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yuujispinkhair · 11 months ago

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CollegeBoy!Sukuna accidentally knocking you up – Part 2 A

-> Option A: "I'm not ready to be a mom"

You can read Part 1 here

I decided to write two different versions of Part 2 (both are comforting). Option A: Reader has an abortion Option B: Reader decides to have the baby(s)

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. Light angst with a happy end. 2K words. Unplanned pregnancy, Reader has a surgical abortion. Everything goes well. Sukuna takes good care of Reader. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Divider@/plutism + dollsciples + benkeibear

Finding out that you accidentally got knocked up by your college sweetheart was definitely a shock. And it didn't end there because now you are faced with having to make a decision that has the potential to change your life forever.

You sleep a night over it and spend the next day going on a long walk with Sukuna, hoping the fresh air will help you clear your mind. It's when you sit down on a park bench and lean against Sukuna's biceps when you ask softly,

"So what are we going to do, Kuna?"

And Sukuna wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side,

"It's your choice, princess. I will be there for you no matter what. I'm man enough to handle both. And ultimately, it's your body, so you should be the one who makes the decision."

It makes you love him even more.

Sukuna is usually a very dominant person, someone who likes to be in control. Seeing him hold back and give you the reins fills you with deep affection.

You have contemplated both options, glad that Sukuna made it clear that he won't run even if you want to have the baby. But in the end, there is one option that feels more right for you at this point in your life.

When you tell Sukuna that you want to terminate the pregnancy, he doesn't comment on whether this is what he would have decided or not but just pulls you into his strong arms and hugs you, tells you again that he will drive you to the hospital and be there for you all the way.

You practically melt into the comfort of his strong arms as you add softly,

"It's not that I don't want a baby with you, Kuna. You know that, right? It has nothing to do with you. I just think we are too young. I am too young. I don't want the stress of having to be a mom while I still go to college and have to study for exams and try to find a good job, etc. It already seems so much, and when I imagine also having to take care of a little baby, I don't think I can manage all of it, even with you by my side."

Sukuna smiles at you, not one of his smug smirks or flirty boyish grins, but a genuine smile, soft and tender, a smile that is only reserved for you.

"I know, princess. Don't worry your pretty head about this."

Sukuna is with you throughout the whole journey. He drives you to your doctor and insists on going up to the waiting room with you because he knows how nervous you are. He sits next to you, holds your hand, caresses your fingers soothingly, and grins reassuringly at you. He makes a flirty comment and winks at you when your name gets called, trying his best to make you laugh and feel less nervous.

But you know that he is nervous too. When you get back twenty minutes later, you can see that Sukuna is still on the same page of the book he started to read when you left. His mind obviously occupied with other things, just as affected by the situation as you are.

It makes you reach out and hug him tightly, comforting him just like he comforts you, even though he would never admit openly that this makes him anxious just as much as you.

"My doctor already made an appointment at the clinic for me to have another examination and to sign all the documents and stuff. But it's when you have training, so you really don't have to come with me."

But Sukuna rolls his eyes and shakes his head,

"What are you saying? Stop it, baby. Of course, I am coming with you. If I can put my dick in you, I can also accompany you to your appointment. After all, it's my apparently super-fertile sperm that got you into that situation in the first place! I'll skip training. It's not important. Nothing is as important as you are to me."

The next four days feel weird. You go to the examination at the clinic. You listen to the doctor explaining the procedure to you. You nod, you smile politely, and you sign several documents before you get sent halfway through the hospital to meet an anesthetic and sign more papers. They send you home with a sheet full of instructions on what to do before and after the surgery.

You spend the days until the surgery in a daze. Everything feels unreal.

But you aren't alone. Sukuna doesn't leave your side. It's almost funny how he follows you around like a puppy. The big bad boy, all sweet and doting.

On the day of the abortion Sukuna drives you to the hospital. He walks with you to the unit where the surgery will take place, and his large hand squeezes your smaller one so tightly it almost hurts.

You can see and feel how reluctant he is to let go of you and how worried he is about you, even though he tries to hide it and play it cool so as not to make you more anxious than you already are. But his hug is even tighter than usual, almost bone-crushing the way his strong arms tighten around you, and he pulls you against his tall, muscular body.

He kisses you, too deep and with too much tongue for the location, but you tilt your head to let him push his tongue even deeper into your mouth, craving his kiss and his love and the reassurance he gives you that way.

You leave towards the room where you are supposed to change, looking back over your shoulder one last time and Sukuna is still standing there in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, looking so cool with his tattoos and the pink hair. But you can see the tenseness in his broad shoulders and the worry on his tattooed face.

It makes your chest feel warm, and you can't help but mouth "I love you" in his direction, smiling when you see him say the words too.

Your surgery goes by without any complications, and the moment you wake up, a nurse is already by your side, bringing you tea and something to eat, and some painkillers. But you are impatient, wanting nothing more than to leave and be in Sukuna's comforting embrace, feel the warmth of his body and inhale his scent and hear his velvety low voice murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.

You're glad when you are finally allowed to get up and get dressed again, promising the nurse that you have someone who will stay with you for the next 24 hours.

When you leave the changing room, you see Sukuna leaning against the wall right next to the reception. His tattooed face is a bit pale, and he is playing nervously with his tongue piercing once again.

His maroon eyes meet yours, and he is by your side in a second, a strong arm wrapping around your waist and carefully pulling you against his side, steadying you, holding you securely, making sure you won't fall. His lips press against your temple, lingering there for a long moment, warm and soft,

"Fuck. I'm glad you're finally out of there."

You can hear the strain in his low voice, can hear every ounce of worry and anxiety he felt during the last hours when he was sitting in his room, waiting for the hospital to call him and tell him, you are ok.

You lean gratefully against him, feeling a bit dizzy from the anesthetics, glad that you have your strong boyfriend to hold you.

"I'm so glad you're here, Sukuna."

"How are you, princess?"

"I'm good. Just a bit wobbly on my feet. And I need something to eat. I'm starving!"

And Sukuna laughs softly, sounding so relieved,

"Well, how lucky you are that your boyfriend spent the last few hours in the kitchen to distract himself and prepare your favorite dishes for you."

And suddenly, your sight becomes blurry as tears well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks without you even knowing why you suddenly start crying now that it's over when, in the days leading up to the abortion, you didn't shed a single tear!

But maybe all the stress and anxiety of the last few days finally caught up with you. The contradictory emotions of feeling a bit wistful about letting go of that fantasy of Sukuna and you having your own little family versus the relief you feel that it's over and that you can live your life the way you planned.

But you suspect that, most of all, it is the overwhelming love you feel for Sukuna right at that moment. You are so touched by how caring he is. How mature he was in this situation. That he didn't run, that he didn't leave you to deal with all of this on your own. He is so worried about you and does so much to make you feel okay. He is so strong all the time, so you have someone to lean on.

A sniffle escapes your trembling lips, and Sukuna's eyes widen. He pulls you against him, burying his face in your hair and murmuring soothingly to you,

"Hey, baby, it's ok. Everything's going to be ok. Don't cry."

Your hands are on Sukuna's broad chest, and you feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart through the soft hoodie he is wearing, comforting and reassuring.

"I'm ok, Kuna, I swear. It's just... I love you so much."

"I love you too."

His voice sounds tender when he says the words, and you snuggle closer to him, lifting your head to look at his beautiful tattooed face. And Sukuna leans down a bit, enough so he can brush his lips over yours.

That's how you end up standing in the middle of the hospital hallway, hugging your boyfriend and kissing him slowly as if the two of you are the only people in this world.

But you make it to the parking lot a few minutes later, walking there with the help of Sukuna's strong arm wrapped around you.

Sukuna is so gentle, so caring. He helps you into the car and puts on your seat belt for you as if you can't do it yourself. He stops at a convenience store to get some pads for you, jogging back to the car as if he is running from a crime scene because he is worried about letting you out of his sight even for a few minutes.

He helps you out of the car again, once you have reached your apartment, picks you up princess-style and carries you up the stairs. He sits you down on the couch, wraps you in a warm blanket and glares at you when you try to get up.

"Don't be a brat! Just stay right here and rest and let me bring you the meal I cooked for you with all my fucking love!"

He brings you the food and plops down next to you, checking if you really eat something, like some super stern nurse, and you can't help but feel warm, knowing that your bad boy is so amazingly sweet and caring when it comes to you.

The moment your face twists in pain, Sukuna is on his knees in front of you, fear in his maroon eyes, his large hands on your thighs, looking up at you with worry written all over his tattooed face.

"What's wrong?"

You grit your teeth and smile shakily at him, reaching out to cup his cheek and caress it tenderly, touched by how worried he is for you.

"It's nothing bad, Kuna. They told me I would get cramps after the surgery. It's perfectly normal! But it feels like really bad period cramps. They gave me some painkillers for that. Can you..."

You can't even finish the sentence before Sukuna is on his feet again, already walking over to your bag,

"I'll get them for you!"

You thank him, and he sits down next to you again, watching you the whole time with narrowed maroon eyes until you chuckle and reach over to ruffle his pink hair,

"I won't drop dead if you stop looking at me for one second, you know, baby? Eat something, too, I know you are hungry!"

"Don't joke about stuff like that, princess. I am just taking my job as your personal nurse seriously."

And he really does. For the next few days, Sukuna barely leaves your side. And even a week later, he is still acting differently around you, and you begin to realize that this is probably how he will always be now. Even more protective. Even more caring.

The unplanned pregnancy and the abortion didn't drive a wedge between the two of you. Instead, it made the two of you grow even closer. You shared a life-altering experience. Because even though you decided not to have the baby, it still will be something you will always carry with you. And you will never forget how Sukuna reacted. How he was there for you. How he respected your decision and how he cared for you.

You learned that Sukuna is more than just the sexy bad boy you can have fun with. He showed you that you can always count on him, that he won't run when real problems occur. You learned that if one day in the future you actually want to have a baby, you have a wonderful man by your side who would be a loving partner and a damn good dad.

You sigh happily as you lie in your bed with Sukuna behind you. He has become more cuddly since accidentally knocking you up. He wants to spend every night at your apartment or asks you to stay at his. As if he needs to hold you every night, keeping you safe and sound, wrapped in his strong arms, his buff body pressing against your back, and his lips trailing lazy kisses over your neck.

The two of you are living your regular lives again, going to classes, studying, going to training, to parties. No one else knows what happened to you. It's a secret between you and Sukuna because you both want it that way. No one else has to know. This is just something the two of you share.

A commercial for baby food starts playing in between two episodes of the crime show you are watching. A young family, mom and dad, and a tiny baby. And even though it's been weeks, it still makes you feel a bit weird to see it.

Sukuna's arm tightens around you. Maybe he felt you tense up, or maybe he had the same thoughts as you when seeing the commercial. Either way, his hand slips down to your belly, caressing it gently, and there's a smile in his low voice when he says,

"You know, it's not the end of it, princess, right? We can still have one.... when we are older. If we want."

You smile and snuggle against Sukuna's warm, muscular body. Your hand lands on top of his larger one, which is resting on your belly now, and you interlace your fingers with his, feeling the weird tension leave your body again.

"If I ever want to have a baby, it will definitely be with you, Sukuna."

I LOVE HIM 💗😭

Thank you so much for all the love on Part 1!! The story wouldn't leave my mind anymore, and after I got several comments and asks where people asked about a possible Part 2, I wanted to continue the story about College sweetheart Sukuna knocking us up and show how Reader and Sukuna deal with both options, so I decided to write two different versions.

I hope you liked Option A and that it could give you comfort.

Option B will be the version where Reader decides to have the baby (or rather babies lol). I plan to post it next week!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

You can find Option B here

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #tw pregnancy #tw abortion

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scoupsakakitty · 2 months ago

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Unexpected, but Ours | idol!Wooyoung x Reader | angst, fluff

TW: discussions of abortion

Y/N sat on the edge of the bathtub, her fingers trembling as she clutched the small plastic stick in her hands. Two bold lines stared back at her, unwavering, undeniable. Her breath hitched, a wave of nausea rising in her throat—not from the pregnancy, but from the overwhelming storm of emotions crashing through her.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in her mind, heavy and suffocating. Her chest tightened as she blinked rapidly, her vision blurring. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not now, not like this. She and Wooyoung had been together for almost two years, still young, still figuring things out. And he…

Wooyoung was just at the beginning of his career, constantly moving, always striving for the next step. How was she supposed to tell him? How were they supposed to handle this?

The front door clicked open, followed by the familiar sound of Wooyoung’s voice calling out. "Babe? I’m home!"

Y/N quickly shoved the test into the drawer, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to stand. She needed to tell him—there was no other way.

She found him in the living room, his face lighting up when he saw her. "Hey, beautiful." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Missed you."

She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Wooyoung, I… I need to tell you something."

His brows furrowed immediately. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"

Her fingers clenched the fabric of her hoodie. "I’m… I’m pregnant."

Silence.

Wooyoung stared at her, his face frozen in an unreadable expression. Seconds felt like hours as he processed her words. And then—

"What?" His voice cracked slightly, his hands dropping to his sides. "You’re… pregnant?"

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands running through his hair. "How? I mean—I know how, but—fuck, Y/N." He took a step back, his head shaking. "This… this wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re not ready for this. I’m barely ever here, my schedule is insane, and you… You’d have to do so much alone."

Tears welled in her eyes, her own fears amplified by his reaction. "I know," she whispered. "I know it’s not ideal. I don’t know what to do either."

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, pacing the room. "Shit. Shit. What are we gonna do? I can’t—" He stopped, his hands gripping his head. "This is huge, Y/N. It’s not just about us anymore."

Y/N swallowed hard before whispering, "I don’t even know if I want to keep it."

Wooyoung’s entire body went still. His head snapped toward her, his eyes wide with shock. "What?"

She bit her lip, her voice barely audible. "I don’t know if we should have this baby, Wooyoung. We’re so young. You’re never here. I don’t know if I can do this alone."

His expression twisted, hurt flashing across his face. "You’re thinking about not keeping it?" His voice was barely controlled, his emotions a whirlwind of disbelief and panic. "Y/N, this is our baby. How can you even consider—"

"Because I’m scared!" she suddenly burst out, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "I’m terrified, Wooyoung! This isn’t just some minor decision—we are talking about bringing a whole life into this world! A life that will depend on me when you’re gone for weeks, months! How am I supposed to do this without you?"

Wooyoung clenched his jaw, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair again. "I wouldn’t leave you alone. I’d find a way—"

"How?" Her voice was filled with raw desperation. "How, Wooyoung? You love what you do. You’ve worked so hard for this career, and I won’t be the reason you throw it all away."

"And what about you?" he shot back, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you really think getting rid of it will make things easier? That it won’t haunt you?" His voice cracked at the last word, his eyes shining. "I know this is terrifying, Y/N. But this is us. We made this. And I can’t just—" He exhaled shakily. "I can’t just let it go."

Y/N felt fresh tears spill down her cheeks, her entire body trembling. "I don’t want to be alone in this. I don’t want to bring a baby into this world and have them feel like an inconvenience."

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at her words. He reached out, gripping her hands tightly. "That will never happen. Our baby will never feel like an inconvenience. And you will never be alone, I swear it."

She shook her head. "You don’t know that."

"Then let me prove it to you." His voice was raw, desperate. "I’ll take a hiatus. A whole year. I don’t care what it takes—I’ll be there every single day. And when I go back on tour, you’re coming with me. No matter where I go, you and our baby will be right there. And if I have to be away for a little while, my mom will be here for you. She’ll love and support you just like she’s always done."

Y/N stared at him, searching for any sign of uncertainty in his words—but there was none. Only unwavering devotion.

"I need you to trust me, baby," he whispered. "I know I messed up at first, but I promise you, we can do this. You don’t have to be afraid anymore."

A sob broke past her lips, and Wooyoung immediately pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, her tears soaking his shirt, and for the first time in hours, she allowed herself to believe in his words.

"Okay," she whispered shakily. "Okay."

Wooyoung pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head. "We’re in this together. No matter what."

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez angst #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung ateez #wooyoung angst

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gldrushh · 6 days ago

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GUILTY AS SIN? | DRABBLE

→ PAIRING: brother in law!jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ WARNINGS: oc being a damsel in distress, emphasis on distress, mentions of insomnia, handyman!jk because he got us all feelings things, oc driving him insane (quite literally), whipped jk, flirty jk, unholy thoughts (can you blame her?), suggestive, kissing, fluff, domestic moments

→ W.C: 5.5k (whoops)

→ A/N: request from a cutieful ask that I accidentally deleted 😭😭🤦‍♀️ I'm so sorry anon I really hope you see this!! This was the ask for more context or if anyone's curious (I really hope I did it justice): "since you said you accept requests for drabbles etc.-or did you or am i making this up lol- i’d like to request a little thing. since i want y/n to understand how jungkook fits her life so easily, i imagined a little scenario in my head where something in her house gets broken and she can’t fix it by herself and gets it even messier and everything, and jungkook comes in and being a perfect handyman. Like literal husband material. Would fit in her house so well omg don’t judge me please you know what i mean right? Maybe she’ll get struck by a lightning and finally understand how jungkook is perfect for her and stops treating him with only little’s “i don’t hate you”😭😭😭 like helloo that is the most husband thing ever don’t live apart live together!!! plus handyman jk got me feeling things in my head ngl lol don’t judge me I’M SORRY HAVE A NICE DAY!💌"

Fridays didn’t feel like Fridays anymore.

There was a time when they smelled like oven-warm pizza and the kind of laughter that made your cheeks hurt.

They arrive tranquilly now, slipping in like a breeze through the kitchen window, brushing past your ankles before vanishing again.They were tired, you presume. Dragging their feet behind a week’s worth of lectures and papers, staff meetings and half-hearted nods in break rooms with bad coffee.

Tonight is no different. You return home just shy of the rise of moon, the university car park already thinning out as you sling your bag over your shoulder, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of your limbs. Your bag slumped onto the floor, missing its usual hook, but you didn’t bother correcting it. You barely managed to toe off your shoes when you enter inside, your mind already curled up beneath the comfort of your duvet, not asleep, but still.

The warmth here is a familiar fondle. The scent of coffee beans lingering from the blurry kind of rushed morning, a sweater thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch, your favorite mug turned upside down on the drying rack. You nudge your shoss beneath the bench for some dignity, and hang your lanyard on the little ceramic hook shaped like a leaf--a flea market find you told yourself you didn’t need, but bought anyway.

You tell yourself you’ll spend the night in. Maybe watch reruns of that one reality show where couples decorate homes under a tight budget, even though the drama feels scripted and the contestants are always suspiciously good-looking. You’re too tired for anything else. And sleep isn't exactly your best friend. Hasn't been for years and the slender orange bottles in the bathroom shelf only help so much.

But you'll try to make peace with it. You'll pour yourself some tea. You'll pretend to rest.

You shrugged off your coat and padded into the kitchen, your socks catching on the cool tiles. Your mother had sent a whole box of chamomile tea and though you had deemed the purchase dramatic and unnecessary, it had become a part of your routine, even had helped. Maybe not with the sleep exactly, but with the ritual. The motion of it. Perhaps there was something about the way the steam curled from the mug, about the soft floral taste blooming on your tongue.

You flicked the kettle on with one hand, digging through the tea box with the other, thumb brushing over foil packets and paper tags. You were just reaching for the mug—the one with a tiny chip on the handle, the one you never threw out because it had once been Minho’s favorite—when it happened. A sputtering hiss, like the dying breath of an appliance on its last leg. You freeze.

You pad toward the sound with the kind of dread that only adult independence teaches you. The overhead light flickers as you walk in—rude. You flick it again, squinting into the sudden brightness, only to be met with the absolute betrayal of your faucet spurting water like it’s trying to reenact a geyser, sounding alarmingly like a cough—if sinks could cough.

You turned, slowly. The faucet gave one last shake like it was shivering, then spat out a violent stream of water that shot sideways—directly across the counter and onto the floor.

“Oh, come on—!”

It happened fast. One second you were watching, horrified, and the next, you were slipping on the tile, a yelp caught in your throat as you stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding a face-first dive into the cabinet doors. Water sprayed in chaotic, unholy arcs, and all you could do was scramble for the towel drawer and grab anything vaguely absorbent to try and... do what? Patch it? Mop the mess?

The kettle beeped softly behind you, as if offended that you weren’t paying attention.

You drop to your knees, arms full of misguided hope and whatever towel you had on hand. You tug open the cabinet beneath the sink, only to be greeted with a far more dramatic leak than you were prepared for. It's not just dripping—it’s running, and you don’t need to be a plumber to know that water should not be forming a shallow puddle across your kitchen tiles.

Still, you try.

From what you learned from that one experience ages ago. Atleast it felt like it. The last time this had happened, Minho had still been here. Not that he was a great help. He had crouched down next to you, equally clueless, wearing an old college hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a flashlight clamped between his teeth. The entire operation had failed in spectacular fashion—he had twisted the wrong knob, somehow made it worse. You remember him saying, “This is why plumbers make so much, sweetheart,” shaking his dripping bangs out of his eyes like a soaked retriever and you both ended laughing so hard you forgot to be mad.

You wedge the towel beneath the pipe, curse softly when it does absolutely nothing, and press your palm against the cabinet in frustration. It doesn’t help. “No, no, no,” In fact, the towel slips, sending a fresh arc of water across your shirt, soaking you down to the skin.

“Cool. Great."

The kitchen light above you flickers again. The universe, it seems, has a flair for theatrics.

And somewhere deep down, as water laps against the hem of your slacks and frustration coils behind your teeth, you think that maybe you should call your father but even if he dropped everything, it would take him hours. And any plumber worth their salt wasn’t showing up past eleven on a Friday night.They’d quote you something ridiculous and half of them wouldn’t even show.

You sat back on your heels and stared at the faucet as if it had personally offended you.

“I just wanted tea,” you said to it, as if it cared.

The towel slipped again. A fresh wave of water hit your calf.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

When you opened them, you stood, sedate and careful, the weight of water squelching in your socks. The kettle had long since finished boiling, and the kitchen now smelled faintly of wet cloth and chamomile. It hit you then. Sharp, stupid, and far too late.

You were going to have to deal with this yourself.

You looked around the mess—water creeping toward the rug, the under-sink cabinet now a tiny swamp—and, you felt like stomping on the floor.

But you didn’t. Descions. Descions.

Instead, you walked toward the living room, your wet socks squelching softly on the floor like some small betrayal with every step. To your phone.The living room lamp glowed with its usual mellow burke, casting a familiar amber tepidity against the old armchair and the book you never finished last week.

You considered, briefly, knocking on a neighbor’s door. There was that older couple two houses down, always kind, always offering extra tangerines from their tree. But it was too late. Every window was dark. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where people stayed up. It was made of quiet porches, retired teachers, and families who went to bed after the ten o’clock news. You didn’t know many of them by name.

Besides, no one young lived here who had a wrench or a better idea or just... two working hands and a sense of plumbing.. Not anymore.

Your thumb hovered over your contact list. You scrolled aimlessly at first, names passing in a blur—colleagues, an ex-classmate from grad school, your old roommate who now lived somewhere with palm trees and said things like “detox weekends."

You paused when the screen stilled on him.

Jungkook.

The last message between you was just hours ago. You tapped it open, heartbeat hitching like it always did when you saw his name.

Jungkook [10:03 PM]:

"I can come pick you up."

You had replied right before you clocked out. The university halls had been emptying, and his voice had played in your head, low and patient in a way he rarely was with anyone else. But you had remembered his mother’s voice too—her mentioning something about an urgent meeting, his father stressed, something about a time-sensitive deal.

So you had told him no.

You [10:04 PM]:

"I heard mom talking about some big deal tonight. Focus on that. I’ll be fine, I promise."

Jungkook [10:05 PM]:

"I want to focus on you, angel."

You’d stared at that one a little longer. Your reply had come thorough.

You [10:06 PM]:

"I’ll be okay. Just heading out now. I’ll text you when I reach."

Jungkook [10:06 PM]:

"Send me your location anyway, yeah?"

And you had. You remember the map loading. The little pin that showed you halfway between the library steps and the bus stop, your tired feet dragging. You had gotten home. You meant to message him.

You just… hadn’t.

And now you thumbed over his contact again, chewing the inside of your cheek.

Would it be selfish? What if he hadn’t wrapped up work yet? What if that deal was still unfolding across tense boardrooms and cigar-stale air, with his father pacing like a panther? You didn’t want to pull him away from it just because you couldn’t tame a faucet. You should figure this out alone. You could figure this out alone.

Your phone buzzed before you made a decision.

A message. From him.

Jungkook [11:40 PM]:

"Tell me you've reached home, angel."

Your stomach twisted. Guilt blooming like mold in the back of your throat. You opened the message and typed quickly.

You [11:41PM]:

"Yes! Sorry. I got in and just crashed a little. Long day. I forgot to text."

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Jungkook [11:43 PM]:

"Live location. Again."

Your fingers hesitated. You frowned. That was odd. He sounded off. Sharper than usual. Not even the quietly protective version of him that surfaced on late walks or busy subway platforms. This was tight. Worried. Paranoid? You don’t wanna argue with that.

You tapped the map again, sent your updated location.

Your phone lit up again the second after, not even giving you the chance to type out and ask if he's good with his hands? (He is.)

Jungkook [11:43 PM]:

"I'm coming over."

You stared at the message. Read it twice. It was… certain. No question mark. No soft preface like he usually gave. Not like, “Should we stop by that bookstore again?” or “Feel like something sweet tonight?” No, nothing of that sort. He sounded definite.

