. And then he panics, wondering where he is and what is happening. Then, he remembers the events of the previous night and relaxes. Even though he usually hates waking up in the mornings, this one is different: he has you here. Sunlight pours in from the window and shines on your face and messy hair. You move closer to him and press another wet kiss to his neck. Severus shivers.

“Good morning, Severus. How you’d sleep?” Severus looks around and takes in more of his surroundings. One of your legs is sprawled over his legs and you’re tightly hugging his middle. He naturally gets flustered at even the briefest of touches from you, yet his most recent dream has left him extra sensitive to your touch. He tries to push away thoughts of the dream now that he has the real you in front of him, but he can’t ignore the pang in his heart.

“Pleasantly. How was your night?”

“Excellent.” You nuzzle your nose in the crook of his shoulder and lazily kiss his neck once more. Severus relaxes in your embrace and your soft touches, feeling no rush to get out of bed. It seems that your touches aren’t aimless, though. One of your hands slowly caresses his chest and down his torso until you reach the hem of his pajama pants.

Your hand isn’t even anywhere near his cock, but he struggles to stifle a whimper. You pull back so that you’re facing him, a lazy grin on your face. “Did you dream about me last night, Severus?”

He doesn’t know whether he’d be more embarrassed to admit that he had overly affectionate dreams about you, or to lie and say that he dreamt of inappropriate things. “Er… I… did,” he stammers, hoping that you won’t ask for specifics.

You light up with curiosity. “What were they like?”

“Well…. they were… relaxing,” he replies, trying to dodge the question.

“Oh? What did we do?”

“Er…” His mind goes blank, partially because he doesn’t know what to say and partially because he can feel your fingers playing with the hem of his pajama pants. You pull back the band of his pants and stick one finger inside while you aimlessly tap your other fingers. His face heats up as you continue to gaze at him expectantly.

Seconds drag on for an eternity before you finally laugh. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me.” You go one step further, stretching back the elastic of the boxers and slithering three fingers inside. His breath hitches when you move closer to whisper into his ear, “I just hope that you dreamt only good things about me.”

“Of course I did,” he breathes. An angel like you can only produce heavenly dreams.

You grin and slowly start to massage his cock. Severus groans in delight and allows his eyes to flutter closed, wanting to savor the moment and likely the last touches he’d experience from you. Without thinking, he rests his head on your shoulder and buries his face against your chest. He breathes in the dampened scent of your perfume and the orchid body wash you borrowed from him, trying to memorize this exact scent.

You touch him like you’re in no rush either; your fingers stroke his length and you press wet kisses to the exposed parts of his neck and face. It doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and throbbing in your hand. You swipe your thumb over the precum now beading at the tip of his cock, spreading it up and down his length. And while he wants to drag this out, your touch is too gentle and he becomes desperate for more friction. He instinctually shifts his hips to press closer to you and thrusts himself in your hand.

Your lips pull into a smile at the sound of his whimpers and how the slightest of touches turn him into a desperate man. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks, yet his heart and body show no desire to maintain his dignity. His hips rut more erratically, begging for you to squeeze tighter and rub more aggressively. A desperate “please” escapes his lips and his fingers clutch your forearm.

You oblige to his desires and stroke his cock with more gusto, even slithering your other hand into his boxers to massage his balls. His balls tighten and his manhood twitches, waiting for sweet release. He begs his body to hold on for a moment longer, to stop being so sensitive, to not embarrass him by coming so soon. But he’s too weak to hold himself back. Severus presses his lips against yours as he shakes and cums all over your hands and his boxers, his moans drowned out by your lips.

His body reels from your caresses and the warmth of your embrace, stuck in a state of utter bliss. He wants to stay here with you forever, even if it means never getting up from this bed.

You nuzzle your nose against his and then into his hair to peck more lazy kisses. Severus can’t tell how long you stay pressed against him, but he’s disappointed when you pull away and stand from the bed. He feels an urge to pull you back into bed and cuddle against you, keeping you here for as long as he can. There’s also a strange look in your eyes; you gaze down at him in silence for an awkward amount of time before you speak up. “I’m going to wash my hands,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes follow you from the bedside table and to the sink until you close the bathroom door behind you. Severus spreads himself out on the bed and sighs, trying to prevent his mind from drifting into the inevitable yet horrible thoughts he doesn’t want to confront.

Once you finish cleaning yourself, he slips into the bathroom without saying a word to you. He pulls down his pants and winces at the sight of his cum-stained underwear, feeling like a pathetic teenager. He peels off the rest of his clothes and starts a warm shower, wanting to erase the signs of how pathetic and sensitive he is. Yet his hands ghost over his hips, neck, and hair, remembering the feelings of your soft hands all over his body. Control yourself, Severus has to tell himself when a lump forms in his throat.

But Severus struggles to keep himself together. He changes into clean underwear, pants, and a dark green T-shirt and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks at his crooked nose, his greasy hair, his sallow skin, the bags under his eyes, and the lines already forming on his face. So miserable, so pathetic. But as he continues to stare at himself, he sees something new in himself. He looks more relaxed, the usual tired and resentful expression in his eyes mixed with a new emotion: joy. How can he cope with your parting when you’ve made him happier than he’s ever been before? His eyes fill with tears and he faces away from the mirror, blinking them away.

After he pulls himself together and erases the evidence of his tears, he goes back into the bedroom. He discovers that you’ve done his bed and neatly placed his sleeping clothes and the pajamas you borrowed into his laundry basket. He frowns when he sees that you’ve changed back into your original dress. It’s colder than usual this morning and he doesn’t want you to shiver.

“If you prefer, I can give you a shirt to wear.”

You shake your head. “But I won’t be able to give it back to you.”

“Do not worry about that.” He pulls out a black T-shirt from his closet and hands it to you. “You may keep it.”

You fiddle with the soft fabric and avoid looking at him. “Severus, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” An awkward silence engulfs the room until he asks, “When must you leave?”

“I have to be back at the brothel by nine, but I want to leave fifteen minutes early if that’s fine by you. I want to have time to get ready for work.” He looks at the clock. 7:25. Less than an hour and a half. Severus feels like he might be sick.

“They ask you to work this early?”

“No. I work two jobs. This isn’t my primary job.”

Two jobs? Why would you work as a prostitute if you have a second job? And if you start your second job shortly after nine, then that must mean you barely have any time for yourself. Even though he desperately wants to cherish your presence for these last two hours, he knows that he should give you a break.

“I will go downstairs to cook us breakfast. You may stay here and do as you please. I will notify you when the food is prepared.”

“It’s all right. I’ll come down with you.” You smile and put a hand on his shoulder. Severus tries not to immediately crumble.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I can help you cook too.” You gesture to the door, expecting him to lead the way. Severus obliges and brings you to the kitchen, secretly internally soaring at the thought of spending more time with you.

Severus rummages the fridge for half-decent breakfast food. Sausages and eggs are the best that he can come up with. The bruised fruits he finds in the back of the fridge will have to do. Now he wishes he had gone grocery shopping to buy better food for you.

When you ask him what you can prepare, he directs you to brew the coffee. Once the coffee machine stops whirring, you turn to him. “What else can I do to help?”

“Nothing. You may sit.”

You instead lean against the kitchen counter, standing much closer to him than expected. So close that he can feel the heat radiating off your body. “Are you sure? You’re already doing a huge favor by cooking.”

“Nonsense. You are my guest. I do not expect anything significant of you.” All he wants to do in these last moments together is to serve you, to make you feel cared for.

“Alrighty then.” You watch as he cooks, how he moves effortlessly as he flips the pan and slices the bruises off the fruit. Years of cutting potion ingredients have given him swift fingers.

Severus tries not to get flustered at your gaze or proximity, but it’s so hard when he can see your little smirk in the corner of his eye. He steadies his hand on the knife, trying to conceal his nervous shaking. Then, he stops himself from jumping when you nudge him and say, “You’re quite the talented cook.”

Severus looks up at you mid-slicing and pauses, the knife hovering above a strawberry. Your hair is still messy from sleep. Part of your shoulder is showing from your askew shirt. Your face may be plain after washing away the makeup, but you look utterly beautiful in the sunlight softly illuminating your face. He can see the natural pinkish hue of your lips and how bright your eyes are even without eyeliner or mascara to accentuate your features. He has to look back down at the cutting board before he looks even more like a fool.

Your smile grows into a smirk when you see red tinting his cheeks. “You’re quite cute, too.”

Severus coughs from the embarrassment. “That is hardly the right word to describe me.”

“I disagree. You get flustered easily and you’re so sweet. Those two traits epitomize cuteness.”

Sweet? You know nothing about him, nothing of his past. If you knew how he used to be a Death Eater, what he did to Lily, hell, even what he was like as a student, you would never call him sweet in a million years. What a blessing it is to have someone around who has no knowledge of him.

“While I am certain that your intentions are pure, I would not describe myself as ‘sweet’ either,” Severus scoffs, despite the warm and fuzzy feeling he’s experiencing because of that word. He plates the food and guides you to sit at the table all while avoiding your gaze.

“Well, I don’t often come across men who are as kind as you,” you comment with a shrug.

Severus looks up at you and you give him a lazy smile. But he can tell from the slight sag of your shoulders and the tired look in your eyes that your comment is more than a compliment for him; it attests to what you’ve been through. He knows that you’re a prostitute, yet the full scope of your reality hasn’t hit him until you made that simple comment. What happens to you behind closed doors? You may be understanding and kind to him, but is that the kind of treatment that’s afforded to you on a daily basis? You may be cheery around him, but do all of your clients get that same reaction out of you?

Severus likes to think that he’s treating you well. Yes, he provided you with clothing, allowed you to sleep on the bed, and cooked breakfast for you. But does doing those things really make him better than the other men who solicit you to feel better about themselves? He treated you as he should: like another human being. Yet how many nights have you gone to bed with an empty stomach, woken up with a stiff back from sleeping somewhere unideal, or abandoned like rubbish?

He feels as though his heart is being squeezed by a fist. A kind soul like you doesn’t deserve any of this. “I cannot imagine what you’ve been through…” Severus chokes out.

Although Severus is usually a master at hiding his emotions, he can barely control himself around you. His inner turmoil must be clearly reflected on his face because you bite your lower lip and frown. You reach across the table and take his hand in yours. “Severus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.”

All of this feels wrong. You’ve spent your entire time here comforting and pleasing him. Even now, you’re comforting him after he became upset about your life. He wonders how you can stay so calm and be so sympathetic with him, and he can’t help but yearn to know more about who you are outside of this context.

There is one question about you that pops into his mind. Knowing that it’s likely too sensitive to ask, Severus’s words drag as he says, “May I ask you a question?”

Your thumb gently swipes over his hand. Even in these circumstances, the simplest touches from you are pleasant. “Of course. Go ahead,” you reply, encouragingly.

“I apologize if this is too personal, but I would like to know.” Severus continues hesitantly, “If you have another job… why do you also work as a prostitute?’

You look down and poke at your sausage, but thankfully, you aren’t taken aback. “One of them is my dream job. Unfortunately for me, that one doesn’t pay well and the income I make varies by week. The other, well…”

You pause and sigh before continuing, “Prostituting isn’t the… ideal job or something that I enjoy, but it pays well in proportion to how many hours I work. I need to spend as much time on… my other job as I can. I take on as many clients as necessary to cover the remaining expenses that my other job doesn’t cover. I usually only need to take on a few clients on the weekend and I’m free.”

Another pang pierces his heart. There has to be some other way for you to make money other than prostituting. “Do you have anyone to support you?”

“No. I don’t have many friends and my parents never cared for me,” you reply sadly. You slump in your seat and pick at your food without actually eating. Your sociable, sweet demeanor is gone.

Severus understands how you feel, to be trapped in a situation you don’t exactly desire without anyone caring for you. His father never loved him and his mother was too preoccupied with protecting herself to help him achieve a bright future. Even now, Severus doesn’t have anyone who truly loves or cares for him.

The reminders of his loneliness bear down heavily on him, but Severus takes it upon himself to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “I am truly sorry to hear this. I have experienced something similar myself, albeit that it doesn’t involve prostitution.”

“Really?” You perk up not because you are happy to hear about his own struggles, but because you’re happy that perhaps someone else finally understands you.

“Yes. I am the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.” His earlier hesitation to reveal his identity is long gone. After all, you just opened up to him about something very sensitive and private. The least he can do is confide in you and he has a feeling that you won’t go around telling his secrets.

“I took up my post at Hogwarts to honor an agreement I made with someone. Truth be told, I did not have a dream job in mind during my youth. My parents never encouraged me to think highly of myself or my capabilities, yet I knew I did not want to work with petulant students.” Severus tenses as he thinks of his parents, Dumbledore, Lily, and that dunderhead Harry Potter. “I have been stuck working at Hogwarts for approximately a decade now and am forced to clean up the messes of the rest of the staff and students. I dread the thought of returning there once this summer ends.”

“Hey, at least you have the rest of the summer to yourself,” you say, trying to cheer him up. There’s no humor or happiness in this conversation, but you continue, “At least look on the bright side. Only the best wizards and witches are hired to work at Hogwarts, so you must be incredibly intelligent.”

“Do not flatter me,” he scoffs, yet your compliment has made him feel better. Severus has always prided himself on his intelligence, but to hear you praise him like that, he feels even more special.

“It’s the truth! I was never good at brewing Potions. I’m pretty good with Charms though.” You pause and consider something. Then, seeming to have the same trust in him that he has in you, you continue, “I own a bookstore in wizarding London. I write and produce my own illustrated and charmed children’s books. It takes a long time to draw everything and even longer to test out what combinations of charms will produce the best effects.”

You sigh and shake your head. “I still haven’t made it big, though. It’s hard competing with Flourish and Blotts and there are already thousands of children’s books. It’s just disappointing because I’ve spent all my savings on buying that bookstore.”

“Do not worry. It is simply that your time has not yet come. I have full faith that you will find success soon.” As if to convey his conviction, he tightly squeezes your hand. He has never read your books or seen your store, but he just knows that there is something promising about you. You deserve all the success in the world.

“Thank you, Severus. You’re very kind.” To his surprise, you reach across the table and peck a kiss on his cheek. He presses a hand to the spot where you just kissed him, hopelessly wishing that the feeling of your lips against his cheek will stay with him forever.

You two start digging into your breakfast before it can get cold. Severus listens to your plans for the shop for the day and your complaints of children who try to steal books when they think you’re not looking. Dealing with annoying children is something that he can definitely relate to.

After you finish eating, you pour yourself a cup of coffee. Severus notices that you stand still in front of the brewer for longer than what’s necessary and even when you turn around, your hands are gripping the cup too tightly. “Do you think that we could just sit on the couch for a bit before I go?”