You [11:45 PM]:

"Wait, now? Why? Is everything okay?"

Jungkook [11:46 PM]:

"It will be after I see you."

You sat back against the armrest, stunned silent for a second. And then, unexpectedly, your chest loosened. Not all the way. Not enough to erase the mess in your kitchen or dry your clothes or make you feel less like a walking soggy dishrag. But enough to let the weight shift, to let something else settle in.

You didn’t have to ask.

He was just coming.

You didn’t even get the chance to ask.

There was something wild and lovely in that. And you had no reason to say no.

If anything, your knees were starting to ache and the towels weren’t doing much and if one more cabinet decided to leak, you might genuinely lose it.

You padded back into the kitchen with an exasperated sigh, hair tied up in a lopsided bun, wet socks thrown in the laundry basket and sleeves shoved past your elbows. The faucet was still dripping—not a full-on spray anymore, but enough that you had to keep a rag pressed under it while kneeling on a folded towel, praying the water wouldn't reach the hallway. The bucket you’d shoved under the sink was nearly full now.

“Come on,” you muttered, gripping the wrench tighter. “Just cooperate for once, you stupid little—” The knock came—two sharp raps, low and firm. The kind that didn’t ask for permission, just announced itself.

You startled, bumping your shoulder into the edge of the cabinet with a muffled curse. You stood up too fast, nearly slipping on the wet tile again as you shuffled your way toward the door, leaving a trail of soggy towel behind you like the saddest version of Hansel and Gretel.

When you opened the door, the hallway light spilled over the man in front of you—and for a moment, all you could do was stare.

Jungkook looked… wrong. Not bad. Just undone.

His hair was mussed, not in that calculated, magazine-cover way but like he'd dragged a hand through it too many times. His under shirt that complimented his navy blue suit jacket real nice was half-buttoned, slightly crooked, and the faint glint of moisture on his collarbone made you think he might’ve walked part of the way in the rain without noticing. Or maybe he’d driven with the windows down. You didn’t know.

But it was his face that startled you most.

There were creases that hadn’t been there earlier. Between his brows, along the line of his jaw—like worry had clawed through the muscle. His lips were pressed into a firm line, but his eyes—God, his eyes—landed on you like an earthquake landing on calm soil.

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe to ask what was wrong, but he beat you to it.

“Jesus, y/n.” He crossed the space in two strides and hauled you into him.His arms came around you, sudden and firm and full.

He pulled you to his chest like he needed to feel you breathe. You didn’t move. Couldn’t, really. Your cheek bumped against his chest and a sound of confusion spilled out of you, the worn material of his shirt warm under your skin, and his breath stuttered above you. You wondered if he hadn’t been breathing right. You wondered why.

Your forehead barely brushed his collarbone. He smelled like wind and smoke and his usual cologne, but the sharp edge of it was dulled by warmth. You didn’t even know what to say at first. Your hands fumbled before curling into the fabric of his coat. Your heart beat a little faster. “Jungkook…are you okay?” you managed, a little breathless, a little confused.

He didn’t answer immediately.

You felt it more than heard it—His chest rose again. Slowly this time. Not panicked. Just… relief. You felt the faint tremor of it, the way he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for too long. His hand at your back tightened, his other curled lightly around your shoulder, fingers flexing once, like he was still checking you were really there.

"You gave me a fucking scare." He rasped against your temple, low and rough like tension left him one muscle group at a time.

Your brows pulled together, breath catching. "What?"

"Your location glitched." His hand curved around the back of your head, his voice dropping to your ear. “Said you were halfway to some fucking bridge, then blinked out. You didn’t text, you didn’t call—” He closed his eyes for a second.

You blinked, contrition and some sort of realization crashing into your chest like a tidal wave.

His grip tightened as if remembering it. "I think I broke half the traffic laws in this city trying to get to you." he muttered, jaw clenching as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Red lights. Lanes. Might’ve clipped a side mirror. I don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Oh my god,” Your voice went small. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I thought I sent it properly. I didn’t mean—”

He looked down at you then, brows still furrowed, frustration still etched into his face, but it was laced with something softer. Quiet worry. A tension he couldn’t seem to shake off even now, not when you were in his arms and clearly fine.

“I thought something happened to you,” he said, quieter now.

You couldn’t hold his gaze for too long. The penance burned too hot. You ducked your head, pressing your face into his shoulder, cheeks going warm. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“You should be.” he muttered, but one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head. It took you a second too long to realize your fingers were still curled in his coat in an embarrassing grip.

Inevitably, you did pull back—just enough to catch your breath, to speak properly.

But his eyes didn’t leave you. They tracked you, unwavering.

And then they dropped.

His brows furrowed again, more subtly this time, like he was recalibrating. His eyes skimmed your form with a confusion you couldn’t quite place, until he paused halfway down, raising a lone brow.

You followed his line of sight and—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your dress shirt had soaked through somewhere along the way. You’d been too distracted, too frantic, to notice that the thin cotton now bore a dozen little damp spots where stray faucet spray had kissed your chest and abdomen. The fabric clung in places it shouldn't, half translucent under the low light, revealing the outline of the camisole underneath, and your cheeks went hot in record time.

Your eyes widened. You stepped back fast. “Shit—oh, god, the kitchen—” you breathed, half to yourself.You turned abruptly, feet splashing against the wet tile again, panic reigniting as the sound of dripping water resumed its dominance in your ears.

Jungkook followed. Of course he did. His long strides eating up the hallway carpet before he stopped at the kitchen threshold.

You, for lack of a better word, flung yourself inside and the sight that greeted you was even worse than before. The bucket was near overflowing. Towels had started slipping from their makeshift barricade. Water gleamed beneath the fridge now, threatening to reach the living room carpet. You cursed again, louder this time, and bent to wrestle the mop back into place even though it had already given up.

There was a beat of silence behind you.

Then Jungkook’s voice, dry and unimpressed: “What the hell happened in here?”

You turned your head, heat rushing to your face, your soggy sleeves dragging like guilty flags. "I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. The faucet handle cracked while I was making tea, and then it wouldn’t stop leaking. I tried to turn it off underneath, but I think the valve’s jammed or something, and then I slipped, and the towels weren’t enough, and—”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face now. Exasperation flashing over his features—but not directed at you, not exactly. More at the mess itself, at the helplessness it had clearly stirred in you.. "Baby."

"I know I didn't do great." You wipe your hands on your thighs uselessly.

He didn’t answer right away. Then—with that bone-deep steadiness you had come to expect from him—Jungkook moved. Sliding off his suit jacket with one smooth pull, the fabric whispering against itself as he tossed it over the back of a dining chair, careless in a way he never was in public.. His undershirt clung to his shoulders in a way that made your stomach tilt.

Then he undid his watch with practiced fingers, slipping the leather strap open before placing it gently on your counter, far from the puddles.Quiet. Like he had done this a thousand times. Like fixing your mess was just the next item on his list. The silver caught the light, but your eyes didn’t linger there long. They trailed upward. To his arms.

The moment he reached for the knot of his tie, you forgot how to breathe properly. He reached up, his fingers working the knot loose with one practiced twist, tugging the fabric from his collar slowly. His throat flexed as he did, and you felt something shift in your stomach. The black silk slipped from his collar like a sigh, and your eyes followed it. His sleeves rolled up.

That’s when the stuck breath made a movement. Stuttered in your throat.

Ink emerged from beneath the fabric-those familiar lines, curves, the dark threads of his tattoos curling up his forearms like they had grown there, like they belonged. They caught the light and your memory all at once. Your mouth went a little dry.

His voice low, almost careless, as he crouched beside the sink. “Where’s the valve?”

You blinked. “Um. Under—under the cabinet.”

The same hands that had once made a mess of you in entirely different ways, in stolen moments, now curled around a rusty wrench.

"You need to do nothing." He gave you a brief look over his shoulder. “I’ve got it.” I've got you.

You stared. Blankly. Still half-dripping, still overwhelmed. "Do you… actually know how to fix that?”

A small, sardonic huff left him, like he found your surprise kind of insulting. He looked at the wrench—smaller than his palm, honestly—and turned it in his hand before answering.

“One of our safehouses in Daegu had pipes older than me,” he said, voice low, casual. “No plumber, no hot water. I figured it out. Got pretty good at it too. Don’t act so surprised.”

"I'm not. I know you've been good with your hands." You're not being cheeky when you say this, and are definitely not filing away the movement of his hand as he runs a practiced palm along the copper pipe.

Jungkook glanced up then. His eyes looking at you again—his gaze heavier this time, traveling down your soaked sleeves to the water-darkened hem of your shirt that clinged stubbornly to the side of you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sound like you’re remembering something, angel."

You turned quickly, heat crawling up your neck, your voice tumbling out too fast. “I’ll go change.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you. Low, deep, satisfied. Your silhouette vanishing behind a bedroom door with the softest click. He didn’t realize he was still listening for your footsteps until the silence settled in, heavy and warm and whole.

It was the first time in a long while that he’d been in your home like this. Not standing stiffly by the entryway waiting so he could steal you away.Not brushing fingertips against yours in a room half-full of people who didn’t know better. But here.

He let his eyes wander.

The place smelled like you. Something sweet, something quiet. A little bit like cinnamon and tea leaves and the faintest trace of your shampoo, clinging to the walls like memory.

His gaze drifted as he adjusted the position of the pipe, letting it drain into the bucket beneath. He didn’t rush. He didn’t want to. The metal pipe groaned as he tested the pressure, the familiar resistance grounding him. It was easy, this—manual labor. Straightforward. You tighten what’s loose. Replace what’s worn out. Drain what’s overflowing.

If only the rest of life were that obedient.

The photo frames caught his eye next.

They were perched on the shelf beside the kitchen door, slightly crooked from where you’d bumped them a hundred times, probably too tired to fix them. His knees ached slightly as he shifted for a better look.

The first was a wedding photo. Your wedding photo with his brother kissing your cheek. You were by his side, the most beautiful, your eyes squeezed shut, mid-laugh, a smear of cake icing on your chin.

Somehow, instead of jealousy, instead of resentment or guilt or the thousand other things he’d prepared himself to feel, what rose in him now was something fonder.

Before he could read more of the notes sticked to the fridge, you walked in, in softer clothes—an old cotton shirt that had seen too many laundry days and a pair of worn drawstring sweats that swallowed your ankles. Your hair was still damp at the ends from where the faucet had christened you earlier, but your skin was warm, your breath easier.

Your hands rubbed at your arms as if still chasing the chill away, but your eyes found him instantly. Crouched in front of the sink, sleeves rolled up, inked arms flexed in motion as he twisted the wrench one last time.

You watched the slow ripple of muscles beneath his skin, the way his jaw ticked in concentration, how his thumb brushed the valve like it mattered—like the faucet had personally wronged you and he was going to make it pay for its sins. There was something magnetic about the way he worked—focused, assured, steady like he belonged exactly here, doing exactly this.

“Is it… better?” you asked, voice soft, tentative, almost afraid to interrupt.

He didn’t turn, but you saw his shoulders relax at the sound of you. “Better than it was,” he murmured, tightening the last screw with a grunt. “Still leaking a little. I’m gonna seal the joint. Won’t be pretty, but it’ll hold.”

You nodded. And then you stepped forward without thinking.

“I can hold the light,” you offered. “Or the bucket?”

He blinked once. “You know I've got—”

Your shirt pooled at your wrists when you pushed up the sleeves. "I know."

He glanced up then, eyes catching on your legs first—his eyes always had a way of pausing before they moved—and then up to your face. A slow blink. A flicker of something unreadable behind his gaze. But it softened when you sank to your knees beside him, close enough for your thighs to brush.

He passed you the flashlight without a word, and you angled it as best you could while he unscrewed the makeshift clamp he’d used. Your shoulders brushed. His hand bumped your knee. You didn’t move.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his gaze shift again—upward, this time. Toward the shelf by the kitchen door.

He was looking at the oldest photo. The one most guests skimmed over. Minho in the middle with his mouth wide open in laughter, arms slung around Jungkook and her both, pulling them close like they were parts of himself. Jungkook’s hair had been longer then, messier.

That photo had never made sense to others. Why he was in it. Why the three of you looked so stitched together. But you’d always known. Jungkook had been there. Not just in the periphery of your memories, but rooted in them. Always just close enough to feel like something vital.

He turned his head then, catching your gaze, that made the tips of his ears turn pink and averted his eyes back to the situation in his hands so quick, you assumed it was to hide the color before it got any more prominent. You suppressed a giggle. Cute.

You looked back at the photo, softer now. “That was the summer he dared us to eat all the ice cream in one sitting.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched. “You threw up. On my shoes.”

You grinned, head tipping back just a little. “That does sound like me.”

“Got it,” he said suddenly, wrench twisting one final time, the valve clicking into place. The pipe stilled. No more dripping.

Relieved and stupidly proud, you said. "You actually did it."

“I said I would." He confirmed.

"Just had to find the right valve. It’s mostly just pressure build-up now.”

You didn’t really understand what that meant, but you nodded anyway, watching his hands as they moved, shoulders finally sagging with something like satisfaction as he leaned back against the cabinet door and sank onto the kitchen floor fully, legs stretching out across the wet tile without care. His hands—damp, calloused, smudged faintly with sealant—fell to his thighs, fingers flexing once, then going still.

He looked… tired. In that content, bone-deep sort of way that follows after fixing something with your own hands. There was a smear of dust on his cheek, his shirt clinging to his frame in places from residual dampness. But his jaw was loose now, his brow no longer furrowed, and the sharp concern in his eyes had faded into something tamer.

You watched him for a beat longer than necessary. "I could make you coffee." You offered, gently.

His head turned slowly to look at you, blinking like he hadn’t heard right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, already rising to your feet and brushing off the knees of your pants. Pretending it's not a excuse to have him longer.

for a second, he just processed, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. And then his lips curved into a lopsided smile. “Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.” Pretending he's agreeing not because that he'd get to stay around you more.

You moved through the space like you’d done a thousand times before—reaching for the coffee tin from the cabinet, setting the kettle to boil again (this time with crossed fingers), and pulling two mismatched mugs from the drying rack.

You poured the dark roast into one mug and the steeped chamomile into your own, then carried both back toward the floor where he still sat, one knee bent, arm slung casually over it, eyes trailing the edge of your bookshelf like he was trying to memorize every title. He looked so at home, it hurt a little.

You sank down beside him, passing him the coffee, fingers brushing, fleeting but lingering just long enough. He murmured a quiet "thanks, baby" and took a sip, eyes falling shut for half a second.

Your though dipped to his wrist.

The thread. Still there.Faded, frayed, stretched just a little thinner than it once was; all crooked knots and uneven loops, a charm shaped like a crooked star dangling lopsided from the string.That same dumb knot you tied when you were kids, tangled so tight neither of you could undo it without scissors.

Your nose scrunched. “It’s going to fall off if you keep pretending it’s not ugly.”

Jungkook glanced down like he didn’t even know it was there. Like it had become part of him. He flexed his wrist, the fabric barely clinging to the bend. Then he said, almost immediately. "It's not ugly."

You gave him a look. Is it?

Jungkook took a slow sip of his coffee. “A little angel once told me to never take it off.”

You rolled your eyes. “That angel was, like, ten.”

He leaned back against the cabinet again, looking at you sidelong. “She knew what she was talking about.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just looked—really looked—and saw every year layered across his face. The boy, the teenager, the man. The moments between. And how maybe you weren’t so different from him.

His eyes slid toward you again, a subtle flick of attention like the tug of a thread. “What’re you drinking?” he asked, nose twitching, playful.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He nodded at your mug, brows pinched slightly in thought. “That’s not coffee. I smelled it when you handed it over. Doesn't seem like mint, either."

You raised a brow. “What, are you some kind of tea sommelier now?”

"Just curious, angel. Smells like flowers."

You opened your mouth to respond. You really did. The words were halfway to your tongue—about how it was a new chamomile blend, how your mother sent it to you from some little organic store that also sold hand-knitted socks and lavender bath salts—but before you could speak, Jungkook leaned in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even planned, you were sure. His hand didn’t even touch you. He didn’t brace your face or cradle your jaw like he had in other moments-those aching, desperate ones.

Your breath caught-stolen in the way it always had been with him. His mouth brushed yours-warm, careful, lips parted just enough. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your hand hovered somewhere between your mug and your lap, suspended like your pulse.

His mouth was doing all the grab and push.

He coaxed yours open, suckled at your bottom lip like he was trying to draw the flavor from it. Tenderly sucking at your bottom lip before he bit it, just barely, like he couldn’t help himself.

A sound escaped you, half-breath, half-surprise.

He pulled back just a fraction. And when your eyes fluttered open, he was already looking at you with that maddening calmness of his, like he hadn’t just unmade you with his mouth.

“Chamomile,” he said, deadpan.

"W-What?"

He didn’t look even the slightest bit ashamed while licking the taste from his lips. "With a little honey. Suits you."

You scramed for coherence. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you’re flushed.” He smiled into his mug. "So pretty when you're flushed, angel."

You scoffed into your own mug, taking a long sip of tea you no longer needed to explain.

Fridays are forever changed. Perhaps, they are now for laconically returns and falling over people who never stop feeling like native land.

231 notes · View notes

moonymeloncholymoney · 2 months ago

Text

Rid of him🍁

summary: no matter how hard life gets, one thing was for sure. You were never getting rid of Joaquin Torres ;)

Warnings: none, bad grammar ig, cocky joaquin (he is still a softie tho), fluff, reader being emotional

Word count: 2.2k

Author's note: I am so sorry for the late update. I was suffering from the worst writer's block and I have strict parents so😭😭. Anyways tysm for barring with me. This one is for @teamredlvr ik reader isn't exactly grumpy but I tried my best. Hope you guys like it 💗💗

Being a teacher at abbot is hard, heck being a teacher in general can be a catastrophe if you become one without ever having the true calling and love for teaching. When you do what you love, all the difficult things that come with it become a tad bit easier to handle but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have your hard days too.

and just like that you found yourself climbing the stairs of your exhaustingly long apartment because the lift wasn’t working, which didn’t really help in your case as your day wasn’t going very well to begin with.

After dealing with indecisive children and uncooperative parents you finally decided to head home, You had an entire class’s test to grade, a banner to make for the upcoming fest happening in your school and a truck load of paperwork from the school district inquiring about the progress of your children. You could deal with all of this but you didn’t want to, not when there were tears running down your face, snot on the shoulder of your favorite cardigan and not when you were carrying a bag full of test papers which were causing a deep burning hole to form in the skin beneath your bra strap. Everything about today felt like an unspoken burden that you had to carry because you made the mistake of doing something you love.

You finally reach your apartment door. You feel your bag dropping directly from your shoulders all the way to your fingertips and then hear it falling to the ground. You close your eyes, resting your head on the cold wooden door of your home. The scent of old linen and new laundry hitting you with a sense of comfort and security, you felt like home already. You decided to take the house keys from the back pocket of your jeans, when you feel yourself fall in front and collide with a warm body. You look up to find Joaquin in front of you, confusion and warmth in his coffee brown eyes.

You hadn’t seen your best friend in about 8 months or so after he came to visit for Christmas last year. He had been deployed at Tunisia and you were swamped with work, the only form of contact between the two of you being, the letters he sent, the cards you wrote and the endless calls you both slept off to.

So, to see him standing there with a spare key in his hand, your favorite movie on the tv and a pair of cup noodles set on the table, does things to you that you can’t even comprehend.

You jump into his arms causing him to stumble a few steps behind him. “Hey hey hey, you okay? Y/n?” he doesn’t hug back right away, trying to get you to face him and tell him what’s wrong but you’re too busy trying to get the most of him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Shhh…just be here, be here with me.”

He hugs back this time.

He knew you needed that hug but he didn’t realize how much he needed it too until he hugged back. You both poured all the year’s exhaustion into that one hug, easing into each other like two intertwining souls. He sighed into the hug and pulled you closer, making sure he gets enough of you to last at least another 8 months of deployment. It wasn’t until your cat purred at your leg when you both let go of each other.

“I guess someone missed me?” He tried to be cocky but failed miserably due to the fresh tears that had appeared in his eyes.

You let out a teary laugh before continuing to speak, “I thought you weren’t supposed to come back till after next week? how i- oh my god I had a whole thing planned for your welcome party!” You admitted as you flung your hands in your face.

“The mission got over earlier than we expected and then I remembered that I have my beautiful best friend to tend to, now are you gonna tell me why you are crying? And don’t say it’s because you’re happy to see me, I know something’s up” you know arguing with Joaquin was only going to end up in vain. So, you decided to pick your bag up from the floor as he led you through your door.

You knew lying to him wont work, it never had. He was the kind of person who would poke you to death until you revealed what was bothering you. He cared and he would make sure that you knew of it, even if that meant that he had to be a bit annoying at times. Life was good when you both were constantly in each other’s life. You remembered when he took you to McDonalds after your first boyfriend dumped you on prom night.

“One iced mocha coffee for you and one large-large big mac for both you and me cause I don’t want to die eating all of this alone” you wiped your eyes on Joaquin’s blazer which now sat on your shoulders, as you felt him slide down beside you on the floor outside McDonalds.

“hey” He shifted his gaze to you.

“hey” you said looking down, not wanting him to see the mascara stains that ran down your face smearing your cheeks black.

“If there is anyone who should be crying right now, it’s that pathetic fuck of a guy who even thought about leaving a girl like you on prom night, not you”

“He has a name you know?”

“yeah well, I don’t care”

“ Also…Joaquin Torres, did I just hear you curse?”

“Yeah well, you won’t let me kick his face so I might as well curse” he said as he took a big bite of his big mac.

“Yeah well I just wanted to say thank you and that I am sorry..” you admitted quietly ad you hugged your body tightly.

“wait why are you sorry?” Joaquin made a face so atrocious you thought he choked on his food. He turned completely to sit facing you.

“Well, I did ruin your prom night and I mean didn’t you finally ask that cute blonde out…wait what was her name again?”

“Jessca” he said going back to his original position, shoulder to shoulder to you.

“Jessica, yeah”

“no-no, jess-ca like she has no ‘i’ in her name” he laughed.

“Are you for real?”

“I am so for real, she almost had a seizure when I pronounced her name wrong but continued to call me jack the entire time. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I even wanted to go out with her.”

“Yeah well me too. I should’ve known he was a dick when he said ant-man wasn’t a legit super hero”

you hooked your arm under his elbow, kept your head on his shoulder and opened your mouth for him to give you a bite of the big mac.

“Oh yeah then this one’s definitely on you.” You smacked his arm as he kept his head on top of yours.

there was a moment of silence, comfortable silence. The one where you appreciated each other’s company through unsaid words and through a million little actions that made you question if you two were just good friends.

“Also you never have to thank me or apologize for that matter”

“what?”

“I said you never have to-.” “No, I heard that but why?”

“because then you’ll end up saying thanks way more than you can ever imagine, cause you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon” he said he looked down upon you.

“You’re this big sap aren’t you?”

“Says the person who is going to start crying again” he says with a smile that says all you need to hear.

“Okay shoot. What happened, who made you cry and do I need to kick someone because now I legally can” Joaquin said as he sat on the sofa in front of you. He handed you the takeout he got the both you.

“No you don’t have to kick anyone and I really wouldn’t want you to do that either”

“You’re no fun”

“and you’ve got sauce on your face”

“Y/N” he said while looking at you dead serious.

“Joaquin” you said as you wiped the sauce of his face and ate it of your finger.

“I am serious, tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and kept your food on the center-table beside you and sat with your knees to your chest. “i…do you think I am a bad teacher?” your voice went quite, and Joaquin’s throat went dry. How could you be a bad teacher? You, who spent hours teaching him 12th grade mathematics one day before the exam so that he didn’t fail and that too without losing your patience. You, who made an entire batch of cookies for your student book club after they finished reading their first book as a reward. Teaching was not an easy profession and definitely not a financially wise one either but you knew how much a good teacher impacted the kids so you wanted to be the same for your students and try to be bring change in any which way you could.

“Y/N, angel why would you think that?” he shifted close in front of you.

“Because a student’s mom literally said it to my face today, told me that I’d be a better teacher if I focused on teaching them out of textbooks instead of silly little novels” you said as a few tears fell from your eyes.

“but reading books helps increase their vocabulary and not just that it also helps them focus better” Joaquin admitted it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Exactly! Well, I tried telling her that but she lashed out on me and walked out of my class, I felt so stupid…so unwanted. And its not like Barbabra didn’t make me feel better, it’s just… I try my level best to make sure all the kids are learning in a way that expands their horizon. I just don’t want them to by heart the textbook, I want them to understand why the textbooks say what they do. I just wish the parents also looked at it that way instead of trying to make their job easier and getting over with their child’s homework as soon as possible”

Barbara was the senior teacher in the school and even though she did assure you that you were one of the best teacher’s out there, you needed to rant out your feelings to make sure that all your feelings don’t spill like a bottle of wine manhandled.

You were full on crying now, shirt drenched with tear drops and mascara smeared across your face the same way it did all those years ago. Joaquin kept his take out beside him and pulled you towards him through your elbow forcing you to sit with your head on his shoulder and your arm hooked under his elbow.

“Well according to me, someone who can’t even sit with their child and help them do their homework doesn’t get to call you a bad teacher.”

“Joaquin i-.” he shushes you with a finger on your lips, “Let me finish.”