Severus looks at the clock on the wall. Only fifteen minutes remain until you must leave. His heart begins to beat rapidly. How hadn’t he noticed how fast the time was flying by?

“Yes. That is fine.” Severus pours himself his own cup of coffee and sits on the couch. He’s surprised, yet pleased, when you scoot over and settle against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

The time again moves by in silence. He doesn’t know what to say and perhaps that’s for the best. No matter what he may speak about, he’s afraid that his voice will choke with emotion. He can’t bear to look at you either, especially as you idly twirl his long hair with your fingers. Tears are already threatening to form in his eyes, his muscles are tense, and he can’t rip his mind off your impending departure. He’s at least thankful that you’re not snuggled closely enough to hear his heart racing in his chest.

You suddenly break the silence when you quietly comment, “Breakfast was great.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he responds without looking at you.

“By the way, you should wear dark green more often. You look awfully cute in it.”

There you go, using that word again. Severus meets your gaze and notices you biting your bottom lip, smiling at him. Just your smile causes his heart to skip a beat and he has to look away from you before he gets too emotional.

“Thank you,” he says, not protesting this time. He does make a note to buy more dark green clothes, though.

In what feels like seconds, the clock indicates that it’s now your time for departure, 8:45. Severus hopes that you won’t notice the time on the wall or tell him you don’t want to leave either. A solid minute goes by without you saying anything until you sigh and untangle yourself from him. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go now.”

“I… I understand,” Severus concedes quietly. You two stand from the couch and head towards his front door, the place where all of this truly started.

But the full threat of your departure doesn’t totally sink in for Severus until you place your hand on the doorknob. At that moment, he breaks into a full panic. These are the very last seconds he’ll ever spend with you. He’s never going to see you again, never going to learn more about you, unless he solicits you again or finds your bookstore. But after everything you said about prostituting, it doesn’t feel right for him to do that. It’s not guaranteed that he’d be able to find your shop either.

This is too much to handle. His blood runs cold, his heart is now hammering, and he’s frozen in place. He has no idea how it happens, but his lips start moving. “I simply want to mention that I meant what I said earlier. I truly believe in you and your future success.”

You turn around to face him. His gaze bores into you as if he’s memorizing what you look like. He must get one last good look at you. Your messy but smooth hair. Gentle eyes. Soft lips. The curves of your jaw and cheeks. The way that your eyebrows are curved. He stores it all in his mind, hoping to never forget a detail.

“And I hope that things will work out for you, too.” You look at him for a long time before adding, “Maybe you can start a potion shop if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Open a potion shop, start a career in the Ministry, or work at Hogwarts for the rest of his life, it doesn’t matter. No matter what his future holds for him, he has realized one thing about it: he could truly be happy only if you were a part of it. As much as he hates to think that he’s given his heart to someone he’s known for less than a day, he knows that that is the reality. Yet there is one thing that will never become a reality: his desire for you two to be together. Your kind words and actions only occur because of your friendly affection towards him. He’s sure of it.

“Perhaps,” he replies idly.

You two look at each other for an awkward amount of time until you break the silence. “I guess I should go now.”

“Yes… you are right.” When you turn the doorknob, Severus quickly interjects, “Allow me.”

Severus opens his front door onto the street. Sunlight shines brightly and the sky is a beautiful blue. He wishes that he could spend such a beautiful day with you.

You two look out at children biking on the road and parents adjusting their briefcases before heading to work. “It would be best if you apparate behind the house,” he hesitantly suggests.

“Yeah.” You make no effort to move except for the turning of your head. “By the way, thanks for everything. Especially the food and the clothes. Your kindness means a lot to me.”

You briefly touch Severus’s arm and he has to quickly blink away the tears that form no matter how many times he tells himself to stay in control. This is it. You’re leaving. You’re finally leaving. The only person that has made him feel alive, made him feel valued and heard, is leaving. How can he ever cope with this separation? When Severus climbs into bed every night, his mind won’t be able to settle into sleep because he’ll constantly think about how you slept against him. Whenever Severus sits in his desk chair, he’ll always think about how he gave himself to you there. Whenever he enters his study to create his lesson plans for the following year, he’ll instead be reminded of your first kiss. Whenever he sits at his dining table to eat breakfast, he’ll always wish that you were sitting across from him, holding his hand and telling him secrets that you’ve never told anyone else. The memory of you will be too painful for him to bear, but he doesn’t ever want to forget you. An odd concoction of desperation, sadness, shame, confusion, frustration, anger, pain, and love all run through him.

Perhaps Severus is delusional. Perhaps this is the moment, out of all the moments in his life, that he’s completely lost his mind. But Severus notices something that sparks a dangerous sense of hope in him: one of your feet is on the pavement and the other foot is on the wood floor of his living room. You don’t want to leave either. And does he see a look of longing in your eyes? Did you place your hand on the doorframe to steady yourself or because you’re subconsciously tethering yourself to this place?

But behind that longing, he can also tell you’re in pain. In pain because your bookstore is struggling. In pain because you barely ever make enough to make ends meet. In pain because you have to prostitute tonight yet again. In pain because you have no one that cares for you. In pain because your life feels meaningless.

At that moment, the moment that you move to fully step out of his house and turn to walk down the alley, Severus has an incredibly impulsive thought. He knows that he has to do something. Not just for him, but more importantly, for you. He can’t allow you to suffer any longer.

“Wait!” he shouts after you. You stop and turn to face him, but you avoid his gaze.

“I deeply apologize if I am overstepping. However, I must ask you this before you leave, or else I will regret a missed opportunity for the rest of my life.” Severus is so arrested with fear, panic, and self-consciousness that he has no idea how his lips move or how he even forces his words out of his mouth. “I would like you to live here with me. I will cover all your financial expenses and support your store. You will not have to prostitute anymore.”

He takes both of your hands in his and holds onto them for dear life. The tears that he’s been trying to suppress have won out. They now flow freely down his cheeks and drip onto his shirt. He must look pitiful and pathetic, but he’s too overcome with emotion to control himself.

“I do not ask for sexual favors. I do not even ask that you pursue a romantic relationship with me. All I ask for in return is your companionship.” Severus is barely able to choke out his last sentence. “Please… I cannot bear to be alone any longer.”

Your expression is unreadable. You stare at him in silence for such a long time that he convinces himself that this was a mistake. You would never want to stay with him. He’s a disgusting man who does not understand boundaries. He must remind you of a desperate dog tied to a post, pathetically begging his owner not to abandon him. He’s so ashamed, so embarrassed for even asking you that he’s ready to run back into his house, shut the door, and cry for the rest of the day. That is until you throw yourself into his arms and kiss him.

Severus stumbles back from the impact but most importantly, the shock of your actions. You don’t need to say a word for him to understand that you’ve not just accepted his invitation to live with him, but that you want to pursue a romantic relationship with him. The new development fills him with such joy and giddiness that he wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes you tighter than he knows he should. And as demented as it sounds, he revels in the way your body shakes with sobs and how he can taste the tears now streaking down your face. Yet what he enjoys the most is how you kiss him with such intensity that this might as well be your last kiss. Thankfully, though, this will be the first of many kisses that you two will share.

You kiss each other for so long and with such intensity that by the time you separate, it’s a real possibility that you both might pass out. You laugh at his red face and cheeks and rest your forehead against his. “I would love to live with you. And I would also love to be your girlfriend if you’re willing.”

His heart soars to the heavens. Never in a million years did he think that he would have a girlfriend, let alone that it would be you. He responds with such enthusiasm that he trips over his words. “Girlfriend? That would… I… er… that would be more than I could dream of. Yes. I want to be your boyfriend.”

“You’re so cute.” You press a kiss on his cheek and step back. “Look, I want to run back into your house, but I still have to check in at the brothel and let them know that I’m quitting forever. And I still have to tend to the bookstore for the day and get ready. But I’ll come back here tonight at six, on the dot. I promise.”

“That is fine. I will see you at six.” These nine hours waiting for you will be the longest nine hours of his life, though every passing second means that he is one second closer to seeing you again.

“Great. See you soon!” You peck one last kiss to his lips and then walk down the alley, apparating away.

Severus has plenty of ideas of how to pass the time before you come back, but there is one thing that he’s most excited for: getting groceries and buying a second pillow just for you. And with you around, his house will finally become a home.

#snape #severus snape #smut #reader insert #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x reader #snape x you #hp #hp fanfic #angsty snape #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #happy ending

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maple-the-awesome · 4 months ago

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Another Link Crushes On You || Part 2/3

Part 1 ||

Pairings: Legend, Twilight, Wind x GN Reader

Overview: You've known Link for years - Well, a version of Link. Neither of you have seen yourselves as being anything more than friends, although it seems not all Link's think the same, in fact when you're introduced to the Chain, one of the boys falls pretty hard for you. I spun a wheel to let fate decide upon random pairs this time. Needless to say, I had a lot of fun with some of them😁

Zelda Masterlist 💚 Fandom Masterlist

Legend isn't a big fan of Skyloft which is something he decided rather quickly upon arrival - and no, it has nothing to do with the cold, thin air or hair-raising heights, although he’s also not a big fan of either. His problem lies solely on the cheerful atmosphere created by this village’s inhabitants. It’s all too easy going and mundane to fit an adventurer’s heart. Too familiar and painful, to boot.

The others may think of him as aloof and, quite frankly, Sky might be a little offended, but Legend has no interest in exploring these islands or making friends with the locals. Never again. Instead of joining any guided tours or trading stories with inquisitive knights, he sinks into his own isolation, finding a quiet place to sit amongst the shore of Skyloft’s only large water source.

All by his lonesome, he’s free to find a good boulder to hide behind and tear away at his hair in a desperate attempt at calming his unsteady anxiety…That is, until he hears a sound - No, not a sound, a voice. A beautiful voice that doesn’t speak, but rather hums a delicate melody he’s certain he’s heard before, probably from Sky who has a habit of mumbling certain songs to himself while plucking his harp.

…And there you are, blissfully unaware of anyone else's presence by the lake as you approach the water's edge. Dropping a laundry basket in the sand, you carefully roll up your pant legs and kick off your boots, prepared to step into the cold water until you suddenly halt.

As if having developed some sort of sixth sense, you glance over your shoulder, quickly spotting the pink haired boy peeking at you from beside a boulder. The sight understandably startles you, yet despite how awkward this situation might look without context - what, to catch a total stranger apparently 'spying' from afar - you give him a kind, that be it nervous smile. People in Skyloft truly are too trusting for their own good.

"Oh hello there! …So sorry, I don't think we’ve met yet."

Legend sighs, realizing it would be creepier if he were to just ignore you. With his place of solace now ruined, he stands and dusts the sand off his tunic, "...That's because I'm not from around here."

"Oh?" You tilt your head cutely, likely confused as to what he could possibly mean, after all, where else would he have come from if not Skyloft? Looking him over, you take notice of his outfit, “Are you a knight? I see you have the uniform of one.”

The angel on Legend's shoulder begs him to be honest, after all there's no reason not to be. Naturally, Sky seems to be pretty well known around Skyloft, so maybe you wouldn't be too surprised to learn your local hero has become ensnared in another adventure, bringing home a handful of other heroes. You might even find Legend more interesting if he were truthfully, awed by the rare chance to meet someone outside of your own timeline...yet staying true to his own bad habits, he decides to dig his own grave instead:

"...Yeah, I’m a knight. I'm just usually really busy, so that's probably why you haven't seen me around, you know,” He explains boldly.

You furrow your eyebrows while finally stepping into the water, taking a handful of clothing items with you, "...Huh...I still could've sworn I knew everyone here, what, with the island being so small and all."

Legend cringes. He can't tell if you're simply speaking on your confusion or slyly catching him in a lie, although the uncertainty isn't enough to deter him, "W-Well, I don't live 'here' exactly. I live on one of the...outer islands - And I spend a lot of time there instead of here which would make it easy to miss me."

You give him a strange look that feels as if it could burn right through him, however you fortunately turn away before his heart can ignite, "...May I ask your name?"

"My...name?" He blinks as if that’s the strangest question you could’ve asked.

"I just feel a bit rude for never having noticed you before, but if I were to learn a name to put to the face, I doubt I'll ever walk past you again without a smile," And oh, how deadly your smile is, flashed over your shoulder so innocently, yet those eyes - They hold mischief behind them.

"My name is Li - Ravio. That's my name," Another needless lie...

"Li Ravio?" You repeat, not looking very convinced, "That's certainly...a name, alright."

"W-Well, I didn't pick it!" Yes, yes he did...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense. It's a unique name, that's all, but that will make it easier to remember," You laugh at his misery, your eyes crinkling with the action. You then introduce yourself, your name sounding vaguely familiar, although Legend's in too much of a daze to think of why, "It's nice to meet you, Li Ravio."

He bites back a grumble, already regretting his life choices up until this point. Seriously, if he was going to give himself a cover name and story, couldn't he have picked something a little better? You probably think he's a weirdo, just showing up out of the blue with some half-assed backstory that sounds totally fake - Wait, what does he even care? It's not like he knows you! You're a random civilian from a timeline that comes generations before his own. If he wanted, he could march off and never see or think about you again...but does he want to?

Despite his previous desire for isolation, Legend remains standing there dumbly in the sand, entranced by the song you go back to humming while carefully scrubbing away at your laundry. You take no shame in your singing - which is good, because there's no reason to be. You sound nothing short of holy, and quite honestly, you match the look, practically glowing in the beams of sunlight. Even your movements are graceful, so much so that as you wade out of the water, you hardly disturb the water lilies around you.

"Where'd you learn to sing like that?" The question slips before Legend can help it, but there's no taking it back. You stop mid-step onto the sand, eyes quickly darting up to look at him in surprise. It's as if no one's ever been smart enough to give you that compliment before...or perhaps no one has ever sounded quite so astonished while saying it.

"My cousin and I sing every evening at the Lumpy Pumpkin," You explain, bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear after dropping your laundry back into its basket and picking it up, "You should come by sometime. It’s on an island south east of here - Very cozy, and a great place to get to know new people, too.”

"I'll, um...think about it,” Legend answers awkwardly with a cough. Will they even be staying in Skyloft that long? How would he even get to another island, especially without anyone else following - Wait, why is he even considering this?!

You seem to have lost some of your cheer. Perhaps that wasn’t the exact answer you were hoping to hear, however Legend, once again, has no way of taking it back.

“...Well, I, um, should get going. These clothes won’t dry themselves,” You mumble, gesturing to the basket you keep against your hip. Without waiting for any goodbye, you make your way up the shoreline, only stopping temporarily to shout over your shoulder, “Oh, and Li Ravio? I should probably tell you that Link was looking for you earlier! He wanted to make sure all you boys knew not to get too close to any edges! It’s quite the fall!”

Legend doesn’t respond, too stunned to form words as you chuckle to yourself before skipping off on your merry way. So you were aware of his lies the entire time!

Faced with tired bones and a sinking sun that plummets the world into night, the Chain has no choice but to call it a day (not that they have any objections towards rest). They practically collapse where they stand, taking a few greedy minutes to catch their breaths before picking up the work once again.

Setting up bedrolls, sparking a fire, organizing supplies, and chopping vegetables, the heroes are kept active for a decent hour or two until they can take another breather. Gathered around a wonky circle, their conversation is light and mostly focused upon their hunger which is only fueled by the pleasant smell of soup until it can be dished out.

About half the boys have bowls in their hands before a sudden snap of a twig causes them to trade their meals for weapons, senses on heightened alert especially when a stranger soon steps out of the shadows. At such a distance, the fire's light only barely outlines their silhouette, but that’s apparently all it takes for someone in their group to realize this is no actual stranger who's stumbled across them.

Hyrule's face lights up as he exclaims your name. Your own reaction is quite similar, switching from caution to excitement within the same second that you remove the hood from your head. The way you both move to greet each other, holding the other's arms with bright smiles and disbelief is quick to calm the other heroes. If you're a friend of the wary traveler's, then you'll be a friend to them.

"I thought it was your voice I heard from the trail, but then again, I haven't heard you in ages! And to find you in such a large group of companions? Never before! Where have you been for all this time, old friend?" You seem to go through several emotions all at once - a steady flow from relief, confusion, sorrow, and joy. Hyrule is hardly any better.

"It's a long story, but I haven't exactly been around to be seen," When you give him a bewildered look, he’s quick to brush it off, "I'll tell you all about it some other time - Hey, why don't you join us for dinner? There's plenty to go around!”

Your eyes instantly widen as you wave your hands in front of yourself, your smile suddenly strained, "Oh, no - no thanks! That's a kind offer, really, but I, um, ate not too long ago -"

"- Pss! He's not the one who does the cooking here," Someone whispers. At that, your shoulders visibly relax.

"...Oh...Well, uh, now that I think about it, it was really more of a light snack earlier. I suppose I could stand to eat something more."

Hyrule beams at this, clearly happy to have someone he knows so well stick around even if only for a night. It's then that he finally introduces you to the group, explaining that you're a fellow traveler he often crossed paths with during his own adventures. Seeing how dangerous this time can be, you had a habit of sharing supplies, camps, and stories to feel less alone in the world, so it's no wonder that you'd be so relieved to see each other safe again.

"Mind if I sit by you, stranger?" You ask, peeking around at Twilight while Hyrule grabs you a bowl of soup. Despite your tired eyes and worn expression, you still manage a friendly smile that causes the rancher to nearly choke on his spoon.

With a cough and blush, he scoots to the side, probably making far more room than you actually need, "...Not one bit."

"Thanks!" Fortunately, you don't seem to think anything of his reaction as you gratefully take a seat nor do you take any notice of the way he steals another curious glance at you.

Seeing as you're a new face within the group, it's only natural that you become the center of attention. Questions are thrown your way left and right, many interested to know your story which you modestly tell with little fanfare. Apparently, you've been a traveler for the last few years, wandering from place to place while making a living off trading the resources you collect throughout your journey. Before then, though, you used to live at your family's ranch.

"You grew up on a ranch?" Twilight asks a bit too eagerly once the topic's mentioned, earning himself a lot of strange looks including one from yourself, although you at least seem more forgiving than his friends, quickly letting your confusion go with a gentle nod.

"I did - For most my life, actually," That's all you say before going back to stirring your soup which you're thankful not to find any bone fragments in.

"What made you move on from that life?" Perhaps it's an out-of-line question a gentleman shouldn't be asking, after all he's no more than a stranger to you, but learning a pretty thing such as yourself may have a similar background to himself makes him forget all manners.

"...It was destroyed by monsters some time back," You answer simply while taking a bite.

Twilight bows his head, shame burning inside, "...Oh. I'm real sorry to hear that."

Despite his fears of having caused offense, you merely shrug off any discomfort, “My family made it out alright and we make do with what we have now. Can't go complaining about that."

"...I'm from a farming village myself - From Ordon,” He goes on to tell in a quiet ramble, “I’ve worked there as a ranch hand practically all my life, overseeing the goats we’re famous for. It’s quaint, and about as far from the big towns as you can get, but homely. And the people there - Why, I don’t think you’ll find anyone more kind and welcoming. Like livin’ in one big family.”

Once again, this probably isn't something he should be saying. If it were him, he'd be beyond distraught to lose the ranch to the point that any reminders would send him spiraling, yet to his continued good fortune, you take his story for what it's meant to be, setting down your spoon with a comforted smile.

"I'd love to see that…" Orondian, how you enchant him with such a soft gaze, taking him hostage in the sea of your sparkling eyes. If Hyrule's tales are any indication for the horrors of this broken world, you must be a true diamond in the rough to be from a place so cruel. Any less personal control and Twilight wouldn't hesitate to ask you to join them - to come along on this adventure and see how beautiful life will someday be. He could take you to Ordon and show you all he’s come to adore - let you breathe the fresh air scented like hay and pine while overlooking the familiar green fields you’ve dearly missed. Who knows? Maybe you’d even ask to stay.

“I’d love to show you…”

"...Is this still a group conversation ooor?" Wild pipes in awkwardly from Twilight’s side, seeming to speak on everyone else’s discomfort as the poor, stricken young man loses himself to this yearning in his heart. This might be a long night and an even longer day tomorrow if they get stuck listening to him fawning over you...

You’re starting to doubt this shift will ever end…

It feels like you’ve been stuck in here for hours with nothing to do aside from sit at the counter and beg the sun to set just a little faster. You've already restocked inventory twice, organized stock to perfection, and swept the floor until your broom broke…If this keeps up, your sanity might just break, too.

Ringing from the front door’s bell gives you at least something to do as you sigh your typical greeting: "Welcome to Gia's General Store, where we have all your - LINK?!"

With a complete shift in mood, you happily leap up from your stool and race around the corner to meet your friend halfway in a tight embrace that you've both gone far too long without, "It's been ages! How have you been? Where have you been?"

Four chuckles at your eager questioning, "It hasn't been that long."

"Really? Because I swear five years have passed from this shift alone…" You groan dramatically before breaking away from the hug to get a solid look at him. Despite the months that have passed, he looks no different than when he had first set out. Good. You like him just the way he is anyway.

"Please tell me you're planning on sticking around for a bit. I’ve been dying for something interesting to happen around here and your stories are just the salvation I need! I only have an hour to go until I can close up, though I'm afraid I might stab myself with a fire arrow before then. It’s been terribly boring!”

That, Four doesn’t doubt. Your home village is as serene as they come which isn’t always a favorable trait in the judgement of two teenagers with more energy coursing through their bones than they know what to do with. Of course, he’s probably done no good helping matters by always filling your head with envious dreams of adventure and mystery.

“We’ll probably be spending the night in town,” He tells you, much to your relief, “In the meantime, we have quite the list of supplies that we need to restock on, if you don’t mind.”

"We?" Somehow you only just notice the group of young men who managed to sneak into the store after Four. A few of them are already looking around at the items you have to offer, while others wait patiently with the hope that they'll be introduced to...Well, whoever you are to their dear friend.

"I would introduce everyone, but we all share the same name."

"All of you?" You look at Four in shock, yet he nods as if it's the most normal thing in the world to him...Then again, it probably is at this rate. Honestly you shouldn't be that surprised yourself. This is Link you're talking to.

"...Huh...Well, feel free to have a look around, I guess, and let me know if you need anything in particular. Arrows are buy one get two free right now, and fully in stock, too, since Link - Er, this Link, hasn't been in town to buy us out,” You explain to the group, jutting a thumb towards Four who rolls his eyes.

Now, usually you become a bit overwhelmed whenever large groups enter your shop, but seeing as these guys are Four's friends, you feel comfortable letting them wander freely. It helps that they seem to know exactly what they're looking for, too, making your job all the easier.

For the most part, the group allows Four and you privacy to catch up, only interrupting your conversation occasionally whenever they have questions about your prices or the quality of your goods, however you aren’t blind to the curious glances they spare you even in silence. No doubt they’re wondering how deep your relationship with Four goes, finding it endearing how at peace the young hero has become in your simple presence.

Most of these glances are quick enough, although you can’t help noticing that one of the boys seems to lack the same subtlety as his friends. Each time you steal a peek through the corners of your eyes, you spot him staring in your direction with an awed look overtaking his face. Whenever someone else nudges him to ask a question, he blinks rapidly with a stammer before bashfully looking away.

‘Cute…’ You’re tempted to think, but then you take notice of how young the boy seems to be. He must be at least a few years younger than Four and you - still a just child, at least by your standards which is an upsetting thought since context clues point to him being a hero, too. If that’s true, that must mean he was as young as Four was when he first set out on all this hero business himself, if not even younger. Poor kid…

Soon enough, Four confirms your suspicions about his traveling companions’ identities, telling you all about the strange portals they’ve traveled through and the journey they’ve been on up until this point. It was mere hours ago that they found themselves this close to home and, well, he couldn’t bear to pass by without seeing you or his uncle.

“Smart. I would’ve been livid had I found out you were in the area and didn’t stop by,” You elbow Four who pushes you back with his shoulder playfully before suddenly glancing behind you. Following his attention, you find the youngest hero standing there shyly, a minish feather necklace in one hand and a small pouch of rupees in the other.

Wind startles, seeming to have not expected your turn, “I, uh, wanted to know how much this was - um, is…So that I can buy it, if I may - for my little sister!”

You notice Four hiding his smirk behind his hand, yet you elect to ignore him for now, instead giving the younger boy your full focus with a kind smile, “How sweet of you. Consider it on the house, kid.”

“R - Really?” He brightens with possibly the widest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“‘course. Think of it as payment for helping my friend here find his way home safely.”

“Wow, thank you miss!” Oh goddesses above, his smile is adorable! He reminds you of the village children who often come here seeking sweet treats, such a simple delight to create lasting joy in their hearts. How you wish you could return to those days yourself - to no longer bear the weight of the world and its troubles in your thoughts. Alas, you could never so skillfully rewind time, but at least you can help protect that same innocence in others, even if only for a moment.

And protect it you do. Even late into the evening, Wind still cherishes that necklace in hand, carefully inspecting its details while kicking his feet giddily in memory of you, the pretty shopkeeper from Four’s Hyrule.

Sure, it probably isn’t that big of a deal. You gave the entire Chain a rather generous discount on their supplies despite their protests, but he was the only one who received your kindness personally without having to share. No one else aside from Four had the joy of seeing your beautiful smile directed his way, your expression soft and comforting like a warm breeze on the summer’s beach.

He hadn’t lied. He does plan on giving the necklace to Aryll once this journey is over, but until then, he’ll probably admire it a little longer, at least until this crush of his settles within his heart.

#x reader #reader insert #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe #legend of zelda #lu legend x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu wind x reader

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wchswift · 4 months ago

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ଓ VALENTINE'S DAY WITH DEAN

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: dean pretends not to care about the holiday, but every year he makes sure to celebrate it with you.

word count: 700

note: this blurb was requested by @bettystonewell for headcanon from dean in valentine's day! I didn't like this one very much but I really hope you enjoy it <3 this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!

── english isn't my first language :)

mdni 𖤐 18+

"Valentine’s Day is a scam, sweetheart."

Dean had grumbled those exact words this morning—coffee in one hand, mouth full of pancake—looking wholly unimpressed by the pink and red decorations plastered around the diner where you’d stopped for breakfast.

"Hallmark holiday. Just a bunch of overpriced flowers and bad chocolate. What's the point? I show you that I love you every day; I don't need a special day for that," he snorted, continuing his speech. "Valentine's Day is only beneficial for singles because it's a great day to hit on women at the bar."

You’d rolled your eyes, laughing, because honestly? You knew better. You knew Dean Winchester—knew that he could act all tough and indifferent, but at the end of the day, he was all heart when it came to you. He literally did this every year, and by the end of the day, he always pulled off the most romantic or cute gesture to show that he still cared and was still there for you.

Which is how you found yourself here, sitting in a booth at your favorite diner, a basket of greasy fries between you, REO Speedwagon playing on the jukebox.

You narrow your eyes at the man across from you. “You sure you don’t do Valentine’s Day?”

Dean shrugs, all casual-like, grabbing a fry and popping it into his mouth. “What? Can’t we just enjoy a nice dinner together? Just you and me? You know how much I love a greasy meal,” he says with an exaggerated wink that tells you he's full of it.

You just nod but can't help but notice the small, wrapped package he's trying—and failing—to hide beneath his jacket on the seat.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Uh-huh. So, you just happened to take me to my favorite diner, with my favorite fries, let me pick all the songs, and—” With a pointed finger, you direct his attention to the little pink-wrapped gift. “—get me a gift?”

“It’s not a gift!” he protests, a hint of fluster breaking through his cool demeanor. “It’s just… something I’ve wanted to give you for a while, and it was in..." He stumbles over his words. "In my pocket,” he finishes, his voice low.

Biting your lip, you pull the little package toward you and carefully unwrap it, the delicate paper crinkling slightly under your fingers. Inside is a mixtape—classic Dean Winchester. And when you turn it over, your heart does a little stupid flip at the handwritten label.

I Love You Mix Tape

For My Lucky Charm.

It's so simple yet so meaningful.

You glance up at him, your chest tightening. “Dean… you big softie,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He lets out a snorted laugh, looking almost embarrassed, bringing his beer to his lips in a futile attempt to hide his reaction. “It's not anything grand,” he admits, his voice a bit sheepish. “I just thought I’d give you something you’d appreciate. I know it’s not much—definitely not a big, romantic gesture.”

The earnestness in his tone makes your heart swell a little more, softening the edges of the moment.

Setting the tape down, you slide out of your seat, and before he can react, you slip into the booth next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Shut up. It's perfect, Dean. Really. I love this—all of it.”

Dean huffs, but you can feel the way he relaxes under your touch, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “Damn it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re gonna make me start actually likin’ this stupid holiday.”

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips against his. “Oh, you love it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

His fingers tighten on your waist, and the playful glint in his eyes turns darker, more intent. “Maybe. But you know what part of the holiday I do like?”

You swallow as his lips graze your jaw, his voice dipping lower. “What’s that?”