“and you’re not the parent’s teacher, you are your student’s. So don’t you dare let any parent tell you otherwise, when you know damn well how much your students adore you. You are a great teacher and the class’s grade says all it has to. Also, you made Shakespeare interesting for me, do you know astounding that is for someone who barely got through 10th grade English. So, yes I don’t think you’re a bad teacher, I think you’re the best and the most fun teacher these children will ever have.”

He wiped your mascara smudged cheek and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“ Yeah well I don’t know what I’d do without me either” he sighed as he picked up his takeout again.

You smacked his arm and opened your mouth to take a bite of the noodles he was having.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Whatever is yours is mine” you said ad you grabbed the takeout from his hands and left a opened mouthed and a little offended looking Joaquin to stare at you.

“Oh you’re so going down” he said as snatched the takeout from your hands and put it on the table and got on both his knees on the sofa.

“Joaquin what are you- No Oh my god” your laughter echoed through the room as you felt your back touch the soft material of the sofa and Joaquin's fingers dug into the sides of your waist as he continued to tickle you.

You were crying from how much you were laughing, he was laughing from how much you were. And in that moment all was forgotten because you knew that you were not getting rid of him anytime soon and that was all you needed to know.

Taglist: @brittnicki @buckyytorres @halliejaade @joaquinwhores @cruel-seduction @fireinmoonshot @badboysupremelvr @teamredlvr @nathanbatemanfucker @glader13

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #danny ramirez #joaquin torres x you #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres imagine #marvel #The falcon x reader #Captain America brave new world #Falcon imagine #Joaquin torres imagine

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sirenasmodeus · 29 days ago

Text

national anthem

Harry Castillo x fem!reader

synopsis: You were a very busy woman, working as a full-time assistant for your best friend, Lucy, and as a part-time CEO for your father's security agency. Both your jobs brought you a wedding contract, coming highly recommended from the couple's close friend and their matchmaker. The night ends up going well for the bride and groom. And especially well for you.

a/n: This was actually an OC (whose name was Layla Ansari, for anyone curious. Layla because I got the idea for this on Laylatul Qadr) fic before I changed my mind after getting like 600 words in lol, and as such, the reader does have a last name and is Indian and coming from an Islamic upbringing even though the reader does not particularly care about religion anymore (can you tell I've become disillusioned with religion?). This is also my first ever published fic!!! I am so excited and so goddamn nervous, I really hope you enjoy it

thanks to: @myownwholewildworld for the Spanish translation, you really came in clutch and I'm forever grateful and @mushgloomz for checking over the smut to make sure it wasn't atrocious and made some modicum of sense, your encouragement really eased my nerves about it 🩵🩵

word count: 9.6k

content warnings: 18+ mdni, brief mentions of death and cheating, brief angst, smut, fluff, domesticity, oral (f!receiving), fingering, begging ??, reader is 28 years old, Harry is 50, reader is part-time assistant and ceo and the head of wedding security, reader is short (in relation to Harry's height but not by much really)

Lucy was at the peak of her career as a matchmaker and you, well, you had been discharged from the military after serving four years in active duty; you had been on the cusp of becoming a Lieutenant when your mother had died. Her sudden death had left your father sick with grief, barely capable of functioning, and so you had elected to serve the next four years in the Reserves to make it easier to take care of him.

It was in those years that you had rekindled your friendship with Lucy, your deployments made keeping the friendship alive a bit difficult, who was making headway in her own career. Lucy had begun to become more busy and as such had needed an assistant to handle the more menial tasks. Lucy and you had been having dinner one night when she had brought it up after complaining about her boyfriend, John. You had always liked being helpful, so you offered to be her assistant until she had a chance to find someone more permanent.

You did the work without payment, not needing the abysmal pay, mostly because your father's private security company had been getting high-end clients from the year before the passing of your mother. You took over most of the operations, mostly replacing your father as CEO. You were glad that most of the duties you had taken over were capable of being run remotely.

Lucy, however, had grown lax in trying to find a permanent primary assistant having become comfortable with your help, who better to assist than a life-long friend.

Now, it's been four years since you became her assistant, and everything was on the up and up for the both of you. "Did you get confirmation from Wesley and Hannah for their meeting?" Lucy asked as she typed away at her phone.

You placed a to-go cup of Lucy's coffee order on her desk. "Yep," She replied. "Hannah was a bit nervous about it though. She said she wasn't sure if she wanted a guy named Wesley."

Lucy had reached over to grab the cup, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. "She'll still show, though, right?" She questioned absentmindedly.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I talked her through her nerves," you assure her. "Apparently, she went shopping for a new outfit to really impress him."

"That's nice," Lucy replied.

You pressed my lips together in a thin line, shaking your head. You plopped down onto the sofa she had in her office with a tired sigh. "I've been thinking," you start tentatively. "Since I'm turning 28, I might cut back on the hours I work with you."

Lucy's head snapped up, eyes wide in shock. "But why?" She pressed. "We work so well together. I'd probably lose my mind if it weren't for you."

"My dad's thinking of 6 he wants me to take over his position," you explain. "I'll still help you out, obviously. I'm not gonna disappear off the face of the earth." You add with a chuckle.

Lucy remained silent for a moment as she took a sip of her coffee before setting it back down and rising from her chair. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to the sofa to sit beside you. "Okay," she said with an accepting nod.

"Okay?" You question slowly.

"Yeah, you can do so much more than just be an assistant," She said, taking my hand into hers. "This will be great for you. And maybe now since you'll be less busy enough for me to set you up with someone."

You shake your head as you smile at her persistence to try to work her matchmaking magic on you. "Sure," you said. "If you can find me someone obscenely rich and handsome."

"Pretty smile, kind eyes and romantic?" She continued with a smile and a raised brow.

"Exactly," you confirm. "You find a man like that, and I might consider going on a date."

In all honesty, you had already met the man of your dreams— unattainable, yes, but a girl can dream. He was sweet, at least that's the overall vibe you got from him on the few occasions that interacting was necessary. You swore his smile could light up a whole room. His warm brown eyes were light and welcoming, pulling you into his spell. Just thinking about him had your face heating up.

But he was strictly off limits. No if's, and's or but's about it. He was a client and almost old enough to be your father. The latter wasn't really all that much of an issue. You've had flings during deployments, with men pushing sixty. The former, however, would certainly be an issue. He was a big client for your father's company; he was always reaching out for security for galas and company parties, he was satisfied with the work and so you really did not want to fuck it all up because you couldn't let a fantasy stay a fantasy.

"I'm going to find you the most perfect man ever in all of New York," Lucy vowed, that determined look in her eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh at her eagerness. It was sweet, certainly, but you couldn't help but feel off. It just didn't feel right. Lucy has tried several times throughout the years to set you up. None were successful, as indicated by your lack of a wedding ring.

As cliché as it sounded, you loved love. Growing up, you would play house with the dolls your parents bought you whenever you all went shopping. All you had to do was point and ask, and they would get it. You never wanted for anything, at least not really. You had the love of both your parents, their unwavering support, a good education, a good home, great vacations, and birthday parties.

The only thing you didn't have was the someone to love you like your parents loved each other.

Maybe it was about time you really took dating seriously. Maybe it was about time you found someone you could settle down with if only to ease your father's worry for you.

"Thank you for considering Ansari Security," I said to the beaming couple sitting opposite my father's mahogany desk. "We're so glad you considered us for your big day."

"Well, you do come highly recommended," the bride says cheerfully, holding onto her fiancé's hand. "Our matchmaker, she pointed us in your direction. His friend as well."

You give them an appreciative smile and mentally make a note to thank Lucy. It is then that you begin detailing the measures you will take to protect their wedding from anything and everything. It takes all of forty-five minutes to go over everything, a record amount of time.

You escorted them out of the building after they signed the necessary paperwork, smiling and once again thanking them for the trust they have put in us. Soon after, you texted Lucy to thank her for pointing the couple to your father's company and inviting her out for dinner this Friday to the new restaurant that opened last week.

It was a really fancy sort of place, open concept with postmodern lighting fixtures and a dark colour palette with exotic foods from all over the world made by artisanal chefs with an excellent wine list, which you couldn’t drink. Normally you wouldn't have bothered with such a thing, making a reservation at some over-priced pseudo-classy place, having always preferred homemade food when you were growing up and then practical and quick nutritional meals when you were in service, and you still did.

The only time you didn't eat a quick meal was when you found yourself missing your mother. She had left you pretty much everything of hers; most of her clothes, her wedding dress, all of her jewellery and books— her recipe book that was passed down to her by her own mother.

It was a great regret of yours for not being there when she passed, unable to perform her ghusl mayyit. Unable to be there for anything, all because you wanted to rebel and join the military, to be just like your parents, to continue that ultimately meaningless legacy.

You drove home that night, mind and heart heavy from remembering your mother, your guilt, your envy. In moments like these, you felt as if you couldn't do anything right, as if no matter the choices you make, you're doomed to make a mess of things.

You drop your apartment and car keys into the crystal bowl as you enter your apartment, toeing off your kitten heels. A heavy sigh leaves you as you drop your handbag on your coffee table, grabbing the TV remote and putting on the news as you head to the kitchen to prepare some yellow potato curry.

"Fortune 500 CEO, Harry Castillo, have released a statement in regards to the rumors circulating the business world about his acquisition plans for Reed and Vine, a publishing house that has seen—," the news anchors voice droning on as you chop your potatoes, onions, green chillies— only because you were in the mood for a bit of spice.

After chopping everything you needed, you toss the cumin seeds with the onions, green chillies, and turmeric into the sunflower oil and let it until the onions are translucent. While you wait, you open a can of your favourite soft drink as you lean on your kitchen counter, lazily listening to the news— more horrible things happening in the States and abroad.

With a shake of your head, you add in your potatoes and water, letting it simmer until the potatoes are cooked, stirring it every so often. You check in your fridge for dhania and retrieve your jar of carrot pickle for when your curry is done.

"Be sure to wear plenty of sunscreen and stay hydrated as the week starts to heat up," the weatherman says cheerfully. You grab the remote to switch the channel now that the news and weather have concluded. You didn't know why you watched the news and weather forecast on your TV when you could easily do so on your phone, but you supposed your parent's habits rubbed off on you.

With the food done you pile a good portion of it onto your favourite white and blue floral plate, pouring yourself a glass of water before you make your way to your living room to sit on your plush pink sofa while you watch an episode of 'House M.D' as you eat.

You did some tidying up before you hopped into the shower. You turned on the hot water, letting it scald your skin before you soaped up your body and loofah before you scrubbed away the day. The vanilla and honey scent wafted through your shower and bathroom. You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly as your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

After a good twenty-five minutes, you stepped out, towelled yourself off dressing in your favourite champagne coloured silk nightdress with branches blooming from your waist and across your torso. Normally, on such a blistering hot night, you would've just thrown on one of your many linen pyjamas, but you felt tonight deserved something more... sexy, despite your previously dour mood.

Before hopping into your queen sized bed, you made sure to turn on your ceiling fan to mitigate the midnight heat that was sure to descend upon the city. You sighed as you lay on your back for a moment, contemplating if you should read a chapter or two from 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Dantés had just just been arrested at his on engagement party for heaven's sake, you should continue reading but you weren't certain that your eyes wouldn't droop and you wouldn't fall asleep on your book— you always hated damaging any books, purposefully or not.

You were relieved when the hotel manager allowed you to gallivant up and down its halls to get a feel for the layout, all the possible entry and exit points, the in house security. Everything was fine, up to code. With the clientele that the hotel saw their security was top-notch, designed to put the minds of societies elite at ease.

But you liked going the extra mile, so you had brought it a few more of your own personnel than you had initially intended to. Your guys with pair up with the hotel's guards, much stricter protocols put in place as well. When you did a job, you made sure to do it right— half-assing things wasn't in your nature.

The day of the wedding had arrived sooner than you had liked, just three weeks after your meeting with the happy couple. It was sweet, how eager they were— their faces constantly pulled taut from the smiling.

"Did all the guests arrive?" You question Anton, whom you had placed in charge of checking the arrivals.

"A few missing, likely just stragglers," he replies, his voice gruff from decades of smoking. "No wedding crashers yet."

You nod, patting his back. "Let me know if you need to get off your feet," you remind him before walking away to check with the rest of your staff.

Guests milled about, chattering about anything and everything, taking pictures of the decor and themselves as they sipped their alcohol of choice. Your eyes scanned over the crowd as you moved from one guard to the next. Lucy catching your eye in her blue dress, giving you a thumbs up and a smile. You return the smile with a wave before she's pulled into a conversation with one of the guests just as you bump into someone.

"I'm so sorry," you hurriedly say, instinctively grabbing onto them to steady yourself. "I should've watched where I was going."

Large hands grip you forearm and waist, firm and yet somehow gentle. You glance up at him, your eyes widening in just a fraction. "Mister Castillo," you breathe out, surprised. You knew he was good friend of the groom, that he was on the guest list and yet somehow it felt crazy to see him here in his suit with a calla lily pinned to his lapel.

"Miss Ansari," he drawls in a teasing tone, his lips pulled up in a smile as his eyes shined down at you.

"Sorry," you apologise once more, not really sure you were capable of saying anything more with him close looking so… striking.

"Nothing to apologise for," he dismisses. "How are you?" He asked, his voice dipping into that dizzying baritone register.

Your voice gets trapped in your throat, as you inhaled sharply your lips parted trying your best to get any words out. A second then two passed, feeling more like an infinity, before you pressed your lips closed as you blinked up at him before you nodded.

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging a corner of his lips. It's just then that you come back into your mind, regaining some sense as you feel his thumb idly brushing back and forth on the curve of your waist. "I'm fine," you say breathlessly.

"Yeah?" He questioned softly.

You nod, your head tilting as you stare up at him. It was stupid— you were stupid. You shouldn’t be falling quiet every other moment when speaking to him. You shouldn’t be all doe-eyed and breathless as if you were still a teenager with their first full-fledged crush. But here you were. Doing exactly that. Like a fool.

It wasn't your fault that he was attractive with his deep brown soulful eyes, his soft salt and pepper curls, his broad stature, his voice— his everything. It was impossible not to dissolve into a pining, lovesick idiot.

You take a step back, his hands leaving your waist and forearm. Your skin smoldering, aching. Even beneath the fabric of your dress shirt, you skin felt as if it was on fire, setting your nerve-ending on edge.

"And you?" You whisper, despite yourself. "Are you…okay?"

Harry— Mister Castillo, you force yourself to remember. You could not be on a first name basis with him, knowing you would rationalise it by considering him a friend and then read too much into everything— tilts his head just a fraction, his brows furrowing. A soft, thoughtful hum left him before he righted himself. "I'm doing wonderful," he answers, using your given name sending your heart racing.

You had never felt one way or the other about your name. It was just your name, a simple gift given to you by your parents showing their adoration to you. You've heard your name countless times, seen it written just as many. But there was something in the way he said it, a whisper of devotion. Of hunger.

"That's great," you say, the epitome of awkward.

"How's your father?" He inquires, one hand slipping into his trousers pockets as the other fiddles with the button on his jacket.

"He's doing good," you reply. "He's more active nowadays."

The conversation goes on for a few minutes; though it's mostly idle chatter, Harry listens intently as he guides you over to the open bar ordering a whiskey for himself and cranberry juice for you, which you take with soft thanks.

It blew your mind how easy it was to talk to him, it was one of the easiest conversations you've had with another person in a long time. You didn't have to think, didn't have to pretend to be easy-going and fun. You didn't have to pick and choose your words or soften your voice and past.

Despite being in a room full of people, you were at ease. Your mind wasn't racing to solve what-if's, over-analyzing every single blink and twitch. Your mind was at ease and you wondered why. Why with him? What was so special or different about that put you at ease? Why was it that the one person you shouldn’t want made you feel so tranquil?

Why, why why?

One thing you didn't expect was for him to be such a melancholic drunk. Well, tipsy, but the point still stood. After you had been pulled away from him to do your job, you had spotted him sitting on his own in the farthest corner of the room sipping listlessly on his whiskey as music blared and people laughed and danced.

You were being brainless as you hurried through your check-ins, desperate to speak to him again knowing after tonight you wouldn't see much of him for a long time. So, in your infatuated state you had excused yourself and beelined to him. You were nearly to him when—

"John's here," Lucy whisper yelled, gripping your upper arm. Your laser focused eyes left his form and settled on her with a sigh.

"I know," you say plainly, there wasn't anything else you could say and you weren't about to act surprised.

"You know?" She questioned, her lips pulled down in a frown.

"Yeah, I had to vet everyone," you shrug.

Lucy linked her arm with yours, all but dragging you to the open bar, settling onto on one of the stools while you remained standing. You're farther away from him now and throughly annoyed. "A rum and coke for me and a," she said to the bartender before turning to me. "What sort of cocktail do you want?"

You grimaced at her question, which served only to aggravate you further. "Just a cranberry juice," you tell the bartender with a forced smile.

"Right," she shakes her head, seeming to remember you don't drink. "Anyways, why didn't you tell me he would be here?"

"Because, I didn't think it would matter," you say with a sigh as you take your juice, give the bartender a nod of thanks. "I figured he would have enough sense to not bother you. Seems like I was wrong."

You take a deep sip, unbuttoning your suit jacket as you lean on the bar counter. You tuck the few strands of her that escaped you plait behind your ear, glancing across the room for a glimpse of Harry who was now in a conversation with one of the groomsmen who was gesticulating wildly as he spoke.

"A heads up would have been nice," Lucy reasoned.

"You're right, I should have told you," you acquiesced, not wanting this to become an issue and then an argument.

"He looked good though," she said as she sipped her rum and coke, a thoughtful looked in her eyes.

"No," you say immediately.

"What?" She chuckled. "I was just making an observation."

"You weren't," you say sternly. "You said you were done with him. You can't entertain this musing. You're gonna get hurt. Again."

"I'm not," she insists. " I just… it was just nice seeming him again. He looked like he got it together. Mostly, at least."

You level her with a knowing look. This happened just about every year like clockwork since university. They get together, have a wonderful few months before they both start seeing cracks and every tiny issue begin to pile up and then they're arguing day in and day out before they call it quits. That is, until they cross paths again.

It was a cosmic pain in your ass.

And you did not want to be consoling her, yet again, after the fallout. After you've told her it was a monumentally bad idea. You loved her, of course you did, she was your friend. But you've had enough with Lucy and John's childish on-again off-again whatever-the-hell-ship.

"Lucy," you begin, hoping your voice carried the same seriousness you felt. "If you pursue things again with John, I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces again."

You hated having to say that, having to draw the line, but it needed to be done. There needed to be some consequence, no matter how farcical it seemed.

"I know," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm not going to pursue things with him again. I learnt my lesson last time."

You didn't believe her, not one bit, but you nodded in acceptance anyway because there wasn’t much else you could do. Lucy downed the rest of her rum and coke before taking her leave, claiming to want to get in early.

After you watched her leave you turned back to the bartender ordering a whiskey neat and water. Nervousness bubbled up in you as you gripped both glasses making your way to the table he sat at, alone once again.

"Hi," you say softly, placing the whiskey it front of him. "You looked like you could use another drink."

He looked up at you, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He takes the glass, tilting it in a toast before taking a sip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk," he quips.

"I can't take credit for that," you say as you pull out the chair opposite him and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other and resting an arm on the table, your finger tracing idle patterns onto the table cloth. "You were doing so good on your own."

He laughed at that, you were certain it was most likely because his whiskey-addled mind found just about anything amusing. It was a pretty sound, nevertheless. Low and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine and setting your cheeks ablaze.

Harry's perfectly slicked back hair was now a mess, soft curls falling over his forehead. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back but the graying curls have a mind of their own. You down the rest of your water, your mouth feeling too dry, too empty.

You let out an unsteady breath as you glance down at his hand gripping his glass, his finger tapping absentmindedly against it, and you couldn't help your straying thoughts; curious what his hands would feel like holding your wrists together, pressing down between your shoulders, or what his fingers would feel like digging into your hips, maybe even around your throat. You wonder if he would be rough, taking whatever he pleased with little regard for you.

"Why are you here?" He asks, his voice pulling you back to reality.

You clear your throat, sitting just a little straighter. "What do you mean?" Your brows furrowing in confusion.

"I mean, why are you here talking to me?" He elaborates. "The wedding's over. Most of the guests have left, so has your friend. And yet you're here with me. Why?"

A second, then two, passes before you answer him in the only way you know you can. "I don't know," you lie with a nonchalant shrug.

His eyes narrows as he stares at you intently, much longer than what would be considered polite. His gaze flickers across your face, examing every little detail— committing it to memory. He sighs muttering something in Spanish that you don't understand but you do your best to remember the few words you catch.

Ubícate, es demasiado joven para ti.

Harry downs the last bit of his whiskey, reaching to take your glass from you as well before rising from his seat. He inclines his head to the bar, silently asking you to follow him. He places the glasses in the counter, a bill under it, thanking the bartender before turning back to you.

"Come on, I'll walk out with you," he says, his hand carding through his hair once again.

"You don't need to do that," you protest.

"It's dark out," he shrugs. "At least let me do this one thing."

You bit your lip in a moment of hesitation before your nod, letting him lead you out of the hotel. You dig out your ticket for the valet who takes it from you, retrieving your keys to bring out your car.

Harry waits with you, his hands tucked away in his pockets. He looks up at the night sky, the new moon peeking out from behind the clouds. He remained quiet, almost reticent, as he looked on, eyeing everything in your vicinity except you.

Just as you turn to question him your car pulls up, the valet getting out and handing you the keys as you give a twenty dollar bill. You walk to your car, pausing before you get in. You turn around, your breath getting tucked out of you as you find him staring at you.

His heated gaze dragging across your face, from your eyes down your nose before getting stuck on your lips. His eyes fixates on your lips, it's cupid bow and it's plumpness. You compulsively lick your lips, your tongue darting out no more than a second and an almost pained looked flashed through his eyes before he drags them back up to your eyes.

"Do you-" you start, taking in a sharp breath as a shiver racks through your body. "Do you need a ride home?"

Say yes. Please, say yes. Your mind begged silently and stupidly. But despite your rationalisation you hoped he would say yes. You wanted to see what would happen if he did, to satisfy your endless curiosity and need to know all possible outcomes if nothing else.

Your fingers curled over the top of the driver's side door, willing your desired response from him into existence.

His lips parted to something before he pressed them together again and nodded. "Yeah," he replied after a moment. "Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks."

You smile at his answer, relief and a sense of victory flooding you. You jerk your head to car, telling him to get in.

The drive to his apartment was a silent one except for the radio you turned on half way through, your radio connecting to your Bluetooth and you played your most recent playlist. You left the volume low as Harry gave you the directions to his apartment.

It wasn't all that out of the way, ten minutes from the hotel and fifteen minutes from yours you realised as you pulled up to his apartment complex. A tired steel and glass skyscraper marring the navy sky. Harry lingered in the passenger seat as you awkwardly tapped on the steering wheel.

"Do you want to come up?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Sure," you reply impulsively, wanting to do something stupid. You drive into the building's underground parking, turning off your car and joining him as you both walk to the elevator.

The elevator ride up was much like the drive there, silent and tense. It was clear to you that he didn't know what he was doing, but you couldn't truly claim to know either. The elevator dinged, opeening up into a hallway made up of dark wood and protuding light fixtures.

He dug into the inner pocket of his jacket, retrieving his keys, swiftly unlocking the door allowing you through first. As he entered behind you he flicked the light switch on, revealing the expanse of his place. You looked around, taking it all in.

The minimalist appearance of it all wasn't something you would have expected from him, though you didn't really know what to expect. It felt too clinical in a way, too cold for someone so warm. It didn't feel right for someone as old as him to have such a bare residence.

"Nice place," you comment lightly, standing in the middle of his living room.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing to you to follow him. "Can I get anything? Water, coffee, tea?"

"No, I'm good," you reply, leaning against the kitchen counter watching him put on the kettle before grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge.

"Can I make you something to eat?" He asks next, retrieving a mug and all the things he would need for tea. "You're probably starving."

You raise an eyebrow at that, almost amused. "Why would I be starving?" You ask with a smile.

"You didn't eat anything at the wedding," he explained, his eyes not meeting yours. "Figured you would be hungry."

"I had some canapés," you shrug.

He paused at that, a spoonful of sugar frozen hovering over his mug as he looked at you. He dropped the spoon into the mug before he spoke, "That hardly seems enough."

"I ate before work," you wave it off, unbothered.

"Right," he said slowly before turning back to his fridge and rummaging through it. "I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich."

"You don't have to," you say quickly, not wanting to be a bother but you found his offer sweet nonetheless.

As he was grabbing the cheeses and biutter from the fridge, the kettle began to whistle on the stove. You moved around the counter to it, grabbing a dish towel to remove the kettle, pouring the boiling water into his mug. You placed the kettle on the cold stove plate before mixing his tea for him. Harry placed the carton of milk next to you as he moved about to prepare the grilled cheese.

"How much milk do you take?" You asked, unscrewing the cap.

"Just don't let it spill over," he replied. "Is sliced cheese okay for you?"

You scrunched your nose at that but elected to not comment on how much milk he took with his tea. "No sliced cheese," you say, mixing the milk in before putting it away. "Tea's ready."

You watched as he placed the first sandwich on the frying pan. He had removed his jacket and bowtie while your back was turned, throwing it on one of the chairs in his kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, his lips pouting just a bit as he arranged the cheese on the second sandwich. You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped you.