Dean grins against your skin. “The part where I take you back to the motel and spend the whole damn night reminding you how much you mean to me.”

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem like such a scam after all.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @lyarr24 @chevroletdean @cowboysandcigarettes @nochedie (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

#꣖ ີ ꣓ writes.#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean supernatural #dean winchester x fem reader #dean winchester drabble #jensen ackles #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural dean #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester 🪽#100 followers #request 💌

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leighsartworks216 · 10 days ago

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Laundromat

Sylus x fem!Reader

Inspired by my late-night excursions to the expensive as hell laundromat I had to do my laundry at every week when I was in college (lowkey gonna miss it)

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, laundry, sleep, cuddling, developing relationship

Word Count: 1,884

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First - Second - Third - Fourth LADs Masterlists

AO3

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Sylus frowns up at the basic sign above the door. It's not even illuminated; just a boring row of letters in red that spell ‘LAUNDROMAT’. You poke his arm, but you're grinning deviously, excitedly.

"You said you could handle living like me for a week. Don't tell me it's starting to weigh you down now."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Sweetie, a little laundry isn't going to kill me."

You snicker, kill the ignition, and get out of the car. He follows, shutting the door behind him while you skip around to the back of the car. Your car. You take endless pleasure seeing Sylus duck down into the seat, pushed as far back as it'll go, and still having his legs be all squished up against the dash. Using one of his cars would be disingenuous to the experience. And you can't deny the wealth of joy you feel getting to treat him like a passenger princess.

You open up the trunk and lift out a basket full of dirty clothes. He frowns at the sight of some of the nice clothes he bought you being mixed into the pile. "Those should be dry cleaned," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, I can't afford it." You shove the basket into his hands. It looks so out of place. You grab your detergent and shut the trunk. Two quick taps on the fob locks the car with a beep.

"I already gave you my card."

"Goes against the challenge." You lean up with a grin to pat his cheek. He tries to bite your fingers. "Now, c'mon, it takes, like, an hour and a half for all this."

He follows behind as you head to the door. It swings too easily on its hinges, loose from all the customers that come in here at all hours of the day, and the owner's own lack of upkeep.

The inside is bright and cramped. White overhead lights beam down on rows of machines that line the walls of the building. Two tables stand in the middle, and wire-basket carts for the clothes are scattered everywhere. Dryer sheets, dirt, the odd spillage of detergent, and a very dubious looking coin cemented to the tile make up the floor. A frazzled mother folds clothes at one of the tables; blouses and baby clothes all laid into piles. A few teens sit at the back, underneath a wall-television that plays some cooking channel. Their clothes sit in garbage bags at their feet as they wait for a taxi to drive them back to their college dwellings.

You slip past him and move with ease toward a washing machine. It's labelled ‘triple load’, but it's atrociously small and nearly $8 to operate. You pull over one of the carts for Sylus to set the basket in, and pull that up to the small porthole door, tossing in clothes to be washed.

You grin at him over your shoulder. "You wanna go get me some quarters?" You gesture over toward the back of the building, to a sign pointing the way into a back room, full of yet more machines. "Ten dollars worth should do."

He quirks a brow at you. "For one load of laundry?"

"They up-charge all the machines when school's in session."

He sighs, but slips past you. This tall, intimidating man looks so out of place, sidling past half-open washer doors, carts, and tables. His clothes are obviously way too expensive to blend in well, despite his best efforts. You should worry about someone recognizing him, but, really, who's gonna think it's actually him?

The mother's eyes follow him away for a moment. She looks back at you with a grin, eyebrows raised. You flush and turn away.

You toss your clothes in until the basket is empty. You're lucky it's not a big load, or else you'd have to use two machines. If they weren't so expensive, you'd even split the load into lights and darks, or pull out the nice expensive clothes to wash them on delicate. But you're not about to blow 15 to 20 dollars every week when you'd be better off saving it for food.

You add your detergent and shut the machine just as Sylus comes back. His large hand is full of quarters that jingle together. That distinct metallic smell of coins sticking to his palm. You quirk a brow up at him. "I said $10."

He smirks. "Think of it as me covering next week's expenses."

You roll your eyes, but you don't argue further. Not like the machine can exchange it back, anyway. You step away from the washing machine, tucking the cart under the table and out of the way, and pull him by his arm to stand in front of it. You point to the coin slot. "Thirty quarters, if you please."

It's like watching him insert tokens for an arcade machine, but the game requires no skill and the reward is always the same. Well, so long as the machine works. The owner's not good about labelling busted machines, so it's a gamble every week to know if you'll be spending longer here, moving your clothes over to another washer or dryer that also may not work.

Each quarter clinks inside, landing in a pile, the little number display counting down for each one. At some point, there is no clink and the number doesn't change. Sylus pauses, but you just reach over and press on the return. The coin slides out into the catch, and you push it harder back into the slot so the momentum carries it past where it hung up before. The coins clink and the number changes. He shakes his head, quietly showing his disdain for this entire process, and finishes putting in the required quarters.

Right away, the machine locks and the clothes inside begin to spin. He spares your pockets the added weight, dropping the last great handful of coins into his own. The display changes to show a 24 minute timer.

"And now, we wait." You smile innocently as you lead him over to the seats by the door. They're plastic and worn and extremely uncomfortable. He sighs as he adjusts. "What do you think so far?"

He shoots you a look, conveying his feelings quite clearly. "You do this every week?"

"Yup," you say, popping the p sound.

"Always at this time?" The sun has long since set outside. The parking lot is nearly empty. It's early for him, but it's late for you.

You nod. "It's less busy really early or really late. I don't like getting up early, so coming in late is better."

A car rolls up to the curb outside. It sits for a couple seconds before impatiently beeping. The teens in the back yawn as they get up from their own uncomfortable seats. One garbage bag thrown over a shoulder and the other carried awkwardly in front while they sidle past the tables and machines. The distinct scent of weed stinks the air as they pass by and into the night, shuffling into the taxi together. Sylus cringes, fighting back a sneeze. He's well used to the smell of tobacco, the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. Definitely not the skunky smell of marijuana.

He sniffs, turning his attention back to you. "What do you do to pass the time?"

You shrug, leaning against him easily, also a little sleepy. "Depends. Sometimes I run errands. Usually I just scroll through Moments."

He looks at the timer display. Only a few minutes have gone by. The fluorescent lights beat down on him, stinging his eyes in the same way the sun does. One light in the back flickers. Someone on the television leads an imaginary audience through a recipe, far too upbeat and energetic for this run down place.

He tries to imagine sitting in here every week: relegated to these awful chairs for an hour and a half, listening to the hum of electricity and chatter of TV personalities, intermingled with the noise of the washers and dryers. He doesn't know how you can stand it. Or maybe you just got used to the discomfort. That thought upsets him most of all.

He dislodges you for a moment to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side where you'll be more comfortable. You settle your head against his chest without contest. "You can sleep if you want," he says softly. "I'll wake you when it's done."

You hum. It feels much safer in here with him. You've imagined horrible scenarios week by week. Strange people cornering you in this place, no one around to hear or help. Of course, Mephisto would alert him if anything like that happened, but actually feeling him take up space in here pushes all those fears far away. If anyone dared try anything, they'd be dealt with without him ever needing to get up. You're dozing in the security in no time.

You wake up to the sound of voices. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you come back to the world of consciousness.

The woman speaks to Sylus in a language you don't understand. She's very coy in her body language, smirking knowingly and gesturing. Whatever she says makes him grin, but he shakes his head as he replies in that same language. You watch on curiously. It's not every day you get to see him interact with someone normally, without threats and business and danger. Not to mention, hearing this language roll off his tongue... you want to hear him speak it some more.

The lady laughs as she gathers the last of her folded clothes into her basket. She hefts it up, supporting it against her stomach. Sylus pushes open the door from where he sits. She levels him with a half-serious look, nodding toward you as she tells him something. He nods, saying something short in return.

She heads outside into the night and he lets the door fall shut behind her. You adjust your head on his shoulder to look up at him. "What'd she say?"

His lips curl in smug satisfaction as he settles back into his chair. "She said my wife is very beautiful. I told her we weren't married, but I agreed." Your face grows warm as he looks down at you. His eyes are mellow and soft, adoring. "And then she said I should propose, before it's too late."

The air is electric. Static with anticipation. You can't help glancing at his lips. They're so plush... When you look back up, his own eyes glance unashamedly at your own lips, following them as you speak.

"What did you say?"

He meets your eyes again. Lips curl into a pretty smirk. He leans away, nodding toward the machines. "Your clothes just finished, sweetie."

"Huh?" Sure enough, when you look over, the machine has stopped spinning. A light blinks, signaling that it's finished. How had you missed the buzz?

Sylus's arm retreats from around your shoulder as he stands. He grabs one of the carts and nudges it in front of the washing machine, throwing an amused look your way. "Come on, sweetie. We need to finish so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #fem reader #x fem reader #female reader #x female reader

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shuenkio · 7 months ago

Text

Halloween's Love | Psh. 🎃

Paring: Sunghoon X M!reader | Genre: Smut.

Synopsis: A fun day turning into a hot Halloween when Sunghoon saw you in that witch costume that he brought for you.

Cw: Heavy smut, cursing, belly bulge?, mentioned of cum, gigantic Sunghoon size, curse, aggressive sh, bad language.

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

🍁AN: Advance Halloween special for y'all after haven't active for 4-5 days. Again I'm still nerf in the smut field so, hope you can read peacefully ;)

It's the fall season, which means today was Halloween time. Also this is the first time in your relationship that you spend with your Boyfriend, Sunghoon. Even though it's not quite fun however since Sunghoon was here, everything is completely fine.

As for the Trick or Treat approach in the evening, You have nothing to wear for the costume since you forget to buy one, but lucky enough Sunghoon was quite thoughtful as he brought you a nice costume, just in case, and very unexpectedly one. A witch. It was quite revealing just for the thighs Abit but it's still appropriate for the public. Or not for Sunghoon?

Meanwhile Sunghoon, he was dressing up as a pumpkin man, you have never thought he would before, the fact that he was the cold one. However, this one is different from the pumpkin man you had known, Sunghoon was wearing loin clothes above his pants underneath, and a tight polo tank top that was clinging on his tone skin, if this isn't the pyramid head reference, you didn't know what else.

But actually what's going on inside his head? That's what you thought. The whole evening of trick or treat was fun, full of laughter and smiles, everywhere you explore the whole neighborhood. Everyone compliments that both of you and Sunghoon fit perfectly for the theme and as a couple too. Which somehow draws a satisfied smile on Sunghoon's face under the hot pumpkin head.

Getting back home, a basket full of candy. This year was the best year that you've spent your entire life. So fun so good so far. On the other hand, you noticed that your boyfriend was taking time in the bathroom to change, rather than longer than usual, and it makes your worries slightly. Heading toward the bathroom, you knocked on the door to ask how was him, but all you got was a Heavily breathing, like.... He was moaning?

A flash appears on your face once it clicks on your mind, yet you try to brush it off just because no way Sunghoon would do it, right?

But isn't that weird that it sounds like he was pleasuring himself. Somehow you didn't want to disturb him, but some part wanted to know if he's alright just in case.

As you open the door wide, your thoughts come to life. He was like what you're thinking. Your face grows even redder as you saw a glimpse of his tip before quickly turning around and looking away. Sunghoon was surprised to see you, a shame of embarrassed washing over him, however did he mind, no he don't. He was just catching off guard, you catch him in a moment like this.

"I-im sorry, I didn't mean to" Nervously mixing with excitement, you apologize. Sunghoon didn't know what to say so he responded back with another apology instead. Weird.

"It's not your fault M/N, I got carried away because y-you did wear the costume I brought for you" He explain, rubbing the back of his nape as he cover his crotch with a towel on, while your back still facing his.

"so... That was the only reason?" Swallow hard, in disbelief he was turned on by you wearing this witch costume, it was that sexy?

"No um it's hard to— say M/N but it have been a long time since I saw you in um y'know, showing off your skin and I want to ask— nvm" Sunghoon quickly turn around from facing your back, as his word slipped out what's from his mind. It's obvious what he wants from you. You gaze grow soft, once you realize he wants to make love with you— and turn this relationship to the next level.

"love! Why don't you tell me in the first place there's nothing to be embarrassed about, I can give it to you, now say the word" You state, turn to face him as he slowly turns to face you back and unfortunately, his towel falls off, accidentally revealing his massive length right there.

"You didn't mind? Uh yes i-i do want it, a... Lot"

"that's what I like to hear" You smile as you return him back with a kiss while your naughty hand, wrapped around his cock.

////

The bed's shaking from the movement of both of you, especially Sunghoon. He didn't hold back from what he meant that he wants it a lot. Even better, he's the one who suggested that fucking you in this sexy revealing Halloween costume on, was one of his dream and now you fulfilling it.

His rhyme was rough, and aggressive like a damn wolf, the way his cock moved in and out of your hole, the wet sound shatter alluring in this room, didn't do any favors but to make it more heat and aroused in the bedroom. It should be a crime, that his size was gigantic, very. The way his balls clap together and are full of load, lord if only he was asking for this earlier, you biting your lip, groaning in pleasure as he pounded on you very hard.

"fu-ck Sunghoon ~ you gotta speed it down, m-my hole won't hold on if you are this rough" you cry out in bliss, even if he would you'd not complain about it, this session was life changing.

"No M/N you feel too good to not, SHebal, you're so t-- tight ahmmm" His head throwing to the back, whimpers under his breath when he hit his sweet spot, as he continue to arching his hip, buried himself deeper and thrusting harder inside of you, chasing for that crazy climax, while snuggle his hands around your waist.

Subsequently, it became worse, the pace of his hip grew more uneven, the outline of his cock on your belly appeared extra clearly, as you both breath became more hitch and patted heavily, chasing for the perk.

But who was the one that feeling insane and drive themselves crazy about this fuck? There's no other than Sunghoon. Seeing his own work on your body, just giving him a satisfied achievement to himself, not only the way your dick bouncing up and down, leaking in pre-cum, as he is, back shooting you like there's no tomorrow only to make him, overwhelmed by amusement or should you say, it make him overstimulate?

"For God's sake, M/N fuck fuck fuck FUCK I'M CUMMING CUMMING—" waste no more time, Sunghoon feel a huge wave of orgasm building inside of him, as he spilled all his cum, finally empty himself inside of your ass, tighten his strength around your waist even harder as he thrust all in.

Eventually, both bodies collapse on the soft bed, since Sunghoon passes out already while still inside of you. Soon after, you also follow his orgasm through, cumming on your own abdomen, undone.

Once it's settled, you lay there beside him, taking some moments to catch your breath as you are facing him on the bed, staring at his wasted expression that he did for himself, adorable.

The atmosphere turn into quite and peaceful once again after this intense FUCK. The way his cock still in you, meaning that even if he was not in his mind right now, he'd still be close to you, in any way possible, and that the way he loves you, and you love him for that, also.

"Maybe you really want it, haha but look, you're the first to pass out"

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mirageyume · 8 days ago

Text

- Someone else in that body?

Azure x Reader

Note

-Reader is childhood friends with Two Time and Azure (not specified if you were in the cult with them)

-The readers gender isn't specified

-Does it look like I know how to proofread? (beware of errors)

So much for sticking together as a duo. Two Time ran off to aid Chance after his gun went off on him, leaving you to fend for yourself while you waited for them to return. Wandering the area alone was a hazard with a killer on the loose. Yet so far, you're safe.

Letting out a sigh, you continued your search for your partner and that gambler they went to help. Surely they were both alright and were still on the run. Right?

The more you walked, the more paranoid you got. You'd run into the occasional survivor yet no Two Time in sight. Better yet, where was the killer anyway? You don't think you even saw them since the round started.

Halting to a stop, you began to think the worst.

Has Two Time bit the dust for this round already? You scowled at the thought.

Oh well, it seems like you have to keep going on your own til the timer runs out. You'll meet up with Two Time later and scold them for leaving you later. You smiled at the thought of reprimanding your friend. Since childhood, Two Time was always doing something that earned them a stern talking to from you. Some old habits just never die out.

Gathering yourself together, you attempt to move, only to be yanked down by a vine like tendril. With a yelp, you tried to quickly pick yourself up off the ground. It was futile, though, that vine had a steady hold on your leg. Whipping your head around immediately to see the cause, you come eye to eye with the killer.

You froze.

“Azure...?”

“I'm glad to see you again, It's been some time, hasn't it.”

Your face paled at the sight of him. He's supposed to be dead. Why is he here…? No. This isn't the Azure you knew. That isn't him.

It just can't be.

“I knew I'd find you somewhere around here.” He said as he approached your still form.

Your eyes darted to what was in his hand. A basket…full of your favorite flowers.

A feeling of deja vu hit you. This has happened before. Many times, just not in these unfortunate circumstances. Back when everything was still fine, and he was alive, he would often bring you your favorite flowers. It was a kind gesture that he repeatedly did. If he wasn't spending time with Two Time, Azure would often drag you along to flower fields. He'd make it a habit of giving you random trivia facts about the flora. And above all, he was the reason you were so fond of your favorite flowers in the first place.

Snapping back into reality, you shook your head and tried to create some distance between you two. You can't have what you had back then. Not anymore.

Why can't Azure just stay in the past?

“These are for you. Don't tell me you have the heart to reject me now after all these years.” Azure held out the basket full of flora out to you. You tried to tug on the vine around your leg in another attempt to break free, but still, it was no use.

“Get away from me! I don't want them!” You spat out in fear. You did want to accept them, but not like this.

Not with him.

A flicker of sadness flashed in Azures purple eyes, and it made you feel bad. That feeling was short-lived as his face took on a different emotion, one of disdain.

You kept telling yourself this isn't the Azure you loved back then. You had to get away.

Kneeling down to your level, Azure placed down the basket full of flowers next to you before harshly pulling you forward towards him. You shrieked at the sudden movement but refused to make any extra moves as you valued your life.

Azure wrapped an arm around your waist and placed his other hand to cup your cheek. It was only now that you got a closer look at his face. As familiar as he looked, you still refused to believe it was actually him.

With your free hand, you grabbed his wrist and moved his hand away from your face.

“I said I don't want them.”

“And I said they're for you.” Azure said back matter of factly with venom laced in his words.

You struggled in his hold, but even if you did get out of his grasp, there was no escaping the tendrils that seemed to come out of his back.

Futile.

Finally coming to terms with that fact, you hung your head low and just sat there in his hold.

“Give up?” Azure chuckled as it seemed your weak attempts at running away have ceased.

You shakily exhaled and tried to zone out. The only thing in your mind is getting back to Two Time and pretending this whole encounter didn't happen. You wonder how they're faring right now. Certainly better than you, probably.

“Quit thinking about that pest! They're not here, and they won't be back for you. They're good for nothing and a waste of time!” Azure snapped at you as if he could read your previous thoughts.

…The real Azure wouldn't speak of Two Time this way.

You frowned at the sudden outburst. Time should almost be up, and you'll be back in the cabin with the other survivors soon.

Just hang in there for a bit longer.

You glanced at Azure before casting your line of sight to the forgotten basket of flowers next to you. Accepting them will only tie you down to a past you didn't want to be associated with anymore. Letting go is easier said than done, isn't it?

For a final moment, you tackled Azure and embraced him. You closed your eyes and felt a tear spill before everything went black.

Comfort only lasts for so long.

Authors note:

I have not written a thing since my days in the pressure fandom and dear God I forgot just how bad my english is when I write. I'm slowly but surely getting into everyones lore in forsaken, so there might be some mistakes every once in a while.

This one-shot is one out of my 3 Azure x reader drafts that I actually tried to complete without cringing and deleting AUGHHH.

#forsaken x reader #forsaken x you #azure x reader #forsaken

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the-raven-and-the-tower · 4 months ago

Text

A snoop through Lucanis's room in the Lighthouse; Signs of a Struggle

Lucanis is doing a damned good job holding it together considering everything he's been through. He's keeping a tight grip on his emotions and using the job to focus himself, but if you stop in to check on him... there are a few clear signs that not all is well.

Baby boy picked a room without windows, yet he's still craving light. For an assassin who has spent most of his life very comfortable in the dark, he’s avoiding it now like he’s avoiding sleep.

There are FIFTY SEVEN candles in his room. Fifty six of them are lit. Look at the variety. He found every spare candle available to him in the Lighthouse and possibly dragged a few back with him from the Cantori Diamond or Dellamorte estate.

^ Short candles, tall tapers, all in various states of use, ALL LIT. One very different candle in a silver candle-holder, maybe from the Diamond or home

^ Another silver addition, this time a candelabra with similar style to the last one and an elven lamp, similar to the one Rook decorates their room with.

^ Three more styles of candlestick holders in with all the standalone candles I'm guessing he found around the Lighthouse.

^ Terrible shot, but he also has both wall torches lit, which were the only lights in that space when he moved in IIRC

And what's more, he has enough coffee stashed in this room to give niacin flush to an elephant.

There are ELEVEN coffee cups sitting out and two more sitting ready next to the gifted coffee set. (Also, he has no coffee in his mug if you sneak a peek into it.)

^ Seven of the cups are within reach of his right hand, where he sits on the bed.

^ There's another in front of his hookah pipe. Couple more in the second shot, I missed a picture of one somehow. There are two unused cups sitting ready behind his gifted coffee set that definitely doesn't look like it's for tea...

^ Coffee beans and I'm guessing the two sacks next to the basket are full of the same. His empty cup below, cuz it makes me laugh.

Next, the bed. It gives me vibes of the crappy bedroll Astarion sleeps on in BG3. Look at this thing.

You can see where he tried scrubbing the grime away before giving up and deciding to just live with it. We know there are other beds in the Tower, Taash and Davrin both have cozy ones when they arrive.

Whether or not Lucanis had the conscious thought of "what he's worth / deserves", this is how he values himself. This is what he chose to sleep in... likely with the thought that he's going to be avoiding sleep at all costs anyway, why does it matter what shape the bed is in?

He brought barely any personal possessions with him. Lace is the same way, but Bellara's room is full and we found her packing list (adorable). Neve, too, has brought books, papers, a spare leg, tools to work on it with... Even Rook has a scene where they decorate their room with possessions that are meaningful to them.

But if we go looking through Lucanis's personal belongings, we find barely any of them. And what few there are, we find mixed among the team supplies or shoved under them.

^ Here, is hookah pipe is neatly shelved in the corner, and we find a a heavily-armored and well-locked chest tucked among the fruit. I might be looking for meaning where there isn't any but... Lucanis has got himself tucked away in the pantry, his walls up and himself still locked away in the Ossuary of his mind.

^ Better view of the chest.

Underneath one of the moved shelves is a Crow-themed rug, with almost all details hidden under supplies for the team, another big basket of coffee beans and another presumably-locked chest.

Under the bed, we find another rug, rolled up and not set out even though having it laid on the floor inside of the bed would be more comfortable. He spends a lot of time sitting on that bed, having a rug to put his feet on could be nice and yet... it's under the bed.

The only other Lucanis possession I could find in the room is his bag, shoved under his bed. He's a boujie boy, but it's not a boujie bag. It's utilitarian and well-used, shoved under the bed until he needs it.

To end on a slightly happier note... his brewing bench outside the pantry door is pretty neat.

^ I wonder where these mugs are from and what the designs represent.

^ Any idea what this is, anyone? The thing hanging from the chain?

Oh, and guess what was under the brew station! MORE COFFEE!

#candles for comfort #fifty-seven flames and counting #hiding in the light #lucanis vs the dark #candlelit coping mechanisms #coffee hoard of an assassin #eleven cups of no coffee lol #grime-covered self-worth and sadness #ossuary mindset at the lighthouse #sleep avoidance strategies ig #personal possessions or lack thereof #da4 lucanis #dragon age lucanis #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.)

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section.

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true.

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom.

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight.

You look tired, too.

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess.

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas.

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky.

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops.

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one.

“Hey,” he says.

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak.

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.”

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?”

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight.

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.”

“It's getting better.”

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–”

“I'm really okay–”

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–”

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.”

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.”

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket.

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still.

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.”

“And he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask.

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice.

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue.

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?”

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.”

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…”

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly.

“I’m not stupid.”

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside.

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.”

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it.

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?”

“No.”

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.”

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly.

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that.

#spencer and stripper!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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cutiecusp · 9 days ago

Text

Call me.

John Price x XXX phone operator.

Tw. Talks of smut, feelings. MDNI.

A military life was a lonely one. Especially if you aren't married. The nights you weren't deployed often means losing yourself into alcohol or something else to take the edge off, and after a few weeks of being snapped at, Gaz had had enough.

"Call this number, Cap. Work out your frustrations." He says, placing a business card down on John's desk.

"There's a few girls to choose from. Maybe you'll come back from leave in a better mood, eh?"

......

A few days into his leave, John finds the business card tucked into his jacket. He pulls out the card, the plain logo giving nothing away.

Sighing, he puts it on the coffee table. What kind of man would he be to call up a girl and practically beg for sex? Was he that desperate?

As the evening wore on, and he had a few drinks, he felt more bold. Glancing over at the card, he picks up his phone and dials before he can stop himself.

A rich, honey toned voice takes him through the motions, connecting the call to you.

"Hello there." You purr on the other side.

"Uh, hello." John gruffs, before taking a swig of his glass.

"And how can I help you tonight, handsome?" You continue, your voice a soft balm over him.

"I don't know, this isn't something I've ever done. I was recommended to you by a friend." John closes his eyes. How desperate did that sound?

"Well, I'm glad you called tonight. What's your name, sugar?" You ask.

"You can call me John." He decides, no code name, no rank, just John.

"And what do you need from me tonight, John?"

"What do you mean, isn't it obvious?" He says, shifting in his seat.

"Not everyone calls for the same reasons, John. Some like to fuck, others talk." You supply, a smile forming on your face.

"Although, I'm not quite sure what you are doing here, you have a lovely voice, John. Commanding, powerful." You add.

Heat rises up John's neck, he wasn't used to being complimented, and he wasn't sure if it was your voice, or the alcohol, but he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

"I. Uh, I need to get some frustration out, apparently." John replies, his voice deep and low.

"I can help with that. Where are you now, John?" You ask softly.

He glances around the room, should he tell the truth, or-

"I'm in my living room, my favourite armchair."

"I see, and what are you wearing, John?" You ask.

"Surely I should be asking that." John laughs, a little more bold than before.

"I could lie and say I'm in stockings and silk, but you seem like the type of man to appreciate the truth. I'm in an oversized tee and some pyjama shorts." You admit.

He hums, a vision of a pretty girl in an oversized tee and short shorts on the other end of the phone, talking to him, making him feel relaxed turns him on a little.

"Appreciate the honesty. Jeans and a plain tee. I wanted to be comfortable."

He hears you laugh down the phone, and it jolts something through him. He wants to see you laugh in person, see what you look like when you're talking to him like this.

"Appreciate the honesty, John. Now, I gotta be honest. Our times nearly up for tonight. And I am probably breaking all the rules, but I'll give you my extension number. I'd like to hear from you again."

He pauses. He lost track of time, and that's something he never does.

"I'd like to hear you again, sweetheart." He murmurs, not willing to let the call go, just yet.

"My extension is 141." You supply. "Take care, John." And the call disconnects, leaving John alone in the living room again.

He stares at the phone in his hand. Does he call now? Does he wait until tomorrow? He throws back the last of his drink and grabs his keys. Maybe a walk will clear his head.

As he head out of his apartment, he's almost knocked to his feet as a body rushes past him carrying a laundry basket.

"Sorry! I have to get there before they shut!" A voice calls from the stairwell, a glimpse of an oversized tee whipping around the corner.

That outfit... that voice...

"No worries, love." He returns with a smile before following you down the stairs.

Things have just got a lot more interesting..

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow

#cod john price #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fanfiction #fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john price call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal.

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that.

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie.

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods.

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips.

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight.

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time.

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday.

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life.

And on Sundays?

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care.

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness.

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation.

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat.

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook.

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts.

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah.

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady.

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air.

You don't need to turn around to know who it is.

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking.

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm."

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours.

Puts his basket down.

Stands too close.

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him.

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar?

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around.

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine.

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent?

That's... kind of pathetic, actually.

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About."

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense.

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely.

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield.

The same way you use sarcasm as one.

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is.

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster, "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything.

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you.

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman.

A widow.

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries.

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine.

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate.

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh.

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine.

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition.

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent.

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking.

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question.

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this.

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why?

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close.

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are.

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone.

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that.

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you.

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades.

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction.

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read.

Neither of you moves.

His eyes dart between both of your pupils.

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling.

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird.

This whole morning has been weird.

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it.

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces.

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets.

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb.

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face.

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned?

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes.

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side.

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker.

You don't ask. Not your business.

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall.

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?"

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what?

Surprise?

Interest?

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number.

Ah. Barnes & Noble.

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care.

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs.

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket.