You had never seen someone look so serious over a grilled cheese before. It was just as cute as it was amusing. You grabbed his tea and walked over to where he stood, half hunched over, and presented the mug to him. "Drink your tea before it gets cold," you said firmly.

"Right," he blinked as he corrected his posture before taking the mug from you, taking a healthy sip. "Sorry."

You smiled up at him. "I'll finish this up," you say as you take over finishing up the second sandwich before flipping the first one to toast the other side. Harry's hand had reached out to tuck your hair that had come loose, yet again, behind your ear.

You freeze at the gesture, not having expected it. The action was so tender that you brain misfired, short circuiting itself for a bit longer than a singular moment. It was a soft, fleeting thing that felt all to familiar, a wave of nostalgia hitting you rather unexpectedly.

Your parents were just like this, seemlessly moving about the kitchen as you sat at the counter, your feet swinging from the chair that was too high for you as a kid. Your father would do all the prep work for all the meals when he was at home, never letting your mother touch a single utensil that he deemed too dangerous. Your mother promptly hitting him upside the head before taking over some of the work.

Harry gently moved you aside and took over. He removed the first sandwich cutting it in half and handing the plate to you before toasting the second one. You sat at the end of the counter, eating in silence mostly because you didn't know what to say to fill the silence.

You were half way through your first slice when he reached into one of the upper cabinets to retrieve a glass. "Do you want water or some strawberry juice?" He asked.

"Water's fine," you reply, your voice softer than you intended. In fact, you had not intended it to sound soft at all. You mentally cursed yourself for sounding almost airy. You needed to act normal but that seemed to be such a far away concept to you then, nothing about this situation was normal; you sitting in his kitchen eating a grilled cheese sandwich at past eleven in the night no less was not normal, you fantasing about him before driving him home was not normal, this almost wistful domesticity was not normal.

He got you the glass of water before removing his own sandwich and joing you at the counter. "This is crazy," you mumbled to yourself.

"Why?" He asked, biting into his grilled cheese.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, chewing languidly as you thought up a response. "You're a client," you say, your voice rising in uncertainty as if you didn't believe the words you said. "It's not standard practice to be eating at your place so late in the night."

"You could consider it a business dinner," he shrugged, entirely unbothered by the situation.

"Speaking of business," you started, swiftly changing the topic. "I heard you acquired a publishing house."

"I did," he said plainly, rolling his shoulder back in discomfort.

"Why?" You take a sip of water, waiting for his answer patiently.

"They weren't doing so well so I bought them out," he say quietly, finishing off his sandwich.

You hummed in acknowledgement, accepting his answer. You both promptly fell back into silence, though this time around it wasn't nearly as awkward bordering on stifling.

Harry had taken your plate and glass along with his and deposited it in the sink, turning on the tap and began washing the dishes even though he had a dish washer. You joined him by the sink, a dish towel in hand ready to wipe down the dishes. He handed them to you without protest.

Once you both were done, you and Harry stood there, the silence stretched on. Now though, you couldn't stand it. It was too quiet, too still, reminding you of the times you had to lie in wait for your targets.

Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, in contemplation. Weighing the risks of a rash decision, would whatever choice you make right then irreparably damage your working relationship with 'Mister Castillo' should you pursue a hare-brained moment of lust with 'Harry'? And that was if he was not only okay with this but wanted it just as much as you did.

You took in a fortifying breath before you spoke, hoping that you didn't monstrously fuck this up. "I really want to kiss you," you say, boldly, instantly wanting to run away from this if only to escape the embarrassment of what you had said.

His eye's widened a fraction, lips parting in shock as he took an unconscious step fback. He didn't reach for you, didn't say anything either for the longest time. And you weren't a fool, you knew when you were being rejected. You nod once in acceptance, taking a step then two back. "Right, well, I'm going to go," you say quietly, your voice small. "Thanks for the grilled cheese."

You turn away, making your way out of the kitchen. You were disappointed but not surprised, most everything you saw tonight was unexpected but his silent rejection made sense. Everything you knew about him from the fleeting moments you ran into him at your father's office over the past four years told you that he wasn't the sort to seek out women significantly younger than him.

When your father returned home from the few times he had joined Harry on an actual business dinner he told you about how the pretty young waitresses had blushed and paid extra attention to him. You didn't entirely believe your father, he was prone to exaggeration, but there had to be some truth to it and so when your father told you how he always politely turned those women down. A small part of you was glad at the time that he was an upstanding man who seemingly didn't use his wealth and prominence to be a creep, it settled a part of you that desperate to believe that there were still good people— good men— in higher up positions. Though now you were a bit saddened by it.

You were half out of the living room when a hand grabbed your's, bringing you to a stop. You turn, confusion creasing the space between your brows as you stare up at him. He stepped in closer, your hand encapsulated in the warmth of his. His face contorted into something between pain and lust.

"You know we shouldn't," he whispered with a shake of his head.

"I know," you whispered back, not having the strength to speak any louder.

"We can't," he replied, insistent while desperation undercut his words. You weren't entirely sure who he was trying to convince, you or himself because regardless, his body drifted closer to you.

You stood toe to toe, your neck craning back ever so slightly to meet his eyes. You were trapped in this moment with him until he made a decision. His eyes flickered between yours before settling on your lips, his own parted, his head inching closer before stopping. You willed him to make a decision, there were limits to your patience and it was beginning to wear thin. If he didn't decide then you would.

Your lifted your free hand to cup his face, the scruff from his patchy beard tickling your palm, you were about to lean in when he let out breath than sat the fence between a sigh and a moan as his eyes fluttered closed. The only sign of any inner turmoil was the deep furrow of his brows.

"I'm going to kiss you," you say, giving him a moment to pull away if he truly did not want this. You leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, another opportunity for him to pull away. You glanced at his closed eyes, admiring his face, committing this moment to memory before you captured his lips in yours.

A pleased hum escaping you as you slowly kiss him, your thumb stroking his cheek before your hand trailed down his jaw and neck. Your nails dragging gently across his sensitive skin eliciting a suplicating hum from him. You smile against his lips as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in impossibly close.

You pulled your hand from his to guide his hand to join his other around your waist. Now with your other hand free, you card your fingers through his soft salt and pepper hair, tugging gently as you nipped at his bottom lip.

His grip tightened around you as he groan. Pressed so close to him you couldn't help but feel him hardening in trousers.

Just a kiss.

A slow a gentle kiss was all it took to get him hard. You weren't expecting him to sprout an erection, you were content with just a kiss but now you could hardly walk away. It would plague your mind for days, if not weeks, as you toss and turned in bed wanting nothing more than to have his cock.

When you pulled back, desperate for air, Harry whined following after your lips. He was the needy sort, you realised. "We shouldn't," you repeat his words with a smirk, your hand running down his arm.

"Fuck," he cursed, closing his eyes tightly. He loosened his grip on you, shaking his head as took a step back. "I shouldn't have done that."

You tilt your head, observing him and the guilt that was marring his beautiful face. "I kissed you," you remind him firmly, taking a step towards him. "Because I wanted to."

He shook his head, guilt-ridden and in denial. His hands making a mess of his hair. "I should've stopped you," he reasoned. "You're half my age. You're technically my employee. I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."

You roll your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm not your employee, I'm a contractor," he point out. "Whatever working relationship we have ends the moment a contract is fulfilled. And just because I'm half your age doesn't mean I'm somehow too stupid to realise how fucked this is. If you don't want to kiss me or fuck me, you're going to have to say that."

It was a miracle that you hadn't yelled, knowing that would've likely made you seem petulant. He said nothing in return, just stared down at his hands looking throughly berated. You couldn't help your crooked smile, enjoying how he looked repentant. You step closer to him, getting in his line of sight, covering his hands with yours. "If you really don't want this, then I'll go," you say softly. "And we can forget this ever happened."

His hands left yours, settling on your hips as he whispered, "Don't go."

You were relieved, to say the least. You didn't want to go, didn't want to forget the kiss or the collage of moments leading up to it. "You won't regret this?" You question him softly.

A shake of his head was all you needed before you leaned in once more, kissing him soundly and fiercely. He was going to regret it come morning, it was a simple fact, he was too tender-hearted not to. And so, you resolved to make this good for him, hoping the memory of pleasure would override his guilty conscious.

"Bedroom," you instruct him between kisses. He pulled away from the kiss, taken your hand in his, leading you to his bedroom that was just as minimalistic as the rest of his apartment. His lack of knick-knacks had your brows furrowing, his place seeming more like a showroom than an actual home.

You guide him to down on the edge of the bed, moving to stand between his legs. Your kisses turn gentle once more as his hands tentatively curve around your thighs. You let out a pleased hum, pushing his hair back, peppering his face with kisses.

"I'm going to take my shirt off, don't panic," you whisper with a chuckle. You undo your tie, pulling it out from under your collar and tossing it aside. His eyes flickered from yours to your hands as you unbutton you lazily unbutton your shirt.

"Now you," you say, as you push your dress shirt off your shoulders, standing in front of him in just your bra and trousers. He does as told, eyes fixated on your tit's and the lace edge of your bra.

He hurriedly took off his shirt, chucking it away from him. His hands where back on you in an instant, caressing your waist as he pulled back in for a kiss. It was desperate, forsaking his need for air as begged for entrance.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you parted your lips granting him the entrance he wanted, a grateful moan leaving him as his tongue tangled with yours. He was gentle in his exploration of your mouth. You played with the ends of his hair at his nape.

He pulled away suddenly, taking in deep breaths as he stared at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you down and turning you over so that you were lying on your back in his bed. A surprised yelp escaping you.

Without a word, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, trailing kisses there. You held his head there as he nipped at the spot just below your ear, earning him a gasping moan as your eyes fluttered shut. He did it again, a bit harder this time. A shudder wracked through you as you dragged his tongue over it to soothe the pain.

Your breath grew unsteady as he lavished your neck with kisses and little nips, trailing down to your collarbone giving it the same attention. He slid his arm beneath your body, tracing the edge of bra, silently asking permission to take it off. You lifted your body up a few inches, making it easier for him to unhook the black fabric.

His hands pulling the straps from your shoulder as he sought out your lips. As soon as he divested you if your bra his hands covered them, fondling them for a moment before his thumb and index finger pinched your nipples.

"Fuck," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut, tossing your head back.

He kissed his way down your throat, squeezing your tit's before lips met the swell of them. He wasted no time in taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. It didn't do much for you, having never had sensitive nipples but his wet tongue laving at it felt pleasant enough that you didn't stop him.

As he lost himself in your tit's, you felt his erection pressing into your hip, twitching in the confines of his trousers. You drag your fingers through his hair, gripping it and pulling him off. He resisted, a low growl escaping him.

"Your pants, take it off," you say, your voice breathy, pushing him off you as you unbutton and push yours off as well, only your panty still on.

In that moment, you regret not having worn your fancier undergarments but the feeling quickly leaves as Harry crawled back to you, with every inch of skin bared for you, settling between your legs. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, your cheeks heating up as it catches the trail of hair leading to his rather sizable cock. At least in comparison to the ones you've had before.

You but your lip in anticipation. Harry runs his hands up your calf, stopping at the bend of your knees to pull you a bit closer. You gasp in pleasant surprise, glad to see his inhibitions about this leaving him as confidence filled him. You sigh as he presses a kiss to the side of your knee, his eyes never one leaving yours.

You reach above you, searching blindly for a pillow to support you lower back as ravished your thigh with reverent kisses as his other hand ran up and on your other leg leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

As he neared your apex of your thigh, he paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, resting his head at your hip. His fingers toyed with the edge of your panty, his touch was light, a whisper in the dimness of his bedroom.

You caressed his cheek, a content sigh leaving you as you see how serene he looked. You bit your lip as a familiar heat ignited between your thighs, the feeling of a bead of wetness dripping out of you. "Harry," you began, voice soft— idyllic— as you moved your hand to cup his jaw. "Do you plan on fucking me tonight or not?" You asked with a raised brow, unbothered if you you sounded a bit too forward or harsh, you just wanted to get fucked.

It had been too long since you had gotten your pussy ate out, almost a year now if you remembered right. And it had been months since you last had sex with anyone, too tired to hook up with some guy off a dating app.

With renewed vigour, Harry hooked his arms under your thighs, burying his face in your core. His tongue darting out, dragging over your clothed heat. You exhaled in relief, glad for the stimulation; if he had denied you this you would have fingered yourself right then just for the sake of being petulant.

You gave him an approving hum, your hand in his hair keeping him there. "I'm not made of glass," you comment. "No need to be so gentle."

He pulled his head away, much to your frustration, a questioning look in his dark brown eyes. "You sure?" He voiced.

"Yes, goddammit," you say. "I don't want gentle."

He nodded once in acceptance, promptly burying his head back between your thighs, pulling your panties to the side wasting no time in licking a long strip up your slit stopping at your clit, sucking at it gently.

You shudder at the feeling, closing your eyes to let everything that wasn't him fade out of existence. You distantly heard the hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock, the late night wind howling outside. You heard him hum against your pussy as he reached over your thigh, his thumb rubbing your clit slow circles as his tongue dipped between your lips.

He pace quickly grew relentless, unforgiving, as you tugged at his hair as the vibrations from his moans had you squirming. You whimper at the sudden intrusion of his fingers, you hadn't even noticed him removing his other from your thigh.

Your pussy had to stretch to accommodate just two of his fingers, the thought of what his cock would feel like left you feeling dizzy. Your hips rolled to meet the thrusts of his fingers, one hand keeping a firm grip in his hair— if you weren't so desperate to come you would feel bad for the headache you were giving him.

A chorus of moans and whimpers left you as his fingers hit the spongy little spot in your pussy with a steady rhythm, his mouth never once leaving your clit. "Harry," you moan, breathless as you tensed up feeling the familiar coil of your impending orgasm. "Don't stop." You command.

He hummed in acknowledgement, keeping the same pace as you tossed a leg over his shoulder, your calf holding his head in place leaving no chance for him to pull back.

His thrusts became shorter, more insistent. Just as your moans became more whiny, desperate for a release. "Please," you beg. "Please, baby, I'm so close."

The wet squelch of your pussy was deafening as you begged for your orgasm, wanting— needing— it more than anything else in that moment. You could feel the slow drip of sweat down your spine, the mix of his spit and your juice on your skin.

You shut eyes, mindlessly rolling your hips in tone with his thrusts. You were so close you wanted to cry, the coil pulled so taut that it was bound it snap any minute.

A groan escape you as your body shook with a mind melting orgasm. Every muscle in your body feeling too tight and loose at the same time. You whimpered as you felt Harry slowly pull his fingers out, dragging his tongue over your quivering slit as his thumb stroked your clit slowly, working you through the after shocks of your orgasm as you whined, too sensitive for even the barest of touches.

You removed your leg from over his shoulder, tiredly tugging him up by his hair. He stopped intermittently to pepper kisses up your body, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. When he was face to face with you, you cradle his face in both hands as you fought to catch your breath. You look at him, eyes half lidded, taking in his almost pussy drunk expression.

You pulled him down, pressing you lips to his that were still glistening with your slick. You licked at his lips, seeking entrance which he gladly granted, wrapping an arm around you as he turned you over so that you laid on top of him.

You braced yourself with your forearm, your lips never leaving his. You enjoyed the taste of yourself on him too much to pull away. The twitch of his cock against your ass slowly brought you out of your post-orgasm delirium. You let out a soft hum, lifting your hips to let his cock settle between the both of you.

His arms, wrapped around your waist, held you still against him as he pulled his lips away from yours. "You don't have to do that," he said, his voice husky.

You smile down at him, as you dragged your drenched pussy against his length, the movement was too little to really do much for him. A disapproving groan left him as his hands moved to grip your hips, effectively stopping you. "Don't, querida," he drawled without elaboration.

"Why not?" You question, resting both hands over his chest and placing your chin on the back of you hand.

"Because, I would like to not embarrass myself," he sighs, loosening his grip on your hips.

You let out an amused huff as you kiss his cheek. "It's completely normal to come too fast at your age," you tease, kissing and sucking at his neck.

"Very funny," he said flatly, letting his hand trace your spine unconsciously. "But you're not entirely off." He concedes.

Your curiosity was piqued, wanting to know more, swiftly forgetting about getting him to properly fuck you. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, indicative about the possible sensitivity of his explanation. "You don't have to tell me," you give him an out, not wanting to sour the moment.

"I haven't been with anyone for a long time," his hand stopping it's journey up and down your spine. "Not since my divorce."

Divorce? You were speechless, stunned beyond belief. How had you not known that? He was practically everywhere, on the covers of business magazines and tabloids that recounted every moment from his life, speculating about everything even if it were unfounded.

"You were married?" You asked dumbly.

The look on your face must've been ridiculous if his chuckle was anything to go by. "Yeah, for fifteen years," he divulged. "Married my high school sweetheart when we were twenty. She was eveything to me."

His eye's grew distant, no doubt recalling every moment they spent together. You wondered what could possibly have caused the divorce. Did one of them want kids but the other didn't? Did he work too much? Or did the love just disappear? You didn't know the answers to those question and you were sure as hell not going to ask, but you did know that sombreness did not suit him.

"You want to know why, don't you?" He guessed. Your face heating up in embarrassment, you used to not be so transparent with your thoughts, never letting anything show unless it served a purpose.

"Am I that obvious?" you shake your head, resting your forehead against his chest.

He let out a laugh, his hand coming up to stroke your head, smoothing down your hair in the process. "I'm just good at guessing," he comforted you. "And everyone's curious."

"If you loved her why get divorced?" You wondered.

He took in a fortifying breath before he spoke. "I," he started, his voice faltering for a second. "I came home early from a business trip, wanted to surprise her for out anniversary. She… she was in bed with my cousin."

"Oh,"

"Yeah," he chuckled sardonically. "She said he was the love of her life."

That was a pain you were glad you did not know, but your heart broke nonetheless for him. You never understood why people cheated, if you had fallen in love with someone else just break up. If it was about sex just say that, speak to them about your desires. It was a cruelty that you saw no logical reason for.

Harry turned on his side, taking you with him. His arms never left you, keeping you enveloped in his warmth, his head rested above yours. Your neck was cradle by his arm as you buried your face in his chest. You snuggled closer to him, enjoying the softness of his body. "At least I get to be here with you now," you whisper, your eyes beginning to feel heavy and your breaths grow shallow as the quiet and his warmth lulls you to sleep.

#harry castillo x reader #harry castillo #harry castillo smut #materialists fic #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction

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diddybok · 1 year ago

Text

asking best friend!stray kids what you are pt.2

all characters depicted in my writing are from my own imagination and do NOT in any way represent nor reflect the people in real life :)

➩pairing: ot8 x gn!reader

➩genre(s): angst, some fluff

➩warnings: strong language, mentions of sex, some of the boys are still mean, some unhappy endings

➩wc: 9.4k (9433)

➩author’s note: i am so serious if anybody talks to you in a way to undermine, condescend or just simply belittle you and make you feel stupid, pls pls pls cut that person out of your life. even if they’re doing it as a ‘joke’. it never ends well. ily all and you deserve the best of the best, always <3

➩parts: part one

chris | 1.2k (1201) words

After the fourth ring, you swipe the little phone symbol across your screen and the time starts. You watch it go from one second, to the next, and the next, before a deep elongated sigh pulls you out of your trance.

You put him on speaker, afraid of the way you’d react if you were to hear him so close to you in your ear. You can’t handle that right now.

“Y/n?” His slightly distorted voice says. You don’t reply, placing the phone down in front of you as you sit and fiddle with the rings on your fingers.

“Come on sweetheart, say something please. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Chris asks softly. Akin to a parent who would try and get their child to confess to stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.

You run your hands down your face. You’re annoyed with him, most definitely. But you can’t deny the butterflies that start to flutter in your stomach when he addresses you like that.

It’s not fair.

The line is painfully silent for another two minutes. Chris patiently, or rather stubbornly, waiting for you to speak.

“This…this is harder than I thought it’d be.” You say, your voice croaking slightly as this is the first time you have spoken in a while.

“Okay. Try not to think too much about it. Just speak your truth, unload it all.” Chris encourages.

You take a deep breath and run your hands up and down your thighs to stop them from clamming up.

“You hurt my feelings. You are continuing to hurt my feelings. I feel as if I’m the only one who is missing out on an inside joke that everybody seems to know but me.” You halt, waiting to see if he would have a rebuttal. Except he doesn’t and his silence spurs you on to continue.

“I thought we were practically dating. I thought that night would be the night that you would ask to be together as a couple. You know, exclusive?” You chuckle bitterly. “So imagine my surprise when you decide to ignore me for a week. Do you know how shitty that felt?” You ask him.

You can just about hear his breaths. They’re soft and collected. Yet the more you wait for his response that he doesn’t seem to be giving, you are becoming the opposite of that.

“I asked you a question.” You say curtly.

“I can see how that would make you feel shitty, yes. For that I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I felt like I fucked everything up for us.” You think he sounded genuine enough when he said that, so you elect yourself to be quiet so he can continue.

“I should’ve stopped it. Doing it knowing I wasn’t ready for it to happen—like that anyway—was not fair on you. I wouldn’t say that it has complicated things per say, but it has led me to think about a few things.” Chris finishes.

You sit there, the flaps of the butterfly wings now causing the bile to travel upwards and out. You reach over and grab your water bottle from your bedside table and chug as much as you can.

“Think about things like what?” You will yourself to say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand at the water that managed to escape and drip down your chin.

He doesn’t reply which does not settle your nerves. Especially not after that last sentence he said. Silence is not your friend at this moment.

“Chris—”

“I think that we should be together.” He practically vomits out.

Your eyes widen and your eyebrows shoot up to the top of your skull.

“What!”

“Y/n?”

You both speak at the same time.

“Oh sorry you go ahead.”

“Sorry, you first.”

You hear a small chuckle over the line as you speak over each other again. He stays silent this time, letting you talk.

“Are you serious? Like you really mean that? You aren’t playing me for a fool right?” You ask quickly.

“Yes. Yes. No,” You release a silent scream. “I really do want us. I have always wanted us, but this—you—made me realise that we should’ve made it official a while ago. There were only so many more excuses I could pull out of the bag to mask me taking you out on dates as just ‘best friends hanging out doing questionable things’.”

Of course, you knew this as you are smart. The excuse he gave when he took you to a rooftop restaurant with candlelights everywhere was certainly not ‘for practice when I get a partner’. Him having your favourite meal prepared and the playlist the two of you made playing in the background? Dead giveaway.

“Plus it is also totally unrealistic that you as my best friend would splash that much cash on me unless it was because you lost a bet. So I had a feeling I knew something was up. Which I guess is why I got a bit too excited and jumped to the conclusion that we were already a couple.” You say scratching the back of your neck.

“Not true! I would always buy you things.” Chris corrects.

“Yeah but you’d always complain whilst doing so. So when you stopped complaining, something had clearly shifted.” You clarify.

You can envision the eye roll he does paired with the sigh he releases making you laugh.

There’s another silence that fills the space, albeit this time it is comfortable. Until he sneezes down the line and you catch yourself smiling warmly as you bless him.

“What happens now? Do we get a level up on our relationship or something? Or do I magically spawn in your arms and you cuddle me until I fall asleep? I’m thinking that sounds like the correct thing to happen next.” He teases.

“Of course that’s what you think.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just work here.” He says in a seductive drawl.

“You’re still very much in the dog house. Honestly, I feel it’s only fair for me to leave you waiting a week to even see me.” You speak without a hint of sarcasm.

It goes quiet over the phone again. You look down at your rings, twisting them around your finger gently.

“Okay…I guess that’s fair.” He finally responds.

You release a breath you weren't aware you were holding, nodding to yourself in agreement.

“You’re one hundred percent certain you want this? Want to be together past just best friends?” You clarify.

“What do you not trust me already? Y/n I want to be with you. I have wanted to be with you. Our communication just wasn’t great. But we will work on it together. Okay?” Chris speaks gently down the phone.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Though it will take a day or two for you to get over the fact he didn’t message you for a week, you feel as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Whatever the next step of your relationship with Chris is, you’re just relieved that you get to do it together with no more misunderstandings.

minho | 1.0k (1032) words

You and Minho decided that it would be best for you to discuss your relationship over lunch. He even offered to pay which you certainly were not going to turn down.

You have been hyping yourself up in front of the mirror for about twenty minutes since Minho said he was en route. If Minho texting you earlier was any indication of how this conversation will go, then you are sure you aren’t silly for practising breathing techniques and how to not make a fool of yourself on a whole.

You’re getting your jacket when you hear his knock at the door. You know it’s him because he only ever knocks in a pattern.

Opening the door, you’re glad to see him greet you with a smile on your face. Though that’s how it has always been in your relationship. Even when you fight, you always know to resolve the issue with a smile and to never yell at each other.

Even though you could tell he was anxious, he was masking it well. Throughout the drive, playing your favourite songs. Even now in the café ordering you your favourite meal when he caught you scanning the menu acting like you didn’t know what you wanted already.

Safe to say, the both of you calm each other down, which makes this conversation much easier to have.

“So, let's address the elephant in the room.” You start, taking a sip of your milkshake.

“I first want to say that whatever we choose to do from this point on, you are not allowed to leave me. Well, you can’t anyways because I am always going to be in your life.” He says with an unwavering smile on his face.

You hold back your smile and nod, letting him carry on.

“No I do mean it. I just think that we’d be better off just being…us. You know what I mean?” He says using his hands to emphasise.

“Mmm, let’s dig a little deeper. I just don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. Obviously what we shared was nice and I don’t think that we should regret it, right?” You say with a tilt of your head.

“I agree. I had a think about it whilst I drove to your house to pick you up and I don’t think it was fair of me to question what we did. In terms of making you think that I felt that it wasn’t right of us to do.” Minho explains. He looks around before leaning in slightly. “Especially since that was the best sex I have had in months.” He throws a wink your way and you have to stop yourself from taking a bow.

Him saying that feels as though numerous weights have been lifted off of your shoulders. You were most anxious about whether he either hated it or thought it was a mistake. So you’re now glad to hear that neither of it was the case.

The waiter comes over with your food and you thank them. You’re about to pick up your fork and take a bite of food to fuel your courage but you’re abruptly tutted at.

“Just because we are in the midst of an important conversation does not mean we skip tradition.” Minho says, raising his eyebrow at you.

You place the fork down and put up a peace sign as you pose. He takes out his camera and snaps a photo of you with both his and your meal in the frame. He then puts his middle finger up and poses with an over exaggerated bored expression. You chuckle to yourself before taking the photo.

“You said that we moved too fast assuming that we were moving in the first place. Do you still think that now?” You say before taking a bite of your meal.

He finishes his mouthful as he furrows his eyebrows and thinks about your question.

“Well I mean, I’d be an idiot to say that I didn’t think that it wouldn’t be going anywhere. But for us right now, I don’t think we should be moving at all.” He speaks.

The food you are swallowing seems to get a little stuck as you start to quietly choke. All the while Minho grows increasingly embarrassed at your lack of ability to stay alive.

“Okay calm, people are starting to look over.” He says to you, pouring you a glass of water from the jug on the table.

You take a few gulps and tap your chest.

“Damn. You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m mid chew.” You scold.

“My apologies, from now on I shall wait until the food has made its descent to the pit of acid in your stomach.” He lightly chuckles.

“So what I’m hearing is that all things considered romantically, we should stop. So we just continue on as friends?” You clarify.

He nods.

“Hit the nail on the head.”

“Right…I mean I guess that works. After all, we were friends before we got curious so I’m pretty sure we can just laugh about it and carry on.” You smile albeit quite painfully.

“Yes of course! We were just curious…” Minho adds, a painful smile also etched onto his features.

Can you just laugh about it and carry on? Even when it felt so natural? So…right?

There’s a silence pregnant with awkwardness as you and Minho avoid each other’s gazes and continue to eat.

Akin to a supporting artist having a cue to interact with the leads of a movie, the waiter comes over to ask if everything was alright with the food.

You both bombard him with praise and he seems a little taken aback and hurries away to the next table.

You don’t lie to Minho often, much like he doesn’t lie to you. However, in this café it seems the two of you are egregious liars. Which explains the way you both see right through each other.

You know that it’s only a matter of time until something happens again because unfortunately you have crossed the line. Let’s just hope you can go at least a month before you’re entangled in each other's arms again.

changbin | 1.1k (1120) words

One, two, three knocks on your door. You approach it slowly, looking through the peephole to see Changbin standing in his big puffer jacket and gloves.

You consider letting him stay in the cold a little longer, but the goodness in your heart wills your hand to open the door.

“Come in quickly, it’s cold.” You order.

He doesn’t dally with his movements, coming inside quickly as you shut the door behind him. It’s quiet as he takes off his shoes and coat, giving you a mildly awkward smile that was still dulcet.

“I was just making breakfast, would you like some?” You offer, walking into the kitchen.

“Oh, yes please that’d be nice thank you.” He says, following after you.

The atmosphere feels a little strange and you aren’t used to it. Changbin hasn’t yelled at all since stepping foot inside and usually you would’ve threatened the duct tape on his mouth by now.

You engage in some aimless chit chat with him whilst you cook. You figured you would ease into this conversation rather than just immediately diving head first.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Changbin admires as he looks around your kitchen.

You turn to him, bewildered.

“I haven’t changed my kitchen since I moved in here, bin.” You establish.

“Really? Oh. I thought there was something different about this place in the week and a bit that I have been gone.” He says with genuinity.

“Why would I have changed my kitchen around in the week that you’ve been gone?” You ask.

He shrugs, stealing a blueberry from the bowl when your back is turned from him.

“I don’t know. Some people dye or cut their hair when they’re upset. I figured since you like your hair too much, you would’ve changed the next best thing.” He solidifies, feeling much too content with the way his brain works.

You on the other hand aren’t sure whether you’re being tested or if this is truly how he is choosing to behave.

You plate up the food and as you’re about to slide his plate over to him, you pull it back.

“For every question answered, you get a mouthful of food.” At this, Changbin gawks.

“This seems illegal in some form or another.” He sulks.

You open up your phone to your conversation with him.

“So it says here that you didn’t want to mess up our friendship, but emotions were running high and we weren’t thinking about the consequences. What consequences would that be?” You state.

He looks at you quizzically.

“Why do I feel like I’m in court right now? You’re reading the text messages out like evidence and I’m scared.” He says laughing awkwardly.

“You answer the question. You get to eat.” You redirect. He clears his throat before he begins.

“Well the consequences would be, erm, how us sleeping together will create ripples in our friendship whether we like it or not. I mean I’m not saying I regret it fully…but maybe a tiny bit?” He says fiddling with his hands.

He opens his mouth wide as he awaits your end of the deal. You pick up the fork and scoop up some food before you feed it to him.

For people who aren’t a couple, you sure do act like it.

“Why is that?” You press further.

“Because I didn’t want something like this to happen. By that I mean, if we were going to go all the way, then we should have established what we were prior. Even though our friends may think we are a couple, it wasn’t exclusively spoken about between us.” A beat. “But now I think that by letting ourselves get carried away, we missed the opportunity to settle things out with both of us clear on where we stand in our relationship.” He finishes.

You decide to give him two mouthfuls for that answer to which he hums happily in response.

You cannot doubt that what he said makes sense. You should have spoken about what you guys were before engaging in something as intimate as sleeping with each other.

Yet for two people who have already gone to second base countless times before and couldn’t control the libido this time, you also understand where things got messy.

“I think I get where you’re coming from now.” You say, eating your own mouthful.

Changbin nods in acknowledgment before stealing a handful of blueberries.

“But you also said that you still wanna be my best friend. Is that still true? Do you think we can get past this?” You ask apprehensively.

Changbin’s eyebrows furrow in disbelief.

“Of course! To both of your questions. Look at us, we’ve lasted this long. Yeah so I’ve been inside you, that’s fine! At least we had a good time, right? We can say that we’ve done it and gotten it out of our system.” He exclaims.

You pull a face at the last sentence and he is immediately scrambling to reword what he means.

“No, I don't see it as a throwaway act! I meant that because we had been stopping at second base because we were too scared to take it all the way, we finally reached the goal.” He stammers.

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms.

“No I don’t mean that sleeping with you was the goal, if anything it was off the pitch.” He tries to explain.

A single tilt of your head was all that was needed in order for him to slam his head into his hands and mutter a ‘I give up’.

You shake your head and slide the plate over to him as you move across the island to sit on the stall next to him. You place an arm around his shoulder as he sighs.

“I don’t want to lose you as my best friend too, bin. Let’s just take it one day at a time, yeah? What happened, happened. Now we both know where we stand about our friendship, it’s okay.”

He lifts his head from his palms and looks over you with his big black eyes.

“You mean that? Like actually? We’re good?” He asks. You laugh slightly.

“Yes bin, we’re good.” You reassured him.

“Oh thank God. Does that mean I can still call you my sweet—”

“One day at a time.” You say sternly.

The both of you smile as you finish the rest of your breakfast. There’s a twinge of hurt that you feel for you and Changbin not going forward as a couple, but you would rather this than to lose him forever.

So for now, you’ll cherish what an amazing friendship the two of you have and will continue to have.

hyunjin | 1.1k (1113) words

“Y/n open the fucking door.” You mimic Hyunjin’s last text message to you aloud as you walk down the stairs.

You were by no means rushing to get to the door, if anything, you think that standing right by it for a good two minutes or so to really irritate him would make you feel much better than you currently do.

Hyunjin continuously banging on the door pulls you out of your stubborn demeanour. If not for your neighbours, you’d have let him continue to bang against the door until his knuckles bruised.

Yet it seems your night couldn’t get any worse considering you’ve just taken a fist to the face. Perhaps that was your fault for catching him off guard when he was vigorously knocking as he appeared to have ‘knocked’ your face instead of the door.

“Oh fuck! Y/n!” Hyunjin yells as he cradles your face in his hands. You appreciate the gesture, you do, he was still your best friend after all. But if this wasn’t the cherry on top of the cake then you don’t know what is.

“Yep, good to see you too hyune.” You groan.

You scrunch your face as your hand moves to soothe your forehead. Shrugging out of his hold, you step inside of your home, trusting that he would follow suit and shut the door behind him.

“Y/n darling I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to knock against…your forehead.” He speaks with utmost genuinity as he shadows behind you.

You don’t say anything as you just grab yourself some frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel before moving to your living room to make yourself comfortable on the sofa as you wait for him to explain everything.

You’re thankful that he seems to be getting the hints tonight. He takes his place beside you, worry etched onto his beautiful face.

Damn his prince-like features…

“Explain yourself then, since texting wasn’t working for you.” You spit. He bites his lip nervously and fidgets with his hands before his eyes look from the bag of peas until falling onto your own.

“When…when I said I didn’t want you as my best friend, I meant because we can’t just go back to being best friends after that. It would just kill me knowing that you aren’t mine even after the night we shared.” He starts.

You sit still and listen, switching hands since the frozen peas were adding to the chill you already had from the conversation that loomed over your head.

“I don’t want you as my best friend because I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I want us. Together.”

You wince. There’s a small part of you that just doesn’t believe him. You place down the now damp tea towel that holds the slowly melting peas.

He looks at you, trying to read your reaction, but you were giving nothing away.

“I just wanna know what was going through your head all those nights we spent together. We may not have had sex, but we did everything else. The cuddles, the kisses—when you familiarise yourself with every inch of my body—it would make sense that I thought we were something more than just best friends.”

He breaks eye contact, his interest now on the rings he adorns on his fingers. You can tell he is trying to think of something to say, so you wait patiently.

“I understand if you feel like I may have been using you.” He acquiesces in meeting your gaze, but he persists. “It hadn’t really occurred to me that you may have thought of us as more than best friends. Granted, instead of sitting in my uncertainty I should have just asked you. Then that night happened and it hit me. Afterwards, I just knew that I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”

You feel nauseous. You can’t decipher exactly what that was supposed to mean. You look over at the now wet kitchen towel.

“So you do regret it?” You pressed, your voice soft.

He holds his hands out and shakes his head as he quickly refutes his words.

“No of course not! I just meant that I know I should have asked you about us before that happened. I didn’t want it to be the case that you felt that I was not serious about us. ‘Cause having sex with someone is serious and I never wanted you to think I was playing around with your feelings.” He finishes.

You sit there thinking about what he said. Maybe he was being sincere. Maybe he really does want what you thought the two of you had for the past couple of months.

“How can I know that you aren’t just saying this? That you feel somewhat obligated to make us a thing because of the fact we slept with each other?” You ask.

“Because I was too much of a coward to say this earlier.” He speaks without missing a beat.

He scoots closer to you on the sofa, his hands providing warmth in yours. You don’t mean to dither, but you can’t help but weigh all the options. Hyunjin tilts his head to try and meet your eyes.

“I know you’re thinking about all of the things that could go wrong. About all of the things that could go right. What I could be for you in a day, a week, a month or even a year.” He cups your cheek, his thumb gently stroking beneath your eye. “But just be with me in this present moment. Think about what I could be for you now.” He says quietly.

After some time, you lift your head to meet his gaze, the faintest smile on your lips.

“Okay.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in shock and by the look on his face, you were certain that he thought you were going to reject him.

“O-okay? You’re sure?” He presses.

“I’m sure. I can tell you truly meant what you said and I think this would be the better outcome for us. I don’t think I could picture my life without you in it.” You admit.

“Then I promise you won’t ever have to picture it because I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you, Y/n.” Hyunjin declares.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. You aren’t sure whether your head is throbbing from your injury or the thrill that comes with you and Hyunjin finally being together.

You just hope that Hyunjin is able to keep his promise that he won’t ever leave you; and that in the end, you made the right decision.

jisung | 1.1k (1115) words

You and Jisung sit on your sofa with a cup of tea in both of your hands. It’s been ten minutes since he has arrived and not one word has been said between the two of you.

That’s how things usually are between you and him though. You don’t particularly need to say anything to know what the other one needs.

However, you fear that your senses haven’t quite been tingling like they ought to be. Since what you thought was commonly shared between both parties has seemed to only be dumped into one.

An unrequited love is always bound to end in heartbreak and you’re sure that is how today is going to end.

“Is it just me or do things feel a little odd?” Jisung says breaking the ice, but in a way which has submerged the two of you in ice cold water.

“Well I think I would be a little more fraught if things didn’t feel odd.” You add.

You aren’t exactly happy with him at the moment either. In fact you think it’s in his best interest to explain just what he meant in those text messages.

“Explain yourself then.” You say not beating around the bush.

Jisung places his mug down before turning to you.

“I wanna start by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I worded what I was trying to say in those texts. You aren’t stupid Y/n, I promise. I’m the one that’s being stupid.” He meets your gaze and you give him a single nod.

“The truth is, I don’t think I’m ready to have a relationship with you.”

If your feelings are hurt, you will yourself not to show it on your face. Except your face goes pallid as you feel the knife stab directly into your beating heart.

“Then why make it seem as if we were? Why not shut it down? Better yet, why use me to get your rocks off and make me think that I am going to amount to more than just your best friend?” Your voice croaks, unable to hide the emotion you’re feeling.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“I can’t give you a definite answer of why I did all of that right now.” He says quietly.

You can’t help the scoff that falls from your mouth.

“What the fuck Ji? Why are you even here then? What are we even doing?!” You say starting to grow more upset.

His eyes widen slightly as he looks at you. He places a hand on your arm and is surprised when you don’t shrug him away.

“I promise I don’t mean to vex you, I just don’t have an answer because I don’t know. I just know that us having slept together made things seem…real. Like we were actually happening. When in actuality we weren’t and never will be.”

That was a punch to your gut so hard that your body viscerally reacted to his words and hunched over slightly. You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

This can’t be the Jisung that you were friends with for so long. No, he would never say something so outright.

It’s as if he hasn’t even registered what he just said because his face is that of worry as to why you are stunned silent.

“Jisung,” he winces at the use of his full name. “What did you expect to happen between us? Be honest, don’t say that you don’t know.” You speak gently.

He thinks for a moment, his hand slipping from your arm as he uses it to fiddle with the zipper of his jacket.

“I just expected for us to play around and not take it to the next step. I just wanted a bit of fun with my best friend. That’s not so bad is it?” He confesses, looking at his feet.

The knife is pushed deeper.

You honestly aren’t sure how to react. What to say or even do. So you sit in silence.

Minutes go by and all you can hear are the hum of the electronics in the room and the breathing of Jisung. He always has been a loud breather.

A clearing of the throat pulls you out of your trance.

“Please say something, anything.” He pleads. You slowly turn your face towards him.

“What would you like me to say Jisung? I have just found out that my best friend—you—has been using me for shits and giggles and being a total ignorant asshole while he does so.” You retort.

He shakes his head as he frowns at your words.

“No, no I’m not the bad guy here. I didn’t use you just for that. Why would I do that Y/n? You mean more to me than that.” He runs his hand through his brown locks, getting frustrated. “Look, I don’t think we should blow this too much out of proportion. We did something that we shouldn’t have and now we just have to move on.” He says.

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’re my best friend Y/n. You know me inside and out. Maybe I haven’t been so transparent with you lately. I just think that I need to figure out some stuff on my own because clearly everything I say is hurting you and I hate the way I hurt you. Fuck, just seeing your face now, knowing I was the cause. I can’t do this. Not anymore.” He says solemnly.

You blink. The tears trickle down your cheeks as you take into account what he is saying.

No. This isn’t your Jisung. Just give him some time and he’ll be back. He’ll come back.

“What are you saying to me Ji?” He places a hand on your cheek before standing up and putting on his shoes.

You immediately get up and follow him to the front door.

“Jisung.” You whisper. He opens the door and steps out, stopping and turning to you once more.

“I’m always gonna be in your corner Y/n. Okay? Always.” Jisung says as he smiles sadly at you and turns away from your door.

Watching him leave feels like the knife is twisting uncontrollably. You shut your door, not wanting to see him in case you’ll do something stupid like run and stop him from walking out of your life.

You’re angry, you’re hurt, you’re confused. You’re in a state of shock. Was that a goodbye? Will you ever see him again?

You cover your mouth with your hand as you sob quietly as reality sets in. You had just lost the man you had fallen for, your best friend.

You aren’t sure if he is ever coming back.

felix | 1.0k (1077) words

The sun is setting and you find yourself in the familiar skatepark which you and Felix frequently visit to hang out.

This was a first, you getting here before him. It felt uncanny, especially since the skatepark is an empty void. It’s not like you’re here at the late hours of the night which is what you guys usually do, so where are the people?

As you sit atop the ramp wondering this, Felix climbs up and sits next to you.

“Hey Y/n.” He greets. No remark about you being here before him for a change. You face him and greet him with a small smile.

“The sky is pretty this evening. Any particular reason for why you wanted to meet at our spot earlier than usual?” He asks you.

“I knew the sky would be worth seeing from here today. I also wanted to be able to see your face when you lie.” You deadpan.

He audibly swallows at this which makes you chuckle and start to swing your feet.

“I’m kidding. Just wanted to watch the sun go down.” You tease.

It’s silent, bar the birds chirping and the rustle of the leaves as the wind dances through the trees.

“So about what happened with us,” Felix starts. “You think that we are more than just best friends?” He asks. You hum in acknowledgement.

“I thought we were more than best friends for a while. You know, since this whole shebang started. The sex was just what I thought was you being ready to take our relationship further. Though that was foolish of me to think and not double check with you.”

Felix, now turnt to face towards the sunset, is quiet as he takes into consideration what you have just said.

“It wasn’t foolish.” He says ever so quietly.

Your legs still their movement as you turn to look at him. His face is being kissed nicely by the sun right now, his freckles practically glowing.

“Of course it was foolish Felix. Or else we wouldn’t be here now.” You smile as you tip your head back and close your eyes, letting the last of the sun’s warmth seep through your skin.

“No. It wasn’t foolish because I was ready. Okay that’s not entirely true, I caught feelings months ago but I only became sure about them during that week I was away.” He softly speaks.

You drop your head and look towards him. His eyes are still glued to the vast blanket of orange and yellow across the horizon.

“But that’s not what you said in those text messages. You said that you think that boundary shouldn’t have been crossed in the first place. Yet now you’re saying this? Forgive me Felix, but I’m finding it hard to believe what’s coming out of your mouth.” You sigh.

He finally turns and looks at you, a small scowl on his face.

“I know what I said in the texts Y/n. I don’t go back on my word. I do think a boundary was crossed and as best friends it shouldn’t have been.” A beat. “Though that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel something towards you. That’s why I’m so confused.” He turns his head back towards the sky, the deep shade of blue starting to make itself evident.

“Like I said, I didn’t expect to catch feelings for you and then have sex with you.” He finishes.

You lay down, watching the dark grey clouds move.

“Do you remember much of that night?” You ask.

“Of course I do. How could I ever forget. I mean we are literally sitting on the ramp that it happened on.” He reminisced.

“Remember when I told you that I was yours and you were mine? That was probably said in the heat of the moment, but I meant it Felix. I’m not the kind of person who says things for the sake of saying them. Plus, I’m not focused on anybody other than you.” You say, closing your eyes again as the cool air brushes against your face.

Though your eyes are closed, you sense that Felix was staring at you. You hear his clothes rustle before you’re wrapped up in his arms.

He is cuddling you.

“Doll, I’m sorry. I didn’t just say those things because we were high off oxytocin. You really mean so much to me. I don't want us to argue, I just want us to be together. For real. No hesitations, no take backs. Just you and me living how we do, but together as one.”

You can feel something wet drip into the crook of your neck. You know it’s not raining so you figure he has started to cry.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings Y/n. It’s not what I wish to ever do to the person I love.” He sobs.

You open your eyes as you hear his admittance. The person he loves. The person he loves.

“You love me?”

“I’m in love with you. I was trying to make sense of if I truly meant it over that week and I reacted like I did earlier because I know you didn’t love me back. I was embarrassed.” He confessed.

You turn over in his arms as you grab ahold of his face. It’s dark now, but a nearby light creates a twinkle in his eyes.

“I want you to be sure that this is what you want. You don’t have to promise me forever, but promise me that this is truly what you want until it isn’t.” You say gently.

His bottom lip wobbles slightly as he takes a deep breath in then out.

“I am sure. I promise. I love you, I’m in love with you. I want us to be best friends. I want us to be lovers. I want it all. I want you.” He whispers against your lips.

You smile, wiping his tears away with your thumb.

“Okay, me too. We’re locked in?” You hold up your pinky.

“We’re locked in.” He connects his pinky with yours and pulls your face in to kiss you softly.

The two of you lay there in each other’s arms for the rest of that evening until a security guard ushered the two of you away.

As you walk hand in hand down the street, you’re just glad that you have this ball of sunshine all to yourself. For as long as time allows.

seungmin | 1.5k (1518) words

You were nervous. More nervous than you expected yourself to get. Which is probably how you find yourself scrambling to get your phone, sending Seungmin a message to say that you don’t want to meet up and would rather just call.

His reply after reading your message was to immediately dial you up, leaving no time for you to think about what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it.

You answer the phone with baited breath.

“Why didn’t you want to meet me? You nervous or something?” He says very straightforwardly.

Yes.

“No. Just realised that I have things to do and I can multitask if I speak with you over the phone.” You lie.

You hear him sigh on the other side of the line.

“I’d rather you weren’t multitasking whilst we are having an important conversation about us. Pay attention.”

Your jaw clenches as you bite your tongue.

“Fine. Since you want to be such an adult about this, why don’t you do us the honour and start us off?” You quip.

“You already know how I feel about that night. About us blurring those lines between friendship and something more. We shouldn’t have. Having said that, I value our friendship too much to let something like that fuck it up.” Seungmin says plainly.

You roll your eyes, not understanding what exactly he means by that.

“Okay…but you do realise that us sleeping together has changed everything, right?” You say unwavering in your tone.

“Wrong.”

You waited for him to finish what you hoped would be a longer sentence, but all you could hear was the minor feedback from the other end of the line. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you try again.

“What do you mean, wrong? Things can’t go back to normal after that night, shit, after everything that’s happened between us.” You exclaim.

“And I’m not saying they have to—”

“You are absolutely not still using me as a way to blow your load Seungmin.” You interrupt harshly.

You hear him groan on the other end of the phone to which you decide to put him on speakerphone and place him on your bed. You wipe your face with your hands in frustration as you wait for him to speak.

“I’m not going to do this with you if you’re going to be angry for starters. Especially if you’re going to be interrupting me. Got it?” He asserts.

You release a huff of air, choosing to stay quiet in regards to what he has just said, but you reluctantly agree.

“Fine, sorry. Carry on.” You say as nicely as you can muster up.

“What I’m saying is I care about you Y/n. I don’t think it’s fair that people have also been feeding you troubles about our friendship. It’s between us and not them. They don’t know what the fuck is going on and I’ll be getting on their asses for that later, but right now my focus is on you.” He explains.

You stay quiet, noting the fact that he is now outside and walking.

“Seungmin, you can’t seriously fault our friends for noticing something you were determined to ignore. We were doing things couples do!”

“But we aren’t a couple. That is what I’m trying to get at Y/n.” He says exasperated. You hear a police siren go by on his end of the line which muffles the last part of his sentence.

“Then why even do all that with me? Of course I was going to catch feelings. I’d be stupid not to!” You exclaim, resting your head in your hands.

He’s quiet. The only sounds to be heard is the distorted traffic. You sit there unmoving, wondering why he isn’t speaking.

A loud series of knocks on your door jolt you out of your trance.

“One second, someone is at my door.” You alert Seungmin. Putting on your slippers, you rush to the door. You open it and you feel your face run cold.

Seungmin huddles over, catching his breath before he makes a show to end the call between the two of you.

“I am not having this conversation with you over a fucking phone.” He pants.

He lets himself in, your mind still boggled at the fact that he chose to fast walk over here just to have this conversation. You’re both touched and terrified. Touched because he seems to really care about talking about your relationship in person. Terrified because this is getting much more serious than you thought it was.

It’s times like these where you wish you and Seungmin hadn’t planned to live so close together. Now you have no choice but to face him in the flesh.

In the time that you were finally able to come to your senses and shut your front door, Seungmin had taken off his shoes and jacket and was standing behind you waiting.

He grabs ahold of your hand and leads you to your own bedroom.

“Seungmin, I don't want to have angry sex with you.” You blurt out. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle, but he’s already sitting you on the edge of your bed.

He places his hands on your shoulders and imitates taking a deep breath in and out.

“No, that is not what I’m here to do.” He crawls up to the top of your bed and sits resting against the headboard. “I am here to make amends and stop what shouldn’t have started in the first place.” He says calmly.

You have to hold your stomach to try and soothe the impending vomit that is about to ascend up and out of your mouth.