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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irisintheafterglow · 10 months ago

Text

can i put in my two cents on girldad!bakugo whose daughter got mom's quirk

cw: prohero!bkg, swearing, fem!reader, fluff and crack with a small side of angst

"yer mom's gonna fuckin' kill me if we don't get this out," he mumbles, furiously scrubbing at the splotches of rainbow paint covering his three-year-old daughter's previously white dress.

"fuckin!" his daughter echoes and he flinches.

"no, no, no. we can't say that," he says softly, kneeling down on the tile of the laundry room where she was watching him work. "mama's gonna kick my ass if she hears you swear, so we can't say that word...yet. m'kay sweetheart?"

"kick ass!" she laughs innocently, giggling as his face contorts into a mix of horror, shock, and joy. "dada, you funny," she babbles, reaching up to grab at his face. he fights the instinct to pull away, afraid of how she'd react if she looked too closely at the scars covering his face. you'd talked him through it numerous times before, but he was still scared she would be scared of all the battles etched into his skin. it was his own anxiety talking, he knew, and she must have received her empathy from you because she reached up toward her dad anyway. her little eyebrows pinch and her stubby fingers brush over the rough, discolored tissue. "dada ouchie?"

"dada ouchie long time ago, bubs," he murmurs, taking her hand and kissing her tiny nails. "but mama saved dada. and now," he lifts her from the floor and positions her comfortably on his hip, her head leaning against his shoulder, "baby needs to help save dada from mama."

"mama angry?" his daughter frowns and he nods, staring frustratedly at the pastel stains on the white fabric. "what dada do?"

"oi! it's not always my fault," he protests, leaning closer as his daughter tries to tug his hair. "though, i do admit, this is my shit to clean up."

"shit!" she repeats brightly, grinning up at him as he fondly rolls his eyes.

"i think you're doing this on purpose, you gremlin," he grunts and she smiles up at him mischievously.

"gremlin!" it's the same smirk he does, the only difference being her eyes match yours instead of his.

"you got yer dada's dirty mouth. mama's not gonna be happy, but i," he pecks a kiss on her forehead, "am ecstatic." his daughter's eyes temporarily flash emerald green and she points to the front door.

"zuzu," she informs him. he groans and bites back another curse, throwing the stained dress into a basket and hoping for the best.

"that dumbass isn't supposed to be here until six," bakugo grumbles. he adjusts his daughter and moves into the living room in time to catch a car pulling up at the curb of the house.

"dumbass!" he doesn't have time to scold her because, unfortunately, her quirk isn't done yet. while he hurries to kick any toys under the couch and wipe the faded paint off his hands, her eyes flash pink, red, and yellow a split second before a knock at the front door.

"mimi! eiji!" his daughter squeals in excitement. he sets her down so she can rush to the door, opening it to reveal a half-dozen pro heroes squished onto the front porch. she jumps straight into kirishima's open arms, a string of drool dripping from her wide smile.

"you're early," bakugo deadpans while his high school friends toe off their shoes. "wasn't expecting her to alert for another half hour." his daughter transfers from kirishima to mina, who throws her up into the air like a beach ball. "oi, watch it with her, pinky. don't be giving her a concussion."

"lighten up, bakugo," mina replies without missing a beat, tossing the squealing child again. "what's got your panties in a twist?"

"did her flight get delayed or something?" denki asks, taking the baby from mina and flying her around the room while making racecar noises. bakugo watches his daughter like a hawk, never more than five feet away from her. he won't admit that he trusts his friends, but he also knows he could never be too careful.

"nah," he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "i jus' fucked up, is all."

"how so?" bakugo mindlessly unpacks the various packages of chips and soda, organizing them on the kitchen counter and punching a stray balloon out of his way.

"accidentally sent her to school with the wrong dress on," he grimaces. "thought it was a different white one, but it was supposed to be the one for today." he disappears momentarily into the laundry room, re-entering with the stained white dress in his hand. "she was screamin' and cryin' about not having anything to wear for her school's paint-a-thon thing, so i just put this on her without checkin..."

"yeesh, she really did a number on this, didn't she?" kirishima says, examining the various spots of pink, blue, and green. "her mom say anything about what she was supposed to wear?"

"i didn't wanna bother her," he mumbles in shame. "you know how important this gig was for her." his friends nod, wracking their brains for how to improve the situation. it was mina's idea, originally, to host a welcome home party after you'd been overseas for a reconnaissance mission, which was why they'd all congregated at your house.

"if it means anything, i think it looks even better," she assures him with a pat on his shoulder. "the colors are nice."

"thanks, pinky. i'm just not good at this shit."

"what, being a dad? like it's hard?" kirishima clicks his tongue, lightly slapping denki on the back of his head.

"dad of a girl," bakugo corrects with a scowl, "you got sons, pikachu. don't even try me."

"i think what he means," kirishima gently interrupts after shooting denki a look, "is that you should be a little easier on yourself."

"she's just got her mom's quirk, y'know? i don't want her to grow up with a shitty dad that doesn't know how to help her develop her quirk." though your daughter could only track up to six people and locate them when they're within 100 feet, your ability to track up to 65 people and locate them on a country-wide scale made you highly desirable to agencies around the globe. with you gone, it was up to bakugo to take care of his daughter and keep the house in order, but he found himself struggling to know what decisions were the right ones.

"you're learning, bakubro, and so is she." denki gestures to your daughter sitting on the living room floor, concentrating on stacking wooden ice cream pieces. "she doesn't know what a 'bad dad' is. she just knows you, and i don't think you're a terrible dad at all." bakugo nods in lieu of answering, his cheeks heating as the rest of his friends echo their agreement.

"if this little ball of spunk is any indication of how much of you she's got in her," mina says with a fond smile, "then she's gonna be just fine." any further thoughts are halted by the front door swinging open again.

"i got the cake! we gotta put it in the fridge, though, since it might've been smushed during travel," deku announces, handing off a stack of gift boxes and catering platters to denki. "now where's my favorite girl?"

"zuzu!" on cue, she comes waddling around the corner of the couch and helps herself to her favorite uncle's shoulders, finding two fistfuls of green hair as handles.

"you better not drop my fuckin' daughter, izuku," bakugo warns. "i'll blast your ass to mercury."

"do you always swear this much with her around?"

"fuckin!"

"that's exactly what i don't think should happen," kirishima states, unsurprised. "have you been teaching her that stuff?"

"she's a smart girl. picks up on things quick, like her mama," he dodges. "speaking of, you got eyes on mama yet, baby?"

"no mama, dada," she replies. "mama home soon?"

"yeah, mama home soon, so we gotta get you ready." he's about to take his daughter off deku's shoulders when he hears mina gasp. he'd known her long enough to know that sound meant she had an idea, and those ideas weren't necessarily good ones. "you got somethin' to say, pinky?"

"let me get her ready, and i'll fix your little dress problem for you," she says cryptically. bakugo doesn't have much time to protest as his daughter is already stretching from his arms to mina's, giggling while they disappear down the hallway.

---

forty-five minutes and a handful of inflated balloons later, his daughter's eyes flash neon orange, the same color your eyes flash for him. she doesn't know any other color to assign me, you theorized one night as you laid together in comfortable darkness. i guess she just associates me with you.

"welcome home!" denki excitedly opens the confetti shooter while kirishima bombards you with a sizable flower bouquet. you're standing speechless in the doorway and he watches your eyeline; it scans the room and its many shimmering balloons, paper streamers, and hero friends until it lands on him and your daughter, holding tightly to his pinky by the kitchen table. when the glitter settles, he gives her a nod, an okay to let her run to you.

"hi, my darling!" you beam, picking her up to hold her close and meet your husband's eyes over her shoulder. "and hello, my love," you murmur as his hands find your waist, pulling you close and pressing his lips to your forehead.

"missed you," he hums, his breathing finally returning to a steady rhythm for the first time in weeks. "she's been a handful."

"i'm sure she has." katsuki's expression is soft, only reserved for you and the child in your arms.

"how was the job?"

"a lot," you admit, allowing yourself to decompress now that you're home. "i can't tell if my head hurts from my quirk or the ten-hour flight," you smile tiredly.

"you got enough in the tank to entertain our friends? or do you need me to kick 'em out?"

"if it's these guys," you say, looking at the rowdy group of guests passing around plates and flatware, "of course i can."

"i guess we got more incoming," katsuki observes as another carload full of his friends arrive. "can we get you some food? baby and i will handle being welcome committee."

"well, do you, uh," you chuckle, finally acknowledging the pink-splattered elephant between you two. "do you wanna tell me why your shirt looks like you hugged a rainbow? and why her dress' stains look older?"

"oh, right. this." he looks down at his previously white button-down, now colored various shades of orange, blue, yellow, and pink to match his daughter's dress. you raise your eyebrows knowingly, already amused even before he answers.

"yeah," you smirk. "that." he shrugs, snaking a hand behind your back and leading you to the platters of dinner on the counter.

"it was paint-a-thon day."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

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hwaslayer · 3 months ago

Text

the space between us three (jyh) | eight.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut

⇢word count: 7.3k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, a glimpse of seora in her athlete mode, more yunho x seora moments, more yunho x oc moments hehe, yunho opens up to oc about eunha, making out, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), soft sex!!, lots of tender moments

⇢on rotation: be alright - yunho | savior - kyuri

“Ace." Yunho calls for Seora just as she's about to run off to the court. "Goodluck. Kill 'em out there, hm?" Seora smiles up at her dad before doing their handshake.

"Will do my best, daddy-o!" She salutes before running towards the coach and her team, setting up on one side of the court. Yunho settles onto a seat in the bleachers of the school gym, making sure to leave some space for Mingi— whenever he gets here.

Yunho waves and acknowledges a few parents walking in, all of them staying within the same area of the bleachers to support their kids in front of them, the right team. He takes a moment when a select few squeeze him on the shoulder or come to sit next to him for a quick chat, checking in on him and seeing if he's doing okay. He appreciates the gesture, and he also appreciates seeing what everyone has been up to since he doesn't normally do much with the other parents besides Chan-mi's.

And that's really only to coordinate shopping dates or sleepovers.

Just as tipoff is about to begin and the teams getting ready out on the court, Mingi comes strolling in, plopping himself right next to his bestfriend.

"About time." Yunho says with a small laugh. "Almost missed tipoff."

"I would never." Mingi and Yunho look out to the court, watching as Seora gets herself situated in the center for tipoff. She gets into position, bending at the knee ever so slightly to prepare for the jump. She quickly looks over at her dad, giving him a subtle nod when he acknowledges her by tapping the left side of his chest where his heart is. She gives him a tiny nod right before the ref blows the whistle and tosses the ball up.

Seora times herself perfectly and jumps up for the ball— able to tip it into their side of the court first.

Yunho and Mingi cheer loudly, watching as she storms down the court to execute a play. They continue to watch the team score repeated baskets, Mingi finding it a good point to start bringing up a conversation with his bestfriend

"So.. I see Hwa couldn't make it." Mingi chuckles a bit, making Yunho subtly shake his head.

"Well, Yoori was gonna find out sooner than later." Yunho responds, keeping his eye on the court and cheering in between.

"Is he with her right now?"

"Yeah, he is. I think she pulled an ultimatum on him. It's either he gets his shit together and starts getting serious or she's done completely."

⇢FLASHBACK

Seonghwa isn't sure if he feels guilty about what he did during the club, and maybe that speaks volumes as to where he stands with everything. Because he's not gonna lie, he did enjoy it. Noeul was fun. She's like that shiny new toy that he's still excited over.

But yet, he's here. Having coffee with Yoori because a part of him feels like he needs to make it up to her without really making it up to her.

To try to figure out what it is he really wants.

To see if Noeul really is just that shiny new toy to him and if his heart has truly belonged to Yoori all this time.

He doesn't wanna think anymore.

And his mind agrees when the buzzer on the table goes off, signaling their drinks are ready to be picked up. Seonghwa doesn't really think at all, leaving his phone behind to go pick up the drinks at the counter and return the buzzer. Yoori keeps her gaze outside of the window until Seonghwa's phone vibrates on the table, causing her eyes to shift down to the notifications coming up on the screen.

Noeul?

She knows of her, but they've never really interacted like that.

And as far as she knows, Seonghwa hasn't either until now, apparently.

When Seonghwa comes back to the table, he can easily tell the mood has dropped. Yoori's got her brows knitted, her chin resting on the palm of her hand.

"Here." He carefully passes her coffee over.

"Since.. when did you know Noeul?"

"Oh, cause of Yunho and Y/N."

"But, you guys text like that?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Since when?"

"Since we all hung out. What's with the questions?"

"News to me."

"I can't make friends?" She rolls her eyes and sips her coffee. Intuition tells her that it's definitely more than that because why the hell is he suddenly making a new friend? One that's sending him text after text.

Let's not forget the emoji next to her name.

He doesn't do that shit. Even if she put it in his phone herself, he would've changed it so quick.

"Yoori. I know you're not mad about that."

"I know you're not lying to me again." Seonghwa is taken aback by the statement, but deep down, he's honestly panicking and losing it. Anxious.

Does she know exactly what happened?

"What happened when you guys went out?"

"Nothing!" He says a little too defensively, and it's definitely the cherry on top for Yoori to start tossing her things into her bag— setting her untouched coffee aside. "What are you doing?"

"Why the hell am I here if you're just gonna keep lying to my face, Seonghwa? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Yoori, I—"

"You know what." She looks at him. "We do this time and time again, and I don't know why I put myself through this when we aren't even serious. Why the fuck do I bend over backwards for you when I know you wouldn't do the same for me?" She scoffs.

"Wait, wait. Stop. Just sit. Let me explain, will you?" She sighs, pausing in her motions. "I— I fucked up. But, it didn't mean anything to me. I was just drunk and she just happened to be all over me and—"

"If you're gonna keep pulling this, I'm done. I'm not doing this anymore, I'm done—"

"Yoori, please. It wasn't shit. It was literally just a drunk night out and I'm sorry I fucked up. It didn't mean anything to me, she didn't mean anything."

"Then why are you guys still texting? Do you want to be with her?"

"No."

"Then?"

"I'm just being nice."

⇢END

"Do you think he has feelings for Noeul, though?"

"I don't think so." Yunho lets out a breath. "Which is unfortunate that he had to pick her that night because Y/N told me she thinks Noeul is already super smitten with him despite the circumstances."

"Oh shit, really?"

"I mean, think about it." Yunho looks at him. "He was hella handsy with her, wouldn't leave her alone all night. Grabbed her number and texted her for awhile, then distanced himself when Yoori found out."

"Yeah, I guess you've got a point."

"And Yoori didn't even find out through Seonghwa, it was seeing Noeul's name pop up on his phone for the first time ever. She had to question him about it."