“I’m gonna be honest with you Seungmin. What you did, knowing you never wanted it to happen or go this far, was not cool. I’m not saying you’re to blame for the whole of it…but as someone who was catching feelings and seemingly thought you were as well, I genuinely thought that us continuing to be intimate with each other was because you liked me.” You finish.

As you sit crossed-legged at the foot of the bed and Seungmin sits at the head, you start to feel this strange disconnect between the two of you.

Seungmin sits there silent, clearly thinking of something to say in response.

“I…I think I didn’t stop it because it felt good.” He says.

“Good because it was us or good because you had someone to calm your sexual frustrations?” You ask.

The way he hesitates to answer and hold eye contact with you tells you everything you need to know.

You let out a scoff, getting up from your bed and starting to pace laps in your room.

“I cannot believe this. You were the last person who I thought would do this to me.” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Y/n you know I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I-I care about you!” He says now getting up from the bed.

He goes to reach out and grasp your arm but you step out of his way, causing him to stumble slightly.

Not only are you fighting your tears, but you are battling your inner turmoil. Something like this would deem him unfit to stay in your life, no?

You couldn’t possibly still be his closest friend if he truly just used you for pleasure, right?

“Y/n please look at me.” He says, his hands now balling up besides his legs.

“I can’t do this anymore. I want you to leave.” You speak barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“I want. You. To leave.” Your voice cracks slightly, but you turn around to face him. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, as if he isn’t quite sure that this is what you mean.

Taking the initiative, you walk out of your bedroom and to your front door. You hear his footsteps behind you, murmuring a few ‘waits’ and ‘calm downs’. Grabbing his jacket, you shove it in his chest and step back.

Your arms are wrapped around yourself for comfort as you keep your head held low.

Seungmin silently puts on his jacket and shoes and reaches for the door handle. Yet, as he is about to open the door, he pauses midway through his movement.

“Leave your house or leave you forever?” He says disconcertingly.

You lift your head up, his back facing you. You assess him for only a moment. His hand that strangles the door handle shakes slightly and his other hand grasps his jacket.

“Both.” You choke.

He doesn’t miss a beat. Swinging open the door and leaving without looking back.

Just like that, all those years of friendship cut abruptly due to the confounding circumstances that conspired between the two of you.

Some could say it was rather quixotic of you to expect that you could actually have a relationship with Seungmin.

Though you would just say that perhaps falling in love with your best friend was never the right path, but one you were unfortunate enough to take.

i.n | 1.2k (1257) words

You can’t control the way you feel. You’re hurt. You’re beyond angry. You’re hysterical. How dare he talk to you like that? How dare he disregard everything the two of you have been through because he wants to stay your ‘best friend’?

You well and truly can’t promise that you won’t blow up on him when he gets here. That’s if he even bothers to show up. He’s already twenty minutes late and you’re sitting in the cold, on a park bench, drinking your hot chocolate.

“Y/n!” Jeongin calls out to you as he walks over to sit beside you on the bench.

“Where’s mine?” He says, his voice laden with sarcasm as he points to your drink. He quirks his eyebrow at you as he assesses your mood and it certainly isn’t one accommodating his jokes at the moment.

Breathe…breathe…

He turns to face you, one leg crossed beneath him as his arm rests on the back of the bench, his gloved fingers tapping a beat on your shoulder.

“Are you feeling better now? You’re gonna talk this out with me like the adults we are, hm?” He smiles.

You turn to face him, unable to mask your ire.

“Just best friends huh?” You speak for the first time in a while.

Jeongin stops tapping your shoulder to run his fingers through his hair. Tugging his coat closer around him to provide some sort of warmth to not only protect himself from the bitter chill of the air, but the icy look in your eyes.

“I admit, crossing those lines with you was never my intention. Being that I didn’t kiss or sleep with you because I wanted a relationship with you. I guess I was just lonely, you were available…tensions were high and we couldn’t control ourselves.”

You actually feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. This is not the Jeongin you knew and loved as your best friend. No, he was far nicer than what you’re currently faced with.

You are rendered speechless. The only thing you can think to do is take another sip of your hot chocolate.

It would be ideal if your hands stopped shaking.

“You get where I’m coming from though right? Like I said, I care for you. More than anybody else I know, but what we did was a mistake and that’s okay. We’ll know to never let those boundaries be crossed again alright?” He says placing a hand on your thigh.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Y/n–”

“Jeongin get your hand off of me, now.”

The smile that you used to adore, now falls from his face. His lips thinning as his jaw clenches and his gaze hardens.

“I genuinely thought that you had reason to be so pissy at me, you know, due to your work being so busy and all,” You laugh bitterly. “But you really are just a fucking asshole.”

He rolls his eyes and moves to get up before your hand reaches out to stop him.

“Sit the fuck down, I’m not done with you. I’m only going to say it once.” You say acrimoniously.

Heeding your warning, he sits back down, his hands finding solace in his lap.

“See, I was speaking with Hyunjin when you were supposedly too busy to talk to me and he gave me some pretty good advice.” You say finishing the rest of your drink and setting it aside.

“What are you doing asking him for advice? He has no business knowing what goes on between the two of us, let alone an argument.” He spits.

Ignoring his disapproval, you elect yourself to continue.

“He said that you don’t deserve me in your life. That a best friend would never, should never treat me like that–”

“Oh bull-fucking-shit! He is only saying that so that he can gets his filthy hands on you himself.” He interrupts, shaking his head as he looks beyond the lake at the horizon.

“I agree.”

Jeongin nods his head in approval to your words.

“You don’t deserve me in your life.”

His head snaps to yours as he sits up straight, clasping his hands together as he tilts his head.

“What?”

“I am not your little fucktoy for you to use whenever you get sick of your hand. I’m not the easy option because I’m the closest you can get to getting off without people catching on. You know because we’re best friends, right? No one will suspect a thing, right?”

You have started, gone past the point of no return as you lay into him and rightfully so.

“I thought you had calmed down from earlier? What, did you discuss with Hyunjin all of the things to say to me before I got here? The fuck does he know? He doesn’t even know you like I do!” He exclaims, his voice raising in pitch.

You gawk, unable to believe how he just bypassed what you said to talk shit about his friend.

“This isn’t about Hyunjin for fuck’s sake! This is about us! Or rather the lack of.” You stand up, taking deep breaths as you pace in front of him back and forth. “You keep talking to me like I’m some fucking child. Like I can’t comprehend the words that are coming out of my mouth.”

You stop in front of him, sighing.

“I don’t want to be in your life anymore. I’m done.”

His eyes widen as he grasps ahold of your hands, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“You don’t mean that. You’re just angry. You want me to apologise? Okay sure. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used you like that and let it get that far knowing I wasn’t ready for a relationship.” He begs.

You feel your eyes start to well up with tears. This isn’t how you imagined a six year friendship to end, but alas, here the two of you are.

He stands now, moving his hands to cup your cheeks, his eyes darting between yours.

“Come on. Let’s not act rash now Y/n. It was a mistake.” He keeps trying to reassure you.

You shake his hands off of your face as you take a step back.

“It wasn’t a mistake for me. It never was and never will be because I didn’t just see you as someone who was available. I’m serious, I won’t be treated like shit. Not anymore and certainly not by you.” You affirm.

He lets his hands fall to his sides, his fists clenching.

“So this is it huh? You really wanna leave me, leave six years of friendship because you got your feelings hurt?” He asks.

“Fuck you, Jeongin. Don’t contact me ever again. I’m finished.” You say scoffing a laugh.

You pick up your empty cup and start to walk away, not bothering to turn back to see how he reacts. Only then do you let the tears run marathons down your face.

Little did you know, his fists unclenched and his hands were brought to his face. He collapses onto the bench, watching your figure get smaller and smaller until he can no longer see you.

It was in that moment, where Jeongin only just realised how royally he had fucked up. His head falls into his hands as he takes deep breaths.

The smoke caused from the cold air and the warmth of his mouth floating along the sky. Much like you, floating out of his life and disappearing. Lost to the abyss of a forever memory in his heart.

a/n: the plate is still full i fear because why do i hate this so much AHSGAIA SGAISBSKSVG (i apologise. i said i would deliver, but the package got lost in transit)

ʚ hope you enjoyed ^.^ you can support me by liking, commenting and reblogging! it is heavily appreciated ᵕ̈ ɞ

i do not permit my work to be translated or reposted in any way, thank you.

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msmk11 · 10 months ago

Text

Best Friend's Mom Part Three

MILF!Wanda Maximoff x college age!fem!reader (Billy and Tommy's best friend)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part Four

Word count: 5.2k

CW: Age gap (legal), best friends' mom, MILF!Wanda, fluff, consumption of alcohol, mentions of food, mentions of vomiting, drunk!reader, poor decision making while drunk, hangover, angst

Summary: You finally admitted to yourself that you have feelings for Wanda. And you are not handling it well. This leads to you making some rather poor decisions, and you've yet to realize the extent of the consequences.

A/n: Part three finally here! Sorry for the wait, my life has been a shitshow lol. Happy reading loves!

You wake to soft kisses peppering your skin and the smell of Wanda’s sweet perfume. Your naked bodies are flush against each other, so much so that her long, red hair falls partly over your bare shoulder. When she senses your stirring, she leans over you and places a delicate kiss to your lips.

“Good morning, baby,” she whispers, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning, Wanda,” you barely mumble out, not quite awake yet.

She places a kiss on your neck and nips it a little, causing you to gasp.

“No, Wanda, not yet,” you groan, “s’too early.”

Her kisses only continue, tracing back up your neck to a soft spot behind your ear that she knows you go crazy for.

“Come on, Detka, let me have a little fun,” the redhead muses seductively, “you can just lay there, all pretty and perfect, while I take care of you.”

She slowly starts to caress your skin, and with the added effect of the burning kisses up and down your body, you turn to putty beneath her. Suddenly, Wanda flips you on your back and climbs on top of you, straddling your waist. She cups your cheek and gives you a deep, meaningful kiss. One that you’re rather enjoying, too, until your brain reminds you that this sort of kiss is much too tender for a spring break fling.

“Wanda, wait,” you hesitate, pushing her away a little.

She looks at you, a little concern peeking through her lustful eyes, “What is it, Detka? Is something wrong?”

“I, I need to tell you something first. I won’t feel right otherwise.”

Wanda, sadly, climbs off your lap and sits back against the headboard. She guides you to a similar position and then places her hand on your thigh.

“Wanda….” you pause, “I don’t think I can keep doing this. Sleeping together, I mean.”

Her eyes narrow a little in confusion and she lets out a disbelieving snort, “What? What do you mean? Why? I thought we were both enjoying this.”

“Well, yes, I am. I was. But things have…. gotten too complicated for me.”

Wanda doesn’t respond. Instead, she stares down at her hand on your bare thigh.

“You mean-”

“Wanda, I have feelings for you,” you interrupt.

She quickly pulls her hand away from your thigh, like you’ve burned her. She scrambles off the bed and picks up your shirt off the floor, throwing it to you. She then slips on her own.

“Wanda, what are you doing?”

“Put your shirt on,” she orders, pointing to the discarded item in your lap.

You do as she says and then wait- for her to say something, anything.

“Wanda-”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she tells you harshly, “This was meant to be a meaningless fling. Don’t you understand that?”

Heat grows in your cheeks and shame in your stomach, “I know, Wanda, believe me, I didn’t mean for this to happen. But you’re just so pretty, and smart, and- I caught feelings for you.”

Wanda scoffs and crosses her arms, looking away, “I should’ve known to avoid someone like you.”

“Someone, like me?” You whisper.

“Yes, someone too stupid and immature to handle anything casual. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Hot tears sting your eyes and your stomach aches. “Wanda, what are you saying? This isn’t like you. I didn’t expect you to return my feelings, but I thought you’d be at least kind.”

She laughs coldly, a sound you never thought you’d hear coming from her, “You think you know me? Because we slept together? Baby, you know nothing about me. You’re just someone I fucked.”

Those last words echo in your ears over and over…

You’re just someone I fucked.

Someone I fucked.

You jolt awake, your breathing hard and fast, and your face is wet with tears. You panic for a moment, not entirely sure where you are. Your heart slows a little when you look around and realize that you’re just in Wanda’s room, the woman in question sleeping peacefully beside you.

It had all been a dream.

A horrible, horrible dream.

You’re still shaking, and you know there’s no chance of you falling back asleep. Even though it’s still early, you quietly get out of bed and sweep your discarded clothes up off the floor. You dart from the room across the hall into your own and close the door, breathing heavily. You need to get out of this house. Away from Wanda and her temptations and your fears. You throw on a hoodie and shorts and traipse out to the living room. Your flip flops still lay in a heap by the glass door, so you slip them on and head outside. It’s nice, the beach being only a few steps away from the house. You kick off your shoes and let yourself feel the sand in between your toes. It’s soft but also gritty and grounds you in reality- far away from the nightmare of only a few minutes ago.

You know it isn’t real, but it feels like it- from every touch of her skin on yours to the pain in your heart as she scoffed at you and mocked you. You had dreamt of the worst possible scenario, and it left you rattled to your core.

You try to push it all from your thoughts, letting the crashing waves drown them out and the slowly rising sun distract you. The cotton candy skies and its reflection on the shimmering ocean make you feel as though you’re in a fairytale, where nothing evil or bad can hurt you.

You imagine that in this fairytale world you could be with Wanda. There’d be no college to worry about, the twins wouldn’t feel upset or betrayed, and you could go back to being in that little cottage you’d daydreamed about not that long ago. You suppose to an extent, this dream could be a reality. Yet you have never been an optimist.

What you and Wanda have is special, no doubt. But it is also fleeting, a one time thing, and you doubt you’d be in such close proximity to her ever again. When you left this beach house you’d go back to school, finish your semester, and graduate. She’d go back off to her own life- one that she’s happily settled into- just as you would be about to start your own. Though you could make room for her in yours, Wanda’s life had turned out pretty nice. Pretty close to perfect. And who were you to take that all away?

You decide that you have to get over your silly little crush. What at first seems impossible becomes less so as you think about it. You reckon that once you leave this house, you’ll rarely see Wanda besides at graduation, an occasional visit to see the twins, and maybe the twins’ weddings.

Still, you’d rather be safe than sorry.

*****

At a reasonable hour, you bound back into the house with a pep in your step and a plan in your mind. It’s still early enough that Wanda isn’t out in the kitchen, but not late enough for you to feel bad for what you’re about to do. You make your way down the hall opposite of your room to the master bedroom. Though you quietly open the door, nothing else you do is as subtle. Billy and Tommy, both of whom are big guys, look a little funny all squished together in one bed. You give yourself a running start and leap onto the bed, arms and legs sprawled as you land on top of them. They wake with resounding grimaces, umphs, and quite a bit of cursing.

Tommy shoves your arm roughly, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“Just missed you,” you pout, sticking out your upper lip.

Billy grabs the pillow from under his head and smacks you in the face, “you’re such a pest, you know that? Couldn’t you have bothered us in like,” he checks the clock, “two hours?”

“No,” you huff, “that’s too far away. Anyhow, you should be glad I didn’t wake you up earlier.”

Tommy rolls over to look at you, “Earlier? How long have you been awake?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Eh, three, four hours?”

“Jesus,” Billy groans, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“So why’d you have to wake us up?”

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” you tsk, “And anyways, you guys should be thanking me for the great idea I’m about to share.”

Tommy flops down onto his back, “What is it?”

“We….. should go out tonight!” You exclaim.

You are met with unimpressed silence.

“That was the most brilliant idea you just had to wake us up for?” Billy asks you with a sigh.

“Well yes. I mean, it seemed like you two losers had no intention of going out at all on this trip, and I’m pretty sure that would ruin your reputation,” you answer thoughtfully, “so I’m saving you.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll go out,” Tommy tells you. And though he sounds annoyed, you know it's all an act- the smirk in his voice giving him away.

*****

At this point, you’ve lost track of the number of drinks you’ve had as you down a shot of-

Well you can’t remember, but you don’t really care because it gets the job done. Any burning in your throat goes unnoticed at this point in the night, and you cheer loudly as you slam the glass back down onto the bar.

Tommy and Billy cheer along with you as they too finish their shots.

“Let’s go dance,” Billy shouts over the music.

Both of them being taller than you, they sandwich you in the middle, each with a hand on your shoulder so they don’t lose you in the crowd. It’s hot and sticky, the place is crowded with bodies, and the loud music blaring through the speakers is shit, but you’ve never felt better.

“I’m so glad we decided to go out,” you yell.

Tommy bends nearer to your mouth, “WHAT?”

“I said, I’m so glad we decided to go out,” you repeat. Then, you stumble, having been shoved by some stupid person behind you.

Tommy catches you by the arms and then moves you, putting himself in between the stranger and you. You, really, don’t even notice, and keep swaying along to the music happily. The base vibrates in your chest and skull. That, combined with all the booze in your body, has made you forget- whatever it is you’re supposed to forget tonight.

Something about Wanda, maybe?

Wanda.

You shake your head, clearing away any hazy thoughts about the redhead, and reach into your back pocket. You pull out a shooter that you had stored away for a special occasion, and now feels like the right moment. It's banana flavored- your least favorite- but you know it will do the job. You unscrew the cap, tossing it on the floor somewhere, and then throw your head back, barely letting it touch your tongue as you swallow. You discard the bottle then too, and enjoy the warmth that spreads down to your toes.

“How many have you had tonight?” Billy calls out to you.

You shrug shoulders unseriously and giggle, “I don’t know, but I feel realllllllyyyyy good right now.”

“Well, let’s not have any more tonight, okay?” He replies.

You cross your arms and pout at him, “You’re not my dad, Billy. I can do whatever I want.”

“If you can get through a whole sentence without slurring your words, you can do whatever you want,” he retorts.

“Easy peasy,” you reply, throwing your hand to the side. “See, I just did it right now.”

You in fact, did not. Not that you’d ever know. You hadn’t just slurred your words, you’d also mixed them up, spitting out some phrase that really didn’t make sense.

But the twins know they won’t be able to prove that to you, so instead, they distract you.

“See any pretty girls here tonight?” Tommy asks you casually.

You nod lazily and laugh, “Oh, yes. There was this one girl by the bathroom door that looked really good in her skirt,” you slur, “I would totally go for her. But I can’t because I-”

Even your drunk brain is conscious enough to stop yourself from saying what you were about to: “because I have feelings for Wanda.”

Instead, drunk you does the best you can, and you slap your hands dramatically over your mouth.

“Oops,” you say, giggling.

Tommy smirks at you a little and laughs, “What were you going to say.”

You wag your finger at him and shake your head, “Nuh-uh. Can’t tell, it’s a secret.”

You giggle again.

“Oh, come on,” Billy prods, poking your side, “we’re your best friendssss.”

You shriek and move away, bumping into someone behind you. You don’t realize it, so Tommy apologizes on your behalf and rests a hand on your back.

“This,” you say, hiccuping, “is a secret I will take to my grave. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a scout,” Billy reminds you, trying to suppress his smile.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, though no one can take you very seriously, “It’s a saying, Billy, DUHHHHHH.”

He raises his hands in mock defense, “Right, right, my bad.”

“You sure you can’t tell us?” Tommy asks pleadingly.

You shake your head again and mimic zipping your lips, tossing away the key.

Before he can try to persuade you again you suddenly shout, “let’s go get another drink!”

You take off towards the bar and, surprisingly, for being smaller than both of them, you’re really fast.

*****

You feel like you’re on death’s doorstep.

The light that filters in through your blinds burns your eyes, your mouth feels like cotton, and your head feels as though there are a million tiny people smashing hammers into your skull. Every bone in your body feels like lead and your stomach muscles scream as you try to sit up. When you do, your head spins and you think for a second that you’re going to throw up.

Last night was a blur, and you’re not totally sure how you got back to your bed, in your pajamas, with a trash can at the foot, and a glass of water on the nightstand. Through your blurry vision you also notice two tiny pills beside the water and a note.

Take these. It’ll help.

Wanda

So that’s how. Wanda had taken care of you. But how much had she taken care of you? The last thing you remember is leaving with the boys, and then- nothing.

You achieved what you wanted- to forget for a while- but the toll on your body is making you wonder if it was a good choice in the first place.

You reach out and grab the pills off the nightstand, popping them into your mouth and then taking a sip of the water. You finish the rest of your glass with slow, tiny sips, your stomach unable to handle anything more.

When you finish your water, you quite literally drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. Luckily, there are no windows in there, and with the lights off, you’re emerged in blissful darkness. After you relieve yourself, you stumble into an icy cold shower and quickly wash the grime from last night’s ventures off your body. It’s the quickest shower you’ve ever taken, and when you’re done your teeth are chattering, the small towel doing little to keep you warm. Still, you feel just a little better, so the sacrifice was worth it.

Back in the room you don sweats and then crawl around on the floor looking for your sunglasses. Relief washes over you when you find them and put them on, the searing rays diminishing in severity. Even if you feel better, you know that you look like a wreck. And even if you didn’t look like a wreck, everyone in the house knows that you are. So the shame is present nonetheless as you trudge down the hall into the kitchen.

The boys look in much better shape than you, if not still a little worn out, and are sitting at the table eating breakfast. The scene is unusually quiet as Tommy shoves toast into his mouth while scrolling on his phone, and Wanda and Billy chat quietly over their coffee. When you walk in they all look up at you, worry crossing their features.

“Hey kid, how are you feeling?” Billy asks quietly.

You grimace a little and plop down in the seat next to him, giving him a thumbs down.

“Not surprised. You went a little crazy last night,” Tommy tells you.

“I don’t really remember anything,” you admit, “but I can piece together enough by the way I’m feeling right now.”

“By the end of the night, you could barely walk, nothing you were saying made sense, and you threw up in some bushes on the way home,” he says, worry evident in his tone.

You rub your hands across your face, “oh shit. I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. I’m sorry.”

Billy places a comforting hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay, it happens sometimes. And anyways, all that matters is we got you back here safe.”

“And mom insisted on taking care of you last night, so I’m sure you’ll be back to better in no time,” Tommy adds reassuringly.

You look up at Wanda and give her the smallest of smiles, “Thank you, Wanda.”

Though she smiles back at you, it doesn’t meet her eyes, and you know instantly that something is wrong.

“Of course, honey. Now have something to eat.”

She pushes a plate of dry toast towards you and your stomach twists a little.

“I- I don’t think I can.”

“You have to, honey,” the redhead replies, a slight scolding tone to her voice.

You pick up a piece with shaking hands and take the tiniest of bites. You chew for what feels like forever and the bread scrapes your throat as you swallow.

Wanda waits until you finish a whole piece of toast and then she stands, “I’m going to go get dressed.”

Your eyes follow her down the hall, and she doesn’t look back at you once. Your stomach turns again, and you’re not sure if it’s from anxiety or your hangover this time.

You’re lost in a trance, staring into the void down the hall when Billy clears his throat. You turn and look at him. Both of your friends have matching serious expressions.

“Okay, now that my mom is gone I feel comfortable asking, what the fuck happened?”

“Well you know better than me-“ you mumble.

“That’s not what we mean,” Tommy interrupts, “you’ve never gotten that drunk in your life. You always have self-control. So what the fuck changed?”

“Is something going on?”

“Because if there is, you know you can tell us, right?”

“I mean I was so worried about you by the end of the night.”

“We both were. Mom too.”

“She insisted she be the one to watch you in case something happened.”

“And-“

The twins are spitting information at you so fast that your head starts to swim. You can barely process what one has said before the other starts again.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you say, putting your hands up, “slow down, please. When you guys talk like this, I can barely understand you sober, let alone hungover.”

Billy huffs, “sorry, sorry.”

“We’re just worried about you,” Tommy tells you.

You sigh and reach out, grabbing both of their hands, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. And I thank you both for looking after me. But seriously, I’m okay. I just… went a little too crazy last night. Spring break curse or something…”

Tommy squeezes your hand, “Are you sure? Because you seemed a little off all of yesterday.”

Yesterday…. You had been off. But you thought no one had noticed.

“Just thrown off with the new schedule this week,” you lied.

Billy hums suspiciously and kisses the side of your head, “well if there is anything you want to talk about, please tell us, okay?”

You smile at them and roll your eyes- not that they can see it with your sunglasses on- “yeah, yeah, okay.”

They stand and tell you that they’re going to go get ready.

As they leave Tommy points to your plate, “And finish your toast, goddamnit!”

*****

You stand outside Wanda’s door for far longer than you’d like to admit. Finally, you knock softly and you hear a faint, “come in.”

Wanda is by her vanity, putting on her jewelry when you slowly crack open the door.

“Uh hey, Wanda, sorry to bother you, I just, wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night.”

She clasps her necklace into place before turning to you, “It was no problem, honey. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You hesitate a little and sit down on the edge of her bed. She turns back to grab her earrings, and though her back is facing you, she is looking at you through the mirror.

“I also uh, wanted to ask if you were okay. You just seemed a little…. upset…. this morning and I’m worried.”

“Hmmm? Me? Upset?” She asks, distractedly, “no, no. I’m just tired is all. Staying up all night to take care of someone will do that to you.”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter quietly.

Wanda is silent and you feel a palpable tension in the air. But not a good kind.

She slides on a few bracelets and then turns back around to face you, leaning back against the light wood furniture, “Anything else?”

You shake your head a little too vigorously and stand up, heading towards the door. Your stomach is all in knots, and you wonder what could’ve possibly happened for things to feel this wrong all of a sudden. Had something happened when you were drunk?

“You know,” Wanda suddenly says, and you stop, hand on the doorknob.

“It really shouldn’t be you who is worried about me.”

You turn around and look at her. She’s maintained the same nonchalant pose, but her face is much more serious.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’m not the one who was drunk out of their mind last night. It’s really me that should be worried about you.”

You walk back over to the bed and sit down, “Why? Wanda, it was a mistake. A one night thing where I got a little too crazy. It happens to the best of us.”

Wanda walks closer to you, close enough that she sort of towers over you, “Detka, you were blackout drunk. You were puking your guts out all night, you couldn’t stand, and you were rambling about a bunch of things that didn’t really make sense. It just didn’t seem like the type of thing that you’d do.”

You look down at your hands in your lap and pick at your fingernails, unsure what to say next.

“I mean, I know I haven’t known you very long,” Wanda says as she sits down next to, “but deep in my core I just know something is off. That you’re hiding something. You can tell me, you know.”

In this moment, you’re ready to spill your guts to her. She just smells so good, and her voice is so gentle, and she’s sitting so close to you, you’re pretty sure you’d do whatever she asks.

Instead you say, “I don’t know, I think you know me pretty well.”

You can tell it’s not the answer she’s expecting by the confusion that clouds her face, “what do you mean?”

You try to hold back a smirk, “well, you know my body pretty intimately at least, wouldn’t you agree?”

Wanda lets out a disbelieving giggle and your stomach erupts in butterflies, “you are something else, Detka. Here we are trying to have a serious conversation, and you go off making lewd innuendos.”

You shrug casually and look at her. Her eyes are teeming with amusement and you’d do anything to have her looking at you like that all the time.

“Am I wrong?”

She scoffs and squeezes your thigh playfully, “cocky, Detka. Maybe I don’t know you so much after all.”

“I’m full of secrets.”

“Well that I know,” Wanda says more seriously as she cups your face, “and it’s those secrets I’m trying to get out of you.”

She’s so close to you now and you want to kiss her so badly. But you don’t.

“It’s no fun if I give all my secrets away. What would I have then?”

“Trust.”

“Wanda,” you sigh, “I already trust you.”

Her thumb rubs soothing circles on the side of your face, “then why don’t you just tell me?”

You can’t help but lean into her touch.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m a divorcée and single mother with twin, adult sons who happen to have a very pretty friend that I slept with. I know complicated.”

“I- I don’t know, Wanda.”

-Wanda's POV-

Wanda is aware that this game of cat and mouse she’s playing with you is pointless because she already knows your secret.

She just wants you to confess it.

Sober.

(flashback)

She hadn't been lying when she'd said that you were very drunk last night.

After you and the boys had told her you were going out, she decided to wait up until you all had arrived home safely. Though you were all grown adults, she still couldn’t help but worry.

So Wanda waited up for you three on the couch in the living room, dozing in and out of consciousness as old tv programs hummed on in the background. Around two a.m., Wanda woke to not-so-quiet thuds and cursing. She found you all at the front door, the boys on either side of you, your arms flung across each of their shoulders. Tommy was crouched down trying to take your shoes off, but your knees were bent at such an awkward angle, so much so that you weren’t even standing, that he was failing miserably.

Billy looked over at the sound of Wanda’s footsteps and cringed, “sorry mom, did we wake you?”

“No, moya lubov,” she answered with a quick wave of her hand, “I waited up for you, just in case.”

“Thanks mom,” Tommy said, grunting through the effort of trying to keep you up. “You can go to sleep now though, we’re back home safe and okay.”

Wanda eyed you warily, “she doesn’t look all that okay. What happened?”

Billy shook his head just as confused as Wanda, “I don’t know. She just got really drunk. I swear we were watching her but somehow, she still got this bad.”

“Not- drunk,” you mumbled under your breath.

They all ignored you.

“Why don’t you let me take it from here, boys. You two go get your rest,” Wanda said quietly.

“Mom, no, she’s our friend. We’ll watch her. Anyways, you need your sleep,” Tommy insisted.

Wanda cupped his cheek and pecked his forehead before doing the same to Billy.

“I really don’t mind, boys. And anyways, it’s better if I watch over her. I’m sober, so if something happens, I can take care of it.”

When Wanda put her mind to something, there was no point in arguing with her. The boys knew this, so they resigned, carefully handing you off to their mother.

“Goodnight, mom,” they said in unison, trudging off down the hall.

With you in her arms, she guided you down the hall, carrying your weight like it was nothing (it isn’t to her hehe). She took you down to the bathroom and sat you on the cold, tile floor. She slid down next to you and made sure you were propped up against the wall comfortably. Your eyes were glossy, and your head lolled to the side on your shoulder.

“Had fun tonight?” Wanda asked you.

You murmured out what she assumed was a yes.

“Maybe a little too much fun from the looks of it,” she added.

You didn’t seem to hear her, and only giggled.

Wanda looked at you with a small smirk, “what’s so funny?”

“You’re so pretty, Wanda,” you said, sighing.

“Thank you, honey. You’re pretty too.”

You sighed exasperatedly, like Wanda was missing some important point.

“No, you don’t get it. You’re like reallyyyyyyyyy pretty.”

Wanda blushed a little, and she was glad you were too drunk to notice.

“So what happened tonight?” She asked, “why did you get so drunk?”

You shrugged your shoulders and giggled, “I don’t know. I wasn’t drunk, and then I was.”

“But this all seems like a bit much, honey.”

You didn’t respond, so she leaned forward and tucked a stray hair out of your face. This got your attention.

Wanda repeated herself, “why did you get so drunk?”

This time, you did respond. But it was a bunch of mumbles.

“What did you say?” She prodded gently.

You huffed, and Wanda didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed.

“Feelings.”

“Feelings?” Wanda repeated, “what do you mean?”

You groaned and slumped forward, resting your head on your knees.

“I was feeling feelings.”

Wanda reached out and tapped your shoulder, “can you sit up for me? I can’t understand you when you sit like that.”

You obliged and shuffled forward, resting your arms on the toilet seat and your head on your arms.

“This better?” You slurred.

“Yes, thank you, honey,” she answered kindly.

“You want to tell me about what feelings you were feeling?”

Though your head stayed resting on your arms, you shook it vigorously, and Wanda couldn’t help but find it cute the way your cheeks squished against your arm.

“You can trust me, baby,” she told you sweetly.

You contemplated this for a moment. Though a moment for you was many moments in sober time.

“Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. But you can never speak of this.”

Wanda nodded. She had to admit, she was pretty curious about what you were going to say.

You beckoned Wanda closer to you. She complied, but you only motioned at her again to come closer. It was not until her face was inches away from yours that you finally whispered, “I was feeling feelings for you, Wanda.”

Wanda’s heart beat erratically in her chest at your confession. The words echoed in her head over and over again.

(back to present)

She hears them again now, as you sit in front of her anxiously, and finally, soberly, say what drunk you already confessed last night.

Wanda doesn’t say anything. Or more like, you don’t give her the chance to. Instantly, you begin to nervously fill the silence.

“There, I said it. I have feelings for you, Wanda. And I'm sorry. I know that’s not how this was supposed to go. That it was just supposed to be some casual fling. But I just couldn’t help it. And I know you don’t feel the same way, but, yeah.”

It is silent again for a moment, and you look back down at your lap anxiously.

Finally, Wanda says something.

“I never said that.”

Your head shoots up and you look at her, “what?”

“I never said if I do or don’t have feelings for you. In fact, you never even asked.”

Your lip trembles a little, but you look Wanda straight in the eyes and say, “well, do you?”

*******************************************************

Tag list: @xenaizogie @alexawynters @eclipse727 @idkwhatever580 @opp-jumpscare @starynn @alessiaswifey @noturlondonboy @chickenlittlsblog @lizzieolsen89

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lostinlovingrevery · 1 month ago

Note

van’s inbox is open: and suddenly i spawn!! (feat my boyfriend this time, who says hi btw!)

i am fucking exhausted, got a little bit of homework done and then we went to the store, now im just tired

and apparently it’s not even gonna rain tomorrow? come ONNNNN i need the writing atmosphere 😔

but anyway. i hope your day has been going well van!!

logan headcanon idea for you: logan with a reader on their period. totally not inspired by real life events and misery

logan for you!!

Hiiiii Cas!!!! I always love when you pop in <3 You did great today!!!!! I hope you treat yourself!! UGH that's the worse when you want that perfect writing atmosphere! I'm willing to share some of my rainy day for you <3

A Wild Wolverine Appears!

What will Van do?

Van <3 Lv.24

HP -----------------------

69/69

>Give a Smooch! >Give a Smooch!

Van, Give a Smooch!

...........

It's super effective!

Logan on your period headcanons below!!!! <3 (nsfw below as well cause im a perverted freak)(it gets a tad gross)

Fluff:

Don't need to be self conscious about your periods around him. he doesn't give a shit. its natural, what kind of fuss is there to make about it?

really i think id be horrified to know he could smell my discharge and blood and all that but he REALLY doesn't care. in fact any of your scents are comforting to him.

The moment he smells those PMS hormones kick in he's prepared

He grabs/buys your choice of menstrual products and gets them within reach for you. (great for me. i forget to buy pads all the time because I'm not regular lol)

He can handle your moods with ease. Crying nonstop? Hes there holding you. Pissy and irritated? He'll give you space, and maybe some ice cream. he'll always manage to cheer you up in the end though

You'll get lots of massages

He'll run warm bubble baths for you to relax in (Sometimes he joins :) )

Will comfort you when your cramps become too painful, get you medicine, snuggle with you and massage your belly, thighs, back <3

Hates seeing you in pain honestly

you get a lot of sweetness from him during this time (altho tbh when is he never not sweet?)

Will feed into your cravings. Yes even the food that he thinks is completely unhealthy for you. He'll still make you eat something good with it tho

don't have to lift a finger for chores or anything even if you're completely fine. its a thing with him

NSFW:

ohohoho

HORMONES

im not gonna say that your hormones set him off but they set him off

i mean ovulation happens AFTER a period BUUUUT

hes still gonna get horny af w you

period sex

he doesn't care how messy it gets

fingers you, fucks you, will eat you out. the man is NASTY

orgasms relieve period cramps!!!!! LORD

he can and WILL take advantage of that!!!!! bad!!!

You're having a bad night, cramps, emotions, all that good stuff is happening rn

he comes in and its clear you don't feel good, so hes cooing all over you. Hands on your shoulders squeezing them. Pressing kisses over your temple, face, down to your neck. Your in bliss getting the lovings from your man that you don't even realize his intentions.

next thing you know hes got you spread open on the couch, as he slowly plunges himself inside you. Careful of course- you're sensitive. but damn does he love the look of relief on your face when he stretched you open- gives you exactly what your body wants.

will make you cum over and over to get rid of those pesky aches and cramps

and then he'll do it some more just for pleasure.

he doesnt care about the mess.

baking soda helps get the stains out

hes sweet about it but he can't fully hide that arrogant pride he gets when his cock makes you feel so much better.

Shower sex happens a lot too. Bends you over or lifts you on his hips and rails you.

"That feel better baby?" He coos, as he slides himself into the hilt of you. You're moaning, head falling back in that relief you get. It's like the stretch from him calms the cramps, the aches in your thighs. "That's right, all you need is me to make you feel better, huh love?"

he'll uh

eat you out

it adds flavor......

im SO sorry

The man is insane for you okay aint nothing going to stop him from your sweet, sweet...well :)

you will have to tell him to go wash his damn beard though.

he is SO nasty and hes shameless about it. "Just a little blood sweetheart."

he will make things EVEN messier

yes. creampies. Don't worry he WILL clean you up. doesn't need to have his princess feeling more uncomfortable?

if you have talked about having children- he will DEFINITELY offer a solution to your periods

"I can make it go away for 9 months sweetheart. Just say the word."

#logan howlett #wolverine #van rambles #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #periods

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twodimensionalboyfriend · 9 months ago

Text

Sick </3

wc: ~1.3k read time: ~5 minutes

༉‧₊˚.¸♡ master list✧ '*•༉

cw: fluff! smooches here and there i guess! gn throughout! also not proofread lol

I have fucking covid!! my bones are on fire!!!

on a serious note, i have never been sick like this before in my life, i had the worst skin and joint aches i'd ever had in my life and my head felt like it was going to explode with pressure and my ears are still fuckin clogged. so anyways im gonna project my problems into this fic in the order in which i experienced them as a form of therapy and if anybody else is out there sick rn, i hope you have a jason todd to make it bearable!

On a silly note, I met a stray cat in the neighborhood the other day but she's been spayed! im hoping this is the cat distribution system at play

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you groaned.

You're sitting on the couch trying to convince your boyfriend that you're not sick. It's just allergies! Allergies that come with body aches, pressure in your head, and now a fever.

Jason showed you the thermometer, "Dude, you're running at 100.1..."

You looked at the thermometer incredulously, "Isn't that thing super old? I mean how do we even know it still works? Take it again."

Jason sighed and scanned your forehead again, "Babe, we bought this a couple months ago." He glared at you as he showed you the thermometer again, which now read 100.2.

"Tch, that's barely even a fever," you said rolling your eyes.

"That's it. You're going on bed rest."

"Woah, what?? Jason, I told you I'm fine! Besides I have so much to do today. We need groceries, I have a prescription to pick up, there are so many dishes in the sink, I have laundry to fold and I have work this evening. A little cold isn't... what are you doing?" You cut yourself off as you saw Jason typing on his phone.

"Thanks for the to-do list! While you rest, I'll go and get this done. Grocery list is on the fridge and our pharmacy is in the store, so text me if you need anything else. I am more than capable of doing dishes and laundry, so you don't have to worry about that. And I love you, but you're crazy if you think you're going into work tonight. Text your boss a picture of the thermometer and call out. Or I'll do it for you, whatever you prefer."

"Ar-Are you sure? I mean it's..." You trailed off. You really did feel like shit and it's not like you necessarily wanted to do these errands and chores. After a moment of thinking, you sighed and relented, "Okay, fine, only if you're completely sure you can handle it."

"(Y/N), I'm an adult. If I couldn't do laundry, you should be worried about me." You tried to laugh a little, but it quickly snowballed into a coughing fit, "Woah woah, take it easy. I'm gonna take the list and go to the store. Again, text me if you need anything or if you just wanna say hi," he said with a smile.

Your eyes welled up a bit as you whispered, "Thank you, Jason. I love you very much."

"I love you too, I'll be back soon."

--------

The front door swung open and Jason's voice rang through your shared apartment, "Honey, I'm home!"

You couldn't have gotten up if you tried. You're sickly moan from the couch alarmed Jason, and he dropped the groceries and ran to your side.

You were lying on the couch in your spiderman sweats and a hoodie; your arms draped over your eyes to block out the white lights from the kitchen that added to your headache. Your entire body ached like it never has before. The sight squeezed Jason's heart. "Oh, honey," he said sympathetically, pressing his hands to your cheeks, "Woah, you are burning up! Hang on." He snatched the thermometer from the coffee table and tested his partner. The screen lit up red. It read 101.7.

You mumbled, "H-Holy shit..." It was a bit too much to talk right now.

"Okay babe, I got you some chicken noodle soup because that's what Alfred always made us, and I don't quite have his cooking skills--and this is, uh from a uh... a can--but I'm gonna make some for you, and that should hopefully make you feel better," he looked at you with worry. "Then would you want to watch Pride & Prejudice while I folded the laundry? The movie obviously, since you like it. Even though the show is better," he grumbled at the end.

God damn it. You were crying again.

You were experiencing so many different emotions you didn't really know what else to do. You loved Jason so much and felt so much gratitude for the way he was taking care of you. As if there was nothing else he could possibly be doing right now other than be here. This is on top of the fact that you've been in agony for the past hour as you got worse and worse; and you were really tired of feeling that way.

This shocked and scared Jason, "I'm sorry!! The movie isn't that bad! I just like that the show's more accurate to the book! Also, when Lizzie runs through the rain, why does she grab a soaking wet cloth from the very same rain storm to dry her hair?! I'm sorry I just--"

"I love you so much," you croaked out. "I also feel like fucking garbage."

This put Jason at ease and he kissed the top of your head. "I'm sorry you feel like shit, sweetheart. I do this because I love you too. Like, a lot. Now stop talking and spare your voice. Let's get you cozy and hopped up on vitamin C, and we'll just take it easy."

-----------------

The next morning, you woke up. You sat up slowly and realized most of the pressure in your head is gone. Your body no longer felt like it was on fire! Definitely still congested though. You also realized you fell asleep on the couch after the first proposal, yet you were currently sitting in your bed. Jason must've brought you in. Suddenly, a sneeze crept up and exploded out of you. Then another. Then one more. Jesus, that hurt your chest.

Your fit was loud enough to let Jason know you had woken up. He came into the room holding a spatula. The opened door let in a sweet smell and a sizzling sound. "How are you feeling, baby?" He walked towards you.

"Well I can bear to be conscious, so I'd say much better. What's going on in the kitchen?"

He pressed his hand to your forehead and said, "Pancakes! And lots of orange juice. I don't think you’re in the clear yet. Sit tight; I'm gonna get the thermometer and take your temperature."

Ignoring his request, you got up to meet him in the living room. You stepped out of the bedroom and was met with the sight of Jason discarding the pancake that had burned due to his doting. He saw you walking towards him and urged you to go back to bed, "Go back! I'm gonna bring you breakfast in bed. Pancakes, juice, fruit, the whole shebang."

"No it's okay, let me be out here with you. I'd kiss you good morning, but I fear I might poison you and get you sick."

Jason stole a quick kiss, much to your surprise, "I spent all night with you. If I were to get it, I don't think a kiss would be what seals my fate. You're plate is ready, by the way."

He handed you a plate stacked with 3 pancakes and a butter slice, drizzled in maple syrup with strawberries and whipped cream. It was beautiful, "Oh my god, Jason, that's so gorgeous I don't think I can eat it." Your stomach growled and promptly gave away your true feelings.

"Tear it up, baby girl."

You sat down as Jason finished making his stack. He sat down with you and you both began eating. Pre-packaged pancake mix has never tasted so good.

"Thank you for nursing me back to health, Jason. You've made this past few days in unbearable hell feel more like a manageable limbo."

He laughed, "What else was I supposed to do? Let the love of my life suffer?"

"God I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you in my life."

"Well, fortunately, you'll never have to." He leaned over the table and pressed a syrupy kiss to your lips.

if there are an content warnings you think i missed, please tell me so!! i’ll add them to this post and remember to add them to future ones!! :) ♡ ♡

and pls pls like and reblog and reply!! literally if you interact i will kiss you on the mouth

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd loves his gf #red hood #redhood x reader #fluff

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chachued · 1 year ago

Note

I wanted to request lando x fem reader if possible when he’s leaving for a while and they’re extra affectionate the night before with longer hugs and more reassurance, it could even get emotional??

Thank you in advance🥰

omg, yes. absolutely adorable!!! such a cute idea, this is.

━━ NEVER LEAVING | LANDO NORRIS ⁴

He never left without you, but you couldn’t come with him this time. It wasn’t easy, to say the least, but this night made it all the better.

↳ lando norris x fem!reader

W/C 0.5k

CONTENTS fluff — so much fluff, best bf lando, clingy reader, a bit of attachment issues, half proofread, short imagine

TOMORROW WAS THE DAY. Even though you begged for a day off—just to spend time with your boyfriend—today was too far busy, said your boss.

It was already late at night, so you expected Lando to be asleep already. He had to leave tomorrow morning, so you let bygones be bygones.

You didn’t know work would last so long, there’s barely enough time to be with him. And most of it will be used sleeping beside him. Everything consumed the energy that usually sparked inside you — The one that was excited to go home to him.

The key was deep inside your bag while you shuffled for it, prolonging the wait outside your door, which was insufferable. All you wanted to do was lay in bed—preferably with his arms around you.

The door handle clicked, and then it opened. “You’re home!”

“You’re still awake?” You were relieved, but rightfully worried because it is twelve in the morning.

His hand took yours, dragging you inside. “Of course, I am.”

“What’s that — And that smell?”

“Well, that is your favourite movie, with your favourite food, and your favourite snacks, actually.”

Wow. He really did it all for you.

There were candles that were already half-melted, probably the ones that were hiding in an obscure area. The line of expensive meals and cheap takeout showed a variety of food. It’s like he knew you hadn't eaten yet.

Lando couldn’t help but notice the way the light hit your face, highlighting that pretty smile of yours—melting him from the inside. “There’s also a bunch of blankets to get you comfy. I’m sure you would’ve been tired when you got home.”

“I love you so much right now.”

“You didn’t love me before?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling.

“I love you too.”

Anxiety piled up — That overwhelming feeling.

It finally hits you he’d be leaving tomorrow morning. All this effort and it didn’t even last long because, before you knew it, he’d be gone. It hurt, and you didn’t know why.

It wasn’t the fact that he was leaving. It’s because he motivated you throughout the day, promising kisses and goods—giving a reason to be excited about life. What could you do without him?

Lando was cuddled up next to you, lying on your chest, when he heard your sniffling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“I’m here,” he said, and in all honesty, it made the tears harder to hold in.

But you stayed strong.

“It’s just… You’re leaving, and all that. I don’t know, I feel a bit silly.”

He held you tighter, not planning to ever let you go. His eyes were heavy, but he’d stay up all night to be with you.

No amount of sleep can replace you, he thought.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.” His hand slithered onto your cheek, wiping the loose tear. “I’m never ever leaving you.”

That was the promise he’d never dare to break.

It was insane. You felt insane. He was doing all this for you, and you felt like a burden. There was nothing you did to deserve this—

You felt his soft lips on yours—holding on for a second—and the warm embrace melted you in quick.

“Text me and I’ll fly back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Alright?”

A giggle slipped out of your mouth. “Alright, yeah.”

This was home — Your home.

And it would never fall apart, not with him.

↳ bonus ; next morning ´ˎ˗

LOADING . . . ✎

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris fic #lando norris imagine #fluff #mclaren #ln4 #ln4 x reader

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shunsuiken · 2 years ago

Text

HOW THE GENSHIN MEN FIND YOU DRUNK

pairing(s). kaeya, diluc, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, tighnari, kaveh, wanderer x gn!reader

genre. fluff + mentions of alcohol use ofc + reader is a lightweight (welcome to my life guys <3)

wc. 400-800 for each character

an. SOOOOO this was inspired by a cdrama i watched back in 2021 and when i saw it i just HAD to write about it <3 also i think i had a bit too much fun on zhongli’s and childe’s i hope its not so obvious dear god. also??? for some reason the ones i had the hardest time writing for ended up being the longer parts omg

kaeya alberich

after spending some time upstairs with a couple of treasure hoarders who were completely unaware of being thoroughly deceived by the cunning cavalry captain, kaeya decides to head down and run over the knowledge he collected with mond’s famed beverage, death after noon.

but as he walks down the staircase, he spots a familiar figure sitting by the bar. he squints his eye slightly, almost not believing the sight in front of him. is that y/n? on the high stool by the bar? dozing off to only a few shots of liquor? tonight just became even more interesting. now he’s starting to wonder what things you would say under the influence—for no shady reasons, obviously, as he genuinely enjoyed your company and witiful mouth. he’s just a curious man with the goal of unveiling a few other things about you.

he makes a beeline to the bar, setting himself on your right side so you’re in his line of vision. glancing around, he motions for charles for his death after noon. kaeya only turns to you once his drink arrives, quickly giving you a once over. seeing as how it looked like you came to angel’s share after work he might as well stir up a conversation.

your vision is blurry but you can definitely feel the presence of another person beside you. as you lift your head from your crossed arms, your brows crease in irritation. which imbecile decided to disturb your time alone? you’re literally brooding over the fact that captain kaeya would never be yours, so you irresponsibly decided an hour ago that some liquor would magically help you forget your worries.

you’re ready to scare the person off with a glare but what you’re met with is quite literally, much worse (because your glares don’t work on him and also because he's part of the reason you’re in your drunken state).

kaeya chuckles at your expression. “why the long face? it’s just me.”

you rub your eyes, groaning from the bitterness lingering in your throat. of all people, you weren’t expecting him. “you never stop by on wednesday’s. is something up?” you ask drowsily as kaeya watches you pick up your glass, clumsily squinting at the bottom of it to see if there was any more of your liquor left.

kaeya dodges your question, humming, “y/n sweetheart, you look like you’re on the brink of passing out.” he tilts his head, observing your flushed expression. if you can’t handle your liquor, he doesn’t mind taking you back home if it means securing your safety.

“am not,” you reply, turning your gaze to him. it’s all thanks to the alcohol that you can do so when in reality you actually struggle to maintain eye contact with him. “you… you haven’t answered my question yet. why’re you here?” your voice is hoarse and you’ve made enough voice cracks to entertain a crowd, but kaeya finds it rather endearing instead.

kaeya could reply honestly. but this conversation is one to be forgotten after you woke up tomorrow morning. he could lie and you would never know he did, but for a reason unknown the lie he was supposed to tell never left his lips. instead he blurts out the plain truth.

“somebody has to be responsible for you, y’know,” kaeya teases you with a grin but his actions are the opposite of his tone. he stands from his seat, pulling your arm over his shoulders to support your weight even when you attempt to resist his help. he keeps your body close to his so you don’t fall over. hopefully you’re drunk enough to be oblivious of the erratic beats of his heart alongside the cautious and warm touch of his hand on your waist.

diluc ragnvindr

he still can’t believe he has such a massive crush on you. it’s almost embarrassing to let others know about this secret because nobody would expect someone like diluc to have a thing for you. it’s even harder to hide that fact when you’re sitting at a table with venti and kaeya. they’re laughing their asses off at some joke you told them.