"Yikes, maybe he should've played his cards right." Yunho furrows his brows at him.

"Maybe the both of you should stop playing games in general. The hell am I gonna do with you two?" Yunho returns his attention to the court, finding Seora in the middle of a steal before barreling down the court into a layup. She makes the shot, but her momentum crashes her right into the wall— causing Yunho to stand.

"Ace!" Yunho calls out. She winces a bit and grabs at her shoulder before she's sprinting back down to the court. She throws him a quick thumbs up before he's slowly sitting back down and watching his daughter slip herself back into the game with ease.

"Jesus. She plays hard."

"Always." Yunho lets out the breath he's been holding.

"Competitive as hell like you."

"Well." Yunho chuckles a bit.

"How are you and Y/N doing?"

"Good." He smiles at Mingi. "Really good."

"So, what's the plan here? Ace still doesn't know?"

"No, she doesn't. But, I plan on telling her soon."

"You're making it official?"

"I want to, yeah. I haven't really planned how, or if I should tell Seora and get them to hang out first. I don't know. I'm at the point of just.. going with whatever feels right. Whatever comes first, however it should come first."

"You're not scared, are you?"

"I am. I just know Seora's gonna have a hard time adjusting."

"You never know, it could be different."

"Maybe. But, it's the first time someone else is coming into our lives after Eunha." Mingi nods silently, cheering along when Seora's team makes another shot to keep them in the lead.

"It'll all work out, okay?" Mingi gives his shoulder a squeeze. "She wants you to be happy, and I know she'll warm up to Y/N. She's a sweetheart, there's no way Seora wouldn't enjoy having her around."

"I just don't know how to make it clear that we're not replacing her mom. Ever."

"She'll know. She'll understand, even if it takes some time." Mingi breaks away from the court and briefly glances around, his eyes falling on the entrance. "Hey, isn't that Ara?" Yunho turns his head to see Ara sliding onto a bleacher next to a few people.

"Oh, shit. Yeah." Her eyes land on Yunho's and at first, she's surprised. Then, her smile dies down and she gives him a tiny wave that he returns.

"That'll be fun."

"Guess she's meeting Seora."

"You two still haven't talked?"

"Nah. Which is fine, but.. it’d suck if she was really holding a grudge against me."

"She'll get over it."

"Mm, I still care about her as a friend so yeah, hopefully things will get better between us." Yunho and Mingi continue to watch the game until the tiny half-time break in between. Seora quickly raises over to greet her Uncle Mingi in all her sweaty glory, teasing him and playing around before heading back to the team.

The rest of the game goes by eventfully— lots of ups and downs between scores, keeping the crowd on edge. This would be the game that would secure their spot in the playoffs, so both teams were giving their best.

In the end though, Seora makes the winning shot and Yunho finds that these are the moments that make him proud to be her father. She has grit, she's smart and she's independent— Eunha would be so happy to see how much she's grown and who this young lady is today. Yunho and Mingi cheer loudly, along with the other parents, standing and yelling as the team celebrates on the court with group hugs. Once the hype has died down, they congratulate the other team for their hardwork on the court, exchanging good sportsmanship before it all ends and the players are finding their way back to their parents and families.

"Goodjob, ace!" Mingi ruffles her hair before Yunho pulls her into a big hug and swings her around.

"That's my girl." Seora laughs as Yunho gives her one final hug and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "You did amazing out there, ace."

"Why, thank you." She does a bow.

"Starving?"

"Majorly."

"What do you wanna eat?"

"Can I come?"

"No, you just want me to buy you food." Seora laughs at her dad and uncle bickering.

"Daddy, just let him come." Yunho clicks his teeth.

"Fine, but we play russian roulette."

"Fine! Where should we go?"

"You know all the good spots."

"Ace, what're you craving for?" Mingi scrolls through his phone with her. Just as they get busy scoping their options, Ara walks over, a small smile on the corner of her lips.

"Hey."

"Oh, hey." He nods at her. "What're you doing around these parts?" She chuckles.

"My niece is on the other team. I should've known I'd see you here. I don't know why it didn't click for me." Yunho chuckles.

"All good—"

"Dad, we finally found a spot." Seora tugs on his wrist, making him turn his attention to her. She looks at him, then at Ara, then raises a brow.

"Nice." He sees the questioning look on Seora's face. "Uh, this is Ara. She's a nurse at the hospital."

"Hey Seora, you did amazing out there!" Seora tugs on her bag straps and smiles. "Congrats on making it to the playoffs. My niece was on the other team and said you guys were really good. It was a tough game."

"Thank you!" She laughs a bit. "Now I gotta work extra hard on the next ones." Ara laughs.

"I'm sure you'll make it all the way to the end with that drive." Seora nods. "Anyway, there's an ice cream truck outside. You should convince your dad to let you get some before you head out." Her eyes light up as she looks at her dad.

"Oh, please?! I played so hard today!" Yunho laughs.

"Okay, go." He hands over his card.

"Chan-mi! There's ice cream! Let's go, I have my dad's card!"

"Aye, not the whole truck, though!" He calls out, making Mingi laugh behind him.

"Well, it was nice seeing you and meeting Seora. She seems sweet." She pauses for a bit. "See you around?"

"Yeah, it was. I'll see you." Yunho responds before she's off to meet her family, talking to Seora and Chan-min a bit when she falls in line behind them with her niece.

"That wasn't so bad."

"I guess so. Still felt awkward." Yunho looks at Mingi. "So, where are we eating?"

"Shake Shack. She saw it come up and got super juiced about it."

"Okay, fair."

"You covering for me?"

"The fuck am I? Your sugar daddy?"

"If you wanna be." Mingi smiles.

"You're full of shit—" Yunho glares at him.

"Dad!" He shifts his attention to his daughter, who is also dragging Chan-mi by the arm with their ice cream in hand. "Can I sleepover Chan-mi's again tonight? Please! I forgot our show has a new season releasing and we wanna watch it together!"

"Seora, you were literally just at their house last weekend. Why don't you guys stay at the house this time?"

"Because we wanna go to the community pool, too. Please!" She pleads again.

"I promise it's okay, my parents said yes." Chan-mi softly says with a small nod, making Yunho chuckle.

"Okay, fine. But, you need to give them a break, Seora."

"Yeah, sure!" She squeals with Chan-mi just as her parents come.

"Sorry, I really appreciate you guys taking her for another weekend." Yunho says to her parents and they give him a reassuring nod, laughing it off.

"Swear, Yunho. It's fine with us. We love having her over. Take more time for yourself." Chan-mi's dad squeezes his shoulder after a few pats.

"Thank you. Next time is on me." He responds before looking at Seora. "We need to eat and you need to pack up some things." He pinches her cheek, making her whine in protest. "What time can I bring her over?"

"Oh, we can pick her up in a few hours? We were going to be in the neighborhood to stop by his uncle's birthday party." Chan-mi's mom says, pointing at her father.

"You sure?"

"Yes! 100%." She laughs.

"Alright, thank you." Yunho shifts his attention back to Seora. "Let's go so you can be ready for when they pick you up."

"Okay!" She waves. "See you later!" Yunho and Mingi bid their farewells before they're splitting ways and off to Shake Shack.

After Shake Shack [that Mingi graciously paid for], Yunho brings his bestfriend home since he took an Uber earlier— claiming he was too lazy to drive and deal with traffic. Seora continues to poke fun at her uncle from behind his seat, poking him and pinching him before laughing loudly. Yunho thoroughly enjoys seeing them like this, especially when they bicker playfully like they did while eating. Seora is the same with Seonghwa, but she does it a lot less knowing he doesn't have as much patience as Mingi.

She loves him nonetheless. She wouldn't stop asking for Seonghwa during their meal, wondering why he couldn't make it to the game and Yunho couldn't really explain.

Too bad she could already sense it had something to do with ‘Miss Yoori that popped up on his phone.’ All Mingi and Yunho could do was shrug. Well, until Mingi ratted him out and said he did something that she wasn't happy about so he was trying to make up for it.

Which, leads Yunho to where he is now: loading the laundry before Seora pops next to him with a grave question.

"So, dad."

"Yup?" Yunho is tossing the clothes into the wash.

"What exactly did Uncle Hwa do to make him spend all his time with her? To make up for it?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. You can't, anyway."

"Why not? He kissed someone else?" She helps throw the clothes into the wash. Yunho doesn't answer, and that's enough of an answer for her than anything else. "But, they aren't serious, right?"

"Ace. It doesn't matter if they're serious or not. You don't do that to someone you claim to care about and spend a lot of time with. You're just hurting all parties involved. So yeah, Uncle Hwa has a lot of things to fix and work on."

"Huh." She says, closing the door for her dad so he can immediately run the wash and get things going.

"Yeah, huh." Yunho mocks her before laughing. "Are you packed? Chan-mi will probably be here any minute now."

"Yup."

"Charger?"

"Yes."

"Your prescription cream?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Yunho heads to the kitchen to sort through the fridge and see if there's anything he can whip up for himself.

"What're you gonna do when I leave?"

"Well first of all, find myself something to eat. Gotta get some groceries tomorrow for sure."

"Hang out with Uncle Mingi again?"

"No, god no. I've had enough for a day." Seora laughs. "I can just hang out here all by myself since my little one likes to leave so much."

"Daddy." Seora clings onto him like a koala, making him laugh. "I won't sleepover for awhile after this! We can go on our usual dates. Camping!" She reminds him and he nods, dragging her along to his room while she clings on.

"If you say so." Suddenly, her phone starts blaring in the kitchen. She quickly hops off to look out the window in her dad's room seeing Chan-mi's car out front.

"She's here!" She squeals loudly and rushes to the living room to grab her phone and all her things. "See you later!"

"Hey, hold on." Yunho comes out furrowing his brows. "You're gonna leave without a proper goodbye? For real?" She laughs before waddling over to hug him tightly, letting her dad plant a kiss to the top of her head. "Be safe, have fun, don't give them unnecessary headaches, please."

"I won't." Seora whines a bit. "I'll text you when I'm ready tomorrow?" Yunho nods.

"Love you, ace. Call me tonight."

"Will do!" She waves before rushing out the door, leaving Yunho to stand behind and wave at Chan-mi's parents as he watches his daughter throw her things into their trunk and climb into the backseat. Soon, they drive off with one last goodbye, leaving Yunho to his lonesome.

He lets out a sigh as he drags himself into the house to finish cleaning around. He loves the fact that Seora has a close group of friends she can surround herself with, but he truly does hate these moments when he's home alone. No Seora to fill the void, the empty space.

It feels so fucking lonely.

Yunho tries to brush off the feeling until he's done with his chores, neatly folding all of the laundry and setting Seora's half onto her bed so she can put it away when she gets back. He looks at the clock noticing it's already past 6pm and the sun is setting. He makes his way to the convenience store, deciding to call you on his way over in case you were already back from spending the day with the girls. You had told him Noeul wanted to get her mind off of things so you and Sian offered to take her out for some retail therapy.

Luckily, you answer just as he swings the door open to the store, a smile instantly coming up on his face.

You must be back.

"Hello?" Yunho bites his lip.

"Hey you." He slowly walks the aisles, trying to gauge what he's in the mood for.

"Yunho, hi." You giggle. "You okay?"

"I will be. Maybe. Depending on the answer to my next question."

"And what question is that?"

"Free tonight? My tiny bestfriend left me to go be with her other bestfriend." You laugh.

"Aw, sleepover at Chan-mi's again?"

"Mhm. Kinda lonely." Yunho teases.

"Well, you're in luck cause I am free now. What do you wanna do?"

"Just chill. Head to the beach or something with some convenience store food."

"I'm down for that."

"Want anything specific, love?"

"No, anything you choose is good with me." You laugh. "Surprise me."

"Cool. Can I pick you up in the next 30 minutes?"

"Of course you can."

"See you soon, baby." You smile to yourself. You set down the phone and quickly change into something more fitting for the beach, even though it's not too cold out. You slip on a matching, two piece grey sweatsuit— your jacket halfway zipped, a cami poking out from underneath. You take your turn to tidy up around your apartment, setting out new plugins to make your space smell fresh. You clean up the little trinkets and other items laid out across your coffee table, kitchen counter, bathroom and nightstand before getting your purse together and grabbing your shoes.

Just in time for Yunho to make his way up and to your door.

You hear Yunho lightly knock three times, making the butterflies in your tummy go wild. You swing the door open, immediately smiling when you see him leaning against the wall with a small bouquet in hand.

"Yunho." You poke out your bottom lip as you hug him tightly.

"Hey beautiful." You pull back and kiss him on the lips. "These are for you."

"I swear, you always pick the best bouquets." You smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He taps your nose, making you scrunch it in return.

"Let me get them in some water then we can go."

"No rush." You hurry off to find a free vase to stick them into, giving them a good amount of water to sit in.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Don't worry about it." You laugh, gently setting the vase on the table near the doorway.

"We don't keep secrets between us."

"We don't. Except this. Let me handle buying the flowers for you." You shake your head and lock your door, letting Yunho slip his hand into yours effortlessly as you head down the steps.

"Can't even protest." Yunho swings the door open for you and waits until you slide in to get comfortable before shutting the door close.

"Thanks for hanging out with me, pretty."

"You don't have to thank me, Yunho. I love spending time with you." He smiles as he drives off towards the nearby beach. "How was Seora's game today? I'm sorry, I was so busy earlier just trying to keep up with Noeul and Sian."

"Good! They're off to the playoffs." Yunho chuckles.

"Aw, yay! Congrats! I'm sure they'll push it all the way through to the championships."

"Hope so! Ace is pretty competitive so I don't think she'll let it go unless they win it."

"Does she get that from you?" You tease and he nods.

"Honestly, hell yeah she does."

"Cute." You look at Yunho and gently press his hand to your lips while he continues to drive. He smiles, but you can tell there's something else on his mind. You assume he might just be thinking about Seora or he might just tired; but, something in his eyes says it's deeper than that, and you're not sure what it is.

"How was Noeul?" He softly breaks the silence with the question.

"I don't know, Yu. She seemed to be okay today, but she plays it off well. I know she's still thinking about it and is bothered by it, though."

"Mmyeah. I'm sorry, I don't really know what's up with Hwa." Yunho lets out a breath, driving effortlessly towards the beach. "I don't know what he wants and he doesn't know what he wants. He keeps saying he isn't ready for a relationship, but runs back to Yoori every time they get into an argument or fight."

"Then, he needs to figure this out soon before they both get deeply hurt. Did he say anything else about that night?"

"Not really. He tries not to talk about it around us. Well, especially me, because he knows I'll tell him stuff he doesn't wanna hear right now."

"Noeul also gets pretty attached. But, I think Hwa should have told her the truth. They were texting nonstop for awhile until he slowly stopped then ghosted her completely."

"I'm sorry, love. If I could, I'd talk to him, but I can't dictate what he does."

"I know. But, I'm sure he'll figure it out. Hopefully." You look at Yunho as he exits and starts cutting his way through the neighborhood to get to the beach.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, though. I hope she's okay. I'm not gonna say Hwa is a bad person cause he's not. He's just conflicted when it comes to what he wants in terms of a relationship."

"That's okay. It'll come to him. Noeul will be okay."

"Does she have feelings for him already?"

"I think so, but she's trying hard to suppress it." He finally pulls down the street and parks in front of the beach, letting out a sigh as he parks the car. He gives you a tiny, toothless smile and presses your fingers against his lips— giving your hand a squeeze.

"Let's go and chill out on the sand." You nod. When you exit the car, Yunho grabs two blankets and a bag of food from the convenience store. He tells you that he grabbed fresh beef kimbap from the store, along with some fresh sweet potatoes, chips and other little goodies. He sets the blanket down before taking your hand when he sits. You snuggle up closely to him, letting the blanket drape over both of your shoulders.

The evening is still beautiful out— you and Yunho watching the last bits of the sun rest below the horizon as you eat and enjoy in small conversation about Seora, your family. Yunho reminisces about his childhood, remembering the days his dad used to take him to baseball and soccer games. Or, how his mom used to treat him to ice cream every time he got good grades on his school work. You feel sad for him when he talks about how things have drastically changed in their relationship and how he wishes he could have that back.

But, it can never be the same. Things can never go back to the way they were.

There's a small pause that allows you to break the sweet potato in half, sharing the other with Yunho while you listen to the waves crash along the shore and kids chasing after the water nearby. You lean your head against Yunho's arm while you hold onto it, finding comfort and solace in just being with him.

Then, things shift.

And you'll forever remember this moment as the time Yunho finally opened up to you about everything.

The moment he was vulnerable, the moment he gave himself to you. The moment you were his and vice versa.

The moment you knew this was real.

"Despite the ups and downs, Eunha was always the peacemaker." He suddenly says, causing you to perk up and look at him— resting your chin on his arm as you listen closely and attentively. "She saw how my relationship with my parents crumbled over the years, especially when we kept Seora. But, she always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Always tried to see the other side of it regardless of how pissed off or frustrated I was. She tried to get me to see their side no matter what. She always tried to stay positive about everything." You continue to rub his arm affectionately, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs. He licks his lips, pausing in between his statements. You can tell he's digging up everything he's tucked away for so long; finally releasing all this pent up sadness, anger.

All this blue and grey.

The cloud that's been following him after all these years.

"When she passed, I didn't realize how much I needed that until I didn't have it anymore. It was just me, Seora and my thoughts."

"Yunho." You call for him softly and he looks down at you with a gentle smile. "Eunha seems like such a beautiful person."

"She is, yeah. She turned everything into something positive. She saw the silver lining regardless of how hard things got. She was always smiling, always happy to talk to people. She was the definition of selfless, always thinking about everyone else before herself. Always giving and giving, but never asking for anything in return. She loved going to the beach, being outdoors. She loved being crafty." Yunho chuckles a bit. "Seora's laugh, the way she gets loud and loves being super social. Loves journaling and scrapbooking. It's all Eunha. I see Eunha through Seora in so many different ways."

"She'll always be with you through Seora." You continue to rub his arm as he continues to look out at the water. There's a long pause before Yunho starts diving head first into the memories he purposely tried to forget. Afraid the pain will break him all over again.

Afraid he'll never recover.

"She was a graveyard nurse at a small hospice center nearby." Yunho says quietly. "That night—" He pauses and looks down at his hands, pressing his tongue to his cheek. You give his arm a quick squeeze to reassure him and it somewhat helps. He looks back out to the ocean and continues, although it's clear he's trying hard to hold back his tears. "She picked up another shift because they were short staffed. And even though she had been so tired, she volunteered. She loved that place, she loved her job. She believed she needed to be there, especially for the people who didn't have family stopping by to check on them during their last days. It was hard, but she really, really gave her life to that place." He sighs. "I kept telling her not to, especially if she was exhausted. Told her to give herself a break, let other people pick up the slack. But, she insisted. So, I let her go despite knowing I should've fought harder to keep her home so she could rest. I didn't think it'd be the last time I'd see her. I quickly said bye, gave her a kiss on the forehead and sent her off without thinking much about it. She was so close to home before a drunk driver collided head-on with her and that was it." He lets his tears fall freely, making you cry with him. He sniffs, quickly wiping away at his nose before he picks his head back up again. "Her parents seemed to have placed some kind of blame on me for her passing. And after all these years, it made me believe that it was my fault. It was my fault for not trying to stop her, for not thinking twice about sending her off that day."

"None of this was your fault, Yu."

"Then, why do I still feel like I should've done more?" He meets your eyes.

"This was out of your control." You say quietly. "You did your best no matter what, but there was nothing you could do to stop this. It's the shittiest thing about life, knowing our cards are laid out for us already."

"I know, but at the same time, I wonder why it had to be her that night." He nibbles on his bottom lip, preventing it from trembling too much. "It still hurts until this day and I'm tired of wondering when it'll go away. I haven't even gone to visit her at the cemetery because I can't find the strength to."

"You just need to take your time with it. Everyone processes grief differently, and it doesn't matter how long it takes. But, you need to let yourself process it and feel it out. You can't keep it tucked away forever, babe." You run your hand through his hair to try and ease him. "You have me, and I'll always listen to you on your good and bad days. Let's get through this together." He lets out another small, shaky breath. Suddenly, you hear his cries picking up, making you hold onto him tighter;

Hoping he could feel your comfort through your soft, reassuring touches.

"I lost her so suddenly, I didn't know what to do for the longest time." Yunho cries while you both continue listening to the waves crash against the sand. "I didn't even get to say goodbye properly and hold her one last time. The last picture I have of her is when I got the hospital and she was already gone." You feel the tears constantly welling up in your eyes as you watch Yunho finally release the feelings he had been harboring all these years. "I just— everything crumbled so quickly and I didn't even have time to process it. I've forced myself to bury this for so long because I didn't want Seora to think anything was wrong." You shake your head. "But, for the longest time, everything felt wrong. I felt so sad and empty, and I miss her so much every day." He cries harder.

"I'm so sorry, love. You didn't deserve any of that." You cup his cheeks and gently caress the surface, thumb swiping away at the tears that fall. "You both didn't deserve any of that."

"There's not a day that I don't think about her. But, it's so hard. It's been so hard." He can barely get out before he's crying more, leaning into your touch.

"And you're so strong. She sees it every day, she's with you every day. She never left. And I know she's so, so proud of you overcoming everything with Seora. For the way you two have persevered and blossomed from all of this." You look him in the eyes. "She is so happy to see how you've handled everything with so much grace and she knows you both love her so much. She knows, and she sees it." You cry, continuing to wipe his tears away until it subsides a bit.

"Life has been so fucking hard without her."

"She never left, Yu. She's with you and Seora always." You repeat. He lets out a breath, his tears slowly coming to a stop when he gets a moment to gather himself. But, he can say that after all of this, he feels so relieved. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders because of this much needed release.

With you being here by his side.

"I'm sorry, baby." He laughs a bit to make the moment a little more lighthearted. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm glad you did, though. You needed to. And I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I meant it." He looks at you, staring deep into your eyes. He sees so much sincerity, so much comfort, so much love, and he sees Eunha.

Like Eunha sent you to be here with him, to be with him, to take care of him and Seora.

And that gives him the final push he needed to finally let her go, to release everything he's been needing to release into the ocean. Into the night sky.

To the moon.

You were genuinely heaven sent.

"Why don't we go see Eunha tomorrow? Together?" Yunho's lips curve into a tiny smile before he slides his hand into yours and gives it a good squeeze— kissing the surface before placing a kiss to your temple.

"Okay." Is all he says. "Thank you, Y/N. For being here for me."

"Always."

"No, you really have no idea how much I appreciate you." You look up at him as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I needed this. And I wouldn't want anyone else to be here with me." You give him a toothless smile before the two of you sit in silence.

In peace.

After another half hour of just talking about life and showing you pictures Seora sent from Chan-mi's house, you and Yunho finally pack up and head back to your place. The ride is quiet, with the music softly filing the space while you continue to hold Yunho's free hand tightly. During the ride, you go back and forth between letting him be and asking him to stay because you aren't sure how he feels after the moment at the beach. You want to give him space, you want to avoid being too clingy and not giving him room to breathe.

But, you already hate the fact that you'll be home in the next 5 minutes and you won't be having Yunho until tomorrow again.

When he parks, he leans his head back against the head rest and looks over at you fondly, giving you a small, tired smile.

"Thank you again for coming out with me tonight."

"Always." You respond before he slips out to help you out of the car and up the steps. You get to your door, with Yunho behind you— hands dug deep into his pockets. "Goodnight, Yunho." You turn to him.

"Goodnight, beautiful." He gently grabs you by the arm to kiss you tenderly on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow before I get Seora." You nod. There's something in the air that makes you feel like you should just ask him to stay, especially when he takes a few steps backwards, finding it difficult to pull his eyes off of you. And you, the same.

"Actually, Yu."

"Hm?" He hums and pauses just as he's about to go down the steps.

"Wanna stay?"

"Y-you sure?"

"More than sure." He looks at you for a moment before nodding his head.

"Is it okay if I leave my car there?" You chuckle and nod, unlocking the door and stepping inside your humble abode.

"Yes. You'll be fine there." Yunho slowly follows, kicking his shoes off to the side before locking your door and settling onto the couch. Even though he's been here, a part of him still feels like he's intruding in your space. But, the other part is happy to be here because lord knows he didn't wanna go home and be alone tonight. "You can help yourself to whatever you need in the kitchen. I'm just gonna change and get situated."

"Course." Yunho watches as you head into the bathroom, flipping through the Netflix options on your TV. A call comes through on his phone, Seora's name popping up on the screen. While you wash up and get yourself ready for the evening, you overhear Yunho talking to Seora on the phone and you smile to yourself. You love hearing the way they talk to each other, even if it's for a brief 5 minutes just for Seora to tell her dad she's off to bed. She sweetly tells him that she loves him 'more than anything in the world' and Yunho returns the statement before he hangs up. You finish in the next 10 minutes, coming out of the bathroom in your shorts and longsleeve, a huge smile on your face. "What?" Yunho chuckles, confused.

"You and Seora are just the sweetest."

"Oh, you heard?" He laughs a bit. "Yeah, she's off to bed. Which I highly doubt, but glad she called me before she could forget." You giggle and plop next to him on the couch, shifting your attention to the TV screen.

"Find anything you wanna watch?"

"No, I'll leave it up to you."

"You sure?"

"Mhm. I'm just here to be with you, Y/N." You smile at him, positioning yourself to partially rest on his body while he throws an arm over you.

The rest of the evening goes by just as you'd imagine— you and Yunho settling for a movie you both hadn't watched but heard lots about, barely able to get through most of it without falling into a debate about the plot from time to time. Everything feels so lighthearted, the way you both bicker and tease each other; sharing cute, intimate moments you'll forever cherish.

And one touch leads to another, a kiss leads to another.

Tension so palpable it's hard to ignore.

In the next moment, you find yourself on his lap; tongues dancing around in a fight for dominance as you subtly work your hips against his. Yunho hisses at the feeling, letting out a breath when you tug back on his bottom lip— peppering his jaw and his neck with light, feathery kisses.

"Y/N, baby." He breathes out, craning his neck so you have more access to him. You leave hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, his grip on your hips tightening. "Fuck." He breathes out. "Want you so badly."

"You can have me." You whisper near his ear before nibbling on his earlobe. He lets out a soft moan, his warm, large hand coming up your long sleeve to feel your bare skin.

"I don't wanna mess this up." He says lowly against your lips, grazing the surface.

"You won't mess anything up."

"You sure?" You nod. He takes one more look at you, trying to find any doubt hiding behind those beautiful, deep orbs. But, he doesn't see any. He doesn't see anything besides the same sincerity. The same comfort.

The same love.

So, Yunho doesn't waste any time. He doesn't want to waste any more time when life is too short. He’s learned the hard way firsthand. He needs to make you his right here, right now. He needs to show you just how much he feels for you, how much he adores you.

How much his days don't mean shit without you now.

Yunho carries you in one, swift motion, lifting you with ease and tugging you close to his body while your legs wrap around his torso. The TV is a long, forgotten thought, a random preview playing for the next movie coming up on the autoplay feature. He gently lays you down on your bed, shedding off his shirt while you do the same with yours.

Shorts and jeans to follow.

Boxer briefs and panties off to another side of the bed.

Yunho's mouth drags across your skin, leaving kisses on every inch that he could possibly reach; hands roaming across every inch that he could possibly touch. He slots himself in between your thighs, lips pressing against your inner thighs before he's right where you need him to be. You let out a gasp, back slightly arching off of the mattress when he slowly laps away at your folds— sucking gently at your heat while your hands tug on his hair. He takes his time with you so as long as you can feel his adoration through his motions; tongue dragging deep in between your slit, continuing until you can't help but move against his mouth to lead you right to the edge. You moan loudly as your body jolts and allows your orgasm to wash over, Yunho placing soft kisses against you before he moves back up and hovers over you.

He coos and praises you, telling you just exactly how good you were for him in your ear while he adjusts his position. He nudges his tip at your clit, slowly sliding it up and down your folds before pressing in and inching himself deeper and deeper to the hilt.

"Oh shit." He groans. "Feels too good." He lets out a shaky breath, trying his best to keep his composure. It's been so long for him that he finds himself struggling with his self-control, but he continues; only knowing how to relish in this moment, in you, as best as he knows. He keeps you close— forehead pressed against yours while he moves in and out of you at a steady pace. His fingers dig deep into the bare flesh of your hip, sure it'll leave some marks with the way he starts to pound into you.

Wanting, needing, yearning for you to reach your release. To see you reach your high, to see you on cloud nine.

"Want you—" He kisses your neck as he continues to plunge deeper, hitting that very spot that will send you spiraling in the next few minutes. "To be mine, baby." He groans against your skin. "Need you to be mine." Yunho goes faster, thoroughly loving the pretty sounds you make against him. Him too, close to reaching that high, taking his seat on cloud nine.

"Yours, Yunho." You whisper in his ear, just as he takes you further and further into bliss— doing a deep dive into the abyss of desire. "Just yours."

And in this moment, that’s all Yunho knows.

Just yours.

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