“cheers to y/n!” venti hollers, cheeks undeniably pink. “you are paying for this, right?” he leans back down momentarily, making you release another burst of laughter from your lungs at the way he mentioned it. “of course!”

after chatting, you decide to greet the man of the house by the bar. it’s been a while since you’ve seen the master diluc of dawn winery anyway. as you get up from the table to make your way over, you accidentally bump into a crowd of big, brawny adventurers who’ve just arrived.

“oh—!” tripping backwards, your hands fail to find something to keep yourself on your feet before your fall is cushioned by someone.

they hold onto your shoulder as your back collides with their chest. the force from being pushed aside has you breathing unsteadily, and it doesn’t help that you’re pretty tipsy right now too. however, despite how tipsy you are, you feel as though air is sucked right out of your lungs when you spot a tuft of crimson red hair from the corner of your eye.

you stand right up immediately, facing the person you fell onto.

“master diluc!” the dazed and naive look on a drunkard's face normally doesn’t appeal to diluc but this expression on yours actually makes you look rather adorable. your eyes are half-lidded and your smile is lopsided, and oh if he could squish those cheeks of yours-

“uh, master diluc?” you blink, toning your voice down a bit.

“oh.” diluc slides out of his mindscape, paying attention to your words. “yes? would you like a drink on the house?” because if you actually asked that, he would have sent one your way on the spot.

you wave your hands dismissively. “n- no no, not that! i was just asking how you were doing. you haven’t stopped by angel’s share since last month, i thought something was up so when i heard you were here today i…” you trail off, realising that you’re rambling and that diluc probably didn’t want to be greeted like this after taking a month off but when you look back at him, he’s still looking at you (and has been since you fell into his arms).

diluc raises his brow when he no longer hears your voice. but when he sees an expectant look in your eyes, he offers you his arm with a smile. “how about you tell me everything by the bar? that way i can serve you properly.”

your cheeks burn like a wild bonfire as you take his arm, now struggling to find excuses to somehow change the topic of conversation because if you continued your sentence from a minute ago, you would have exposed your secret attraction for the man in front of you.

(funny how you don’t even need kaeya or venti to expose you, you’re already the man for the job!)

diluc senses your sudden nervousness at the invitation. he does his best to bite away at the fond smile making its way to his lips. if he can help calm your nerves then maybe you’ll tell him about how much you missed his company at the tavern.

zhongli

zhongli didn’t know that his late night stroll around the streets of chihu rock would include witnessing your drunk state at third-round knockout. the streets have thinned out and it’s rather late too. he wonders what brought you over to the distinguished tavern.

the curious adeptus makes silent haste to peer over your shoulder. a cup in your hand and your head is lolling over. putting two and two together, you must have had your fill of alcohol for tonight.

zhongli finds himself chuckling before neatly folding his hands behind his back. “i wonder how y/n is faring on this wonderful night?”

your head snaps out of your drunken state momentarily, the coherent cells in your brain recognise that voice immediately but your vision is blurry. so instead of being able to greet the gentleman with dignity and grace, you end up tripping over the levelled bricks below you.

“oh—!”

zhongli is quick to open his arms and catch you, his reflexes still polished despite his retirement as the geo archon. your head bumps into his chest as you grunt at the slight fright. and after regaining your foothold on the bricked ground, it comes to your attention that your body is flat against the man in front of you. more specifically, his arms are wrapped around your waist to keep you steady and your hands are fumbling awkwardly in the air because you don’t know where to put them.

looking up to meet zhongli’s eyes is exactly what you expected but you can never maintain eye contact with him. it’s not your fault he’s so handsome! his kind gesture makes your cheeks warm up, and he probably doesn’t even mean anything out of it but sometimes your mind likes to be a little creative and indulges you in a variety of impossible scenarios.

“archons, zhongli i’m sorry—i didn’t see you i—”

“it’s not a problem, y/n. shall i walk you home?” zhongli offers, voice gentle and non-judgemental, like you didn’t just trip over a couple of bricks.

you shake your head, earning a raised brow from him. “i only live a few minutes away. plus, look at the time, we’ll look weird.”

“holding you in my arms will not make us look weird, rather i believe this is appropriate for us both. don’t you think?” the way zhongli tilts his head to the dominating tone in his voice makes you feel so small.

“i mean—sure but,” you reply, not daring to look directly into his eyes unless you were going to expose your hidden feelings for him. “but i’m drunk. it’s my fault, i can take myself ho—” your words are caught in your throat when zhongli lifts you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the steps and continuing down the street to bring you home.

this extra pinch of boldness is something that lays dormant within zhongli. but it always comes alive when you’re around. he has spent enough time around mortals to pick up the signs of the heart. your reactions to his touch, your flickering gaze and the heat from your face is no brainer. however, he will have to properly communicate with you when you’re sober.

for now, he only hopes that you will disregard the warmth radiating off his neck when you lean in to rest your forehead there.

childe

he’s dancing. dancing to his heart’s content. the band plays the second to last song but the harbinger barely feels like he’s lived up to the heights of the night. he requires more vigour, more energy from his dancing partners. sure, they were all wonderful dancers but he’s really only waiting for someone else to enter his field of vision.

childe knows you’re around here somewhere, you told him personally a week before the ball that you and your father were invited. after all, only the most distinguished noblemen and women were eligible to attend. and you, being the one and only child of one of the leading snezhnayan trade merchants, are an obvious guest on the list of invites.

childe dances, switching and gliding between different and eager dance partners, secretly hoping that the next gloved hand he would take would be yours. unfortunately, for the second to last song, he still doesn’t manage to find you amongst the crowd of participants dancing. so when the music stops he makes sure to return everyone a wave and entertain those who greet him warmly, doing everything in his power to stop the itch of impatience showing on his sweaty face. thankfully, he manages to maintain a calm and composed expression.

childe’s head perks up to a certain sound. amongst the music, the cheers and the clings of wine glasses he recognises a laugh. a laugh, to the extent of his knowledge, only he’s able to get out of you. he brings his wine glass away from his lips, licking the remnants of it from his bottom lip as he captures the sight of you chatting away with other guests.

scanning the guests’ faces, he concludes that they’re harmless thanks to information he was told prior to the event. so he makes his way over, smoothly including himself in conversation just to make an excuse to the other guests to ‘borrow your attention’ for a moment.

you take his arm that he offers you, holding your wine glass in your other hand. childe has always been a gentleman towards you, such a passionate person with excellent manners. you’re almost always guaranteed to have a grand time whenever he invites you out (obviously as friends, which you two have made known to the entire town).

“so ajax, tell me about your journey to liyue—” your throat interrupts your speech with a very clear hiccup. “—harbour.” your cheeks burn, quickly apologising for your lack of manners under your breath.

childe hums, loving how you used the name he told you to use when it’s just you and him. “your grace, are you drunk?” he gazes at your flushed face and how your styled hair looks more undone. he thinks you look better this way actually.

“i might be,” you sigh, wanting to hand your glass over to a butler but childe stops you before you can, taking your glass to quickly down the last sips of your beverage.

“ajax, what are you doing?!” you tap his arm repeatedly with concern, telling him to slow down.

you just got that glass a few minutes ago! but besides that, he’s drinking the wine you just had?! what if his lips touch the part yours did on the glass? not that you mind at all—you wouldn’t dare say that out loud but your thoughts are as clear as day on your expression.

childe enjoys the look on your face, satisfied and relieved that you didn’t show a hint of dissatisfaction. “i’ve not had the honour to dance with you tonight.” he passes the empty glass onto a passing butler’s tray. “shall i have the pleasure now?”

kamisato ayato

by this time in the evening, you, thoma and ayaka are probably done playing the hot pot game. which is alright since ayato knew he would return home from business later than usual tonight, but that doesn’t stop him from checking up on all of you. so when he slides the door open to see his faithful retainer, his sister and you sleeping soundly in the designated hot pot room at komore teahouse, the lord cannot help but stifle a fond laugh.

it then comes to his attention that the room reeks of alcohol. oh dear. that explains why everyone’s blacked out.

“‘yato?” he watches you lift your head from the table. ah, you’re still awake… and definitely drunk. no wonder you dropped the formalities all of a sudden. if you were sober you would have rushed to greet him by the door and refer to him by “my lord” despite all the protests he’s made to call you by his first name instead.

ayato hushes you gently, ignoring how his heart skips a beat at the mention of his first name leaving your lips and sits himself beside you. he’s almost taken aback by how you immediately lean onto his body for support. he knew you were an affectionate person but you normally asked before proceeding with anything just in case he felt uncomfortable (surprise! he never did). so seeing this side of you is rather refreshing to his eyes.

“what’re you doing here?” you blink hardly at him but it’s to no avail as the alcohol in your veins distorts your vision.

he brings you closer, gloved hand rising to caress the back of your head. “i just came to visit. however, it didn’t occur to me that you would all have so much fun without my presence.”

“nonsense!” you claim dramatically, a satisfied smile immediately appearing on ayato’s face at your predictable reaction.

you poke his arm you don’t realise is already sat on your waist. you’re too ready to defend your lord from his own words to notice anyway.

ayato scans your face. lavender eyes find your plumped lips, the thin sheen of sweat along your cheeks and your hair attempting to escape the confines of your hairpin—hold on a moment, he got you that hairpin!

the way ayato has to physically restrain a grin from showing on his face is uncharacteristic of him. he’s noticed that he uncovers new parts of himself whenever you’re beside him. such an interesting person you are…

“we were waiting for you—hic—however, we got a little distracted.” you admit, gesturing at ayaka who sleeps soundly on thoma’s jacket. you look up at ayato through your eyelashes, giving him a lopsided smile.

“i remembered your—hic—advice when you said ayaka can’t drink more than a glass. she might even have it worse than me. but thoma, on the other hand, was a completely different story. that man was a mess!” you move your head to look at thoma’s body sprawled over the floor, ugly giggles leaving the back of your throat at how much of an idiot he looks like right now.

your hair tickles ayato’s chin but he pays no mind to it when he’s so immensely amused by your relaxed nature when drunk.

thoma

thoma mentally checks his list of things to do before retiring for the night. his lord is in his office, accompanied by a freshly made pot of tea, his lady should already be sound asleep and the other retainers are also readying to retire too. he sighs to himself, patting his jacket down as he heads to the kitchen to finalise his cleaning.

when he enters the kitchen, he is baffled at the sight in front of him. he stares blankly for a moment to process it.

there’s remnants of sake dripping out of a tipped-over tokkuri and his lover who plays with the o-choko absentmindedly with their finger, drawing invisible lines along the rim. thoma stifles a giggle, a curled finger covering his lips.

his giggle sends your consciousness back into focus. you only have the power to tilt your head ever so slightly to the right, your movements pausing on the o-choko when your gaze falls upon the view of your lover.

“tho—ma,” your cracked voice calls for him, making him rush toward you in such fondness so he could pinch your cheeks.

“oh, y/n, what are you doing?” thoma asks as giggles leave his lips, watching you squint at him dazedly. “it’s dripping from the corner of your lips as well!” he takes a napkin, sitting next to you to wipe it away gently.

“wh- where’ve you been, pretty?” your words are slurred but thoma hears you perfectly well.

the pet name makes him blush, but you’re too drunk to notice. “i’ve been doing my job—oh, honey—” he huffs when he brings you to lean on him instead. the longer you lay your head on the table, the more you’ll want to throw up later (and thoma makes sure to prevent that from happening).

you giggle at the little voice crack you hear when he calls you by your pet name, leaning onto his chest as your head rests on his shoulder blade. taking advantage of this position, thoma presses a cool ceramic cup filled with water by your lips and when you lazily open your eyes, you see that it’s the glass that’s been sitting on the side from earlier.

“drink up, honey.” you can’t refuse such a request when it’s mumbled so affectionately by your ear. you’re probably even warm at your cheeks from it, but then again, the sake has kept your cheeks warm for a while. you can’t even tell anymore.

after taking a few sips of water, your throat feels fresh and renewed—if thoma heard your thoughts, he would deadpan at you and say “y/n. it’s called getting hydrated” in a sassy little voice. this scenario amuses you and it causes a small laugh to leave your lips.

above you, thoma is confused. “what are you thinking about?” he asks curiously with a smile.

as you rest your head on thoma’s shoulder again, you reply, “you. i’m just thinking about you.”

tighnari

a shout from outside tighnari’s lodging brings his attention away from his documents, brows furrowing and pushing himself up from his chair to see why his forest rangers are making such a fuss at an ungodly hour (yes, tighnari was awake at said ungodly hour but that wasn’t because he was with his fellow rangers after a night out!).

“tighnari, we’re back!” a drunk forest watcher waves and yells at the figure of tighnari, who has his arms crossed in front of him.

a sigh leaves tighnari’s mouth, one of exhaustion, to be precise. “do you intend to wake all of gandharva ville up? go find yourselves home and rest.” he turns around to head back inside until another forest watcher pipes up.

“wait, tighnari! y/n’s black out drunk!” a female forest watcher, who’s eyes can’t even look at a single point any longer due to the alcohol running in her veins, displays your figure with your arm dangling over her shoulders. “you need to take them back, i don’t know where they live!”

tighnari raises a brow and chuckles, shaking his head. “yet you’re sober enough to tell me this.” he walks towards the group of drunkards and collects you easily from the forest watcher, carefully placing your arm over his shoulders while his other hand holds your hip.

you barely know where you are and what’s happening but it appears that your assigned guardian angel for the night has retired and put you in more capable hands—or, arms. you blink in an attempt to gather knowledge of your surroundings but it’s to no avail when everything is a blur of darkness with hints of warm light from the dew lights.

a grunt escapes your lips in slight frustration as you walk away with this other person, but they’re quick to hush you gently and in a soft voice you hear, “i promise we’re almost there, just walk with me, okay?”

“yeah, okay,” you reply promptly but to tighnari’s ears, he’s never heard such a tone in your voice ever since you were recruited. his heart skips a beat and his ear twitches along. it’s rare to see you so vulnerable and he can tell you have no idea that he’s the one carrying you back to… well, his lodging. because your lodging is simply too far away (it’s only a bridge away) and he can’t have you walking any longer when you look like you’re on the verge of passing out!

he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him when his gloved hand holds onto your forearm to keep your body steady against his as he walks you to his lodging. his body is going against him and his heart can only take the blame for such ridiculous delusions. what does he think he will get out of this?

he’s just your chief forest watcher, that’s all he will ever be to you—is what tighnari thinks. but in reality, you only went out with the others to spiral in alcohol due to your failed attempts of romancing your handsome superior. it seemed that the sumeru roses and the letter you left at his doorstep were blown away by the wind (you had to commit blasphemy on that day and curse the anemo archon), the pita pockets you made for him were stolen away by some petty treasure hoarders when you weren’t looking and overall, your thoughts were a mess thinking about your failed attempts. it was like your beloved archon forgot to bless you with wisdom to avoid these situations.

“see! i told you he had a soft spot for them!”

“it’s so obvious the feelings mutual, i can’t believe they didn’t believe us.”

“they’re literally the only one who can’t see it!”

tighnari clears his throat loud enough for the group to hear him. he turns around and gives them a pointed look until they’re all skipping away to their respective lodgings.

he glances at your drunken face for a brief moment and smiles to himself, continuing to walk you back.

it appears that all his worries were meaningless.

kaveh

the sight of you leaning against the door to his home almost makes his soul fly right out of his body.

“hello y/n, i thought we were meeting for dinner?” but when kaveh finally makes it to where you are, you are nowhere near sober. no wonder your figure was leaning against the wood so flimsily. you were akin to a ragdoll at this point. “great heavens, is the end of the world upon us? why are you drunk before me?” he hesitantly collects you in his arms while mehrak hovers beside him. he can’t have you just leaning like that!

“went to… birthday party… drinks…”

that’s enough information to bring kaveh up to speed with the situation. but also… why did you decide to go to his house?! was it instinctive?

kaveh cringes at his thoughts and opens the door with his free hand while his other hand supports you by your waist (he can feel his palm warming up to the touch on your body and it’s making the poor man sweat). “come on in, let’s sober you up.”

when you’re sat nicely on the couch, your eyes are still closed with zero awareness of your surroundings. how your head suddenly tilts backwards at such speed almost brings the most horrific yelp out of kaveh, he’s relieved to know his reflexes are still sharp enough to have caught your head before it snapped right off your neck.

“archons, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” he holds the back of your head and somehow manages to bring your body to lean against the spine of the couch. he doesn’t forget to put a pillow behind your back either, because you being drunk doesn’t mean you’re drunk enough to not feel discomfort.

after collecting himself from that scare, he returns with a cup of water, hands carefully hovering it in front of your lips. “here, drink up,” he says but you keep moving your mouth away from the cup that it’s slowly beginning to irritate him.

“y/n, you need to sober up if you’re going to walk home later,” he tells you in a more serious voice which makes you groan, throwing your head forward into your hands.

“you don’t understand.”

“what don’t i understand?”

what am i doing here? i swear i was in front of my friend's place… how is it that my drunk feet led me here? out of all the places on this continent, why did i take myself to the one place i’m trying to avoid?!

kaveh raises a brow and puts down the glass of water. “is something wrong, y/n? i haven’t even seen you since last week.”

“i’ve been… busy…” trying to keep my feelings at bay!

“i see,” kaveh responds before adding, “do you still feel drunk?”

“i wouldn’t say i’m drunk to the point of passing out—i did feel like that earlier but now that i’m sitting i can at least participate in conversation.” you remove your face from your hands.

why is his face so pink? you think to yourself, grabbing the glass of water from the table to take a sip before leaning back with your free arm supporting you. you grin to yourself, feeling a little cheeky.

you offer the glass of water you just drank from to kaveh, hovering it in front of his lips and you swear you almost watch his eyes fall out of their eye sockets.

“what—what are you doing?!” kaveh’s voice shakes and you let out this cute drunken giggle that makes his heart leap.

“i know i’m the one drunk, but for some reason you look drunk without even having drinks!”

kaveh touches his face and he purses his lips. his cheeks are so used to being hot from being in your presence that he didn’t even realise!

“allow me to assist you.” you lean your body a little closer so you can press the chilled glass of water against kaveh’s cheek.

his bottom lip falls and quivers when you lean closer towards him. last time you were this close, you were putting medication on his face after a run in with fungi.

the coldness of the glass somehow gives him time to think to himself—rationally. maybe in this moment right now he could…

“thank you, y/n.” you’ve never heard this tone in kaveh’s voice, it’s unfamiliar and so… tender. what he does next makes you finally meet his scarlet eyes.

a warm hand wraps around your wrist that holds the glass to his cheeks, your skin immediately lights up in fire at the contact. it makes you gulp so embarrassingly loudly before him.

he leans into the coolness of the glass, gazing at you with such gentle eyes that it’s tempting you to look away. as his thumb gently caresses your skin, he smiles. “it helps.”

wanderer

wanderer returns to his home a little later than usual tonight. he made sure to leave a note on the dining table to let you know of his whereabouts for the day. he knows you have the propensity to worry about him, despite his claims that he’ll be perfectly fine because of how well-versed he is in the arts of defence (and nasty attacks). which is why he left the note on the table, and he acknowledges how it was moved to another spot on the table from this morning.

you’ve seen it. he thinks to himself and now he wonders where you are. you’re not normally out at this time and from your cute daily schedule reports you tell him before bed, he doesn’t remember you mentioning that you would be out until this time. or if you were going out with friends.

that’s alright. wanderer can wait.

the tapping of his own foot is driving the man on edge. it’s been two whole hours—the sun is far beneath the horizon and the birds are already snoring. where the hell are you? wanderer cannot do this anymore, he rises from his seat and takes flight with his anemo abilities.

the city is rather easy to navigate at this height. in the dark, the city is at least still lit up by streetlights and with the help of one nearby lambad’s tavern, he spots your curled figure sitting on the floor very easily.

he hovers over the cement before landing smoothly on his feet. “what are you doing here at this time? it’s so late,” wanderer remarks with irritation, standing in front of you with his arms folded. he stares at your figure with a frown.

“h-huh?” your voice comes out hoarse, lifting your head and your eyes slowly make out the figure of wanderer. “o-oh it’s youi… where’ve you been?” you manage to say despite how the world shakes around you.

“tch, what do you—” wanderer stops himself, raising a brow then finally taking the time to scan your face and posture and it hits him.

you’re fucking drunk.

“you’re insane,” wanderer scoffs, kneeling down to silently take a closer look at your face and body for any drunkenly bruises. “do you even know what time it is? i was waiting for you.” he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands but he decides to offer you one to help you get up on your feet.

“you think i’m insane but really, you’re the one doing insane things all the time! you know, like fighting fatui agents in the rain… to avenge a bird!” you put emphasis on the word ‘bird’ and wanderer scoffs at the finger you point at him.

“it was in danger,” he replies simply before sighing, “but that’s not the point. you’re drunk outside at a time like this so i’ll be taking you home now.”

talking to him magically makes you more sober with every passing second. you decide to play with him a little, leaning back on the brick wall as the crease in your brow melts away. “ooh, shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

wanderer groans, pulling his hand back. he’s never had to deal with you drunk before! so he thinks for a moment, and he stands tall on his feet, turning his head the other direction. “if this is how you will continue to act then i will leave you to your own devices, however if you come back crawling to me—”

wanderer almost gasps at your figure suddenly standing beside him, steady on your feet as you give him a hard and long stare. “you don’t have to tell me twice about how you wait for me at home, i’m well aware of that. complain all you want about me but your words aren’t consistent with your actions, my love.” you slide your hand down his arm to reach for his hand as you lean your head on his shoulder.

you feel him tilt his face in the other direction. curious, you briefly lift your head for a moment to spot your pretty artificial lover gritting his teeth as a sheet of pink blankets his cheeks.

“fool,” he whispers, but there is no malice behind it.

#kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #tighnari x reader #kaveh x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

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childrenofcain-if · 6 months ago

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Hello beautiful Author!! I hope u are doing well! So basically I am a religious follower of your blog and uuugghh!!! This story is so beautifully crafted like the script the writing style the plot even the characters seem larger than life. Honestly u have my tremendous respect and admiration.... Also I am totally in love with cedric!! angsty adorable and hot. So since today is my birthday I decided to treat myself to a snippet ... Can u please write a fluff scene where in the future after marriage yk after C achieved his dream how would M!C react to find out that F!MC is pregnant. What kind of dad would he be and how would he handle the news especially if it's a girl. (PS: I love you okay? U rock!!! ❤❤😘)

the morning started like most mornings did in your household. the sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your manhattan penthouse, muted by the heavy curtains cédric insisted on keeping drawn just enough to keep the room from feeling exposed.

he was already in the kitchen when you woke up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he frowned at his ipad.

it was a weekday, which meant cédric was doing what cédric did best: handling things.

the man could command a room full of board members or negotiate a multi-billion-dollar deal, but he always took his mornings slow, like it was his personal rebellion against the world which demanded his attention. the smell of coffee hung thick in the air, and you could hear him muttering under his breath—half in french, half in english—as he skimmed over some report.

he looked up when he heard your footsteps. the cold glint in his pale green eyes softened the way they always did when he saw you.

“good morning, mon amour,” he said, setting the ipad down as if the numbers and charts weren’t important anymore.

you smiled at him, but there was a nervous flutter in your chest that didn’t quite dissipate.

“good morning,” you greeted back, making your way to the counter. “we need to talk.”

his brow furrowed, just slightly, in that way that meant his mind was already cataloging possible scenarios. you wondered if he was running through a mental checklist: a problem at work, an overdue bill, a delayed package. he was always looking for answers before you even finished your question.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and calm, but his hand twitched where it rested on the counter.

you hesitated, suddenly unsure how to say it. for someone who had spent years speaking in boardrooms and drafting persuasive arguments, the words felt clumsy in your throat.

“there’s nothing wrong, per se,” you began, and you saw the tension in his shoulders ease—just a fraction. “it’s just... i’m pregnant.”

the silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was like the air had stilled, waiting for his reaction.

cédric blinked. once, twice. then he stepped back, leaning against the counter as if the weight of your words had hit him square in the chest. his mouth opened, then closed again. he looked—if you hadn’t known him better—younger. like a boy caught off guard, unsure of whether he was allowed to feel what he was feeling.

“you’re...?” he started, and then he stopped himself. his hand went to his hair, brushing the dark brown strands back, a nervous habit he’d never managed to shake. “you’re sure?”

you nodded, suddenly shy. “i took three tests. all positive. i was going to wait until we were both home later tonight, but—”

“no, no, now is perfect,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended, like he was scolding you for even considering keeping it from him. he shook his head, and you could see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “mon dieu.”

cédric laughed then, a sound so rare and so unguarded it made your chest ache. it was a laugh of disbelief, of joy, of sheer and unrestrained emotion. he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“je t’aime,” he murmured into your hair. “je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”

you clung to him, laughing through the tears that had started spilling down your cheeks.

***

cédric’s reaction to the pregnancy didn’t end that morning. over the next few weeks, he threw himself into preparing for the baby with the same intensity he brought to his work. he was meticulous, obsessive even, researching everything from cribs to car seats. he vetoed three potential pediatricians before you’d even had a chance to meet them, insisting that only the best would do.

but it wasn’t just about the logistics. cédric was unexpectedly tender, in a way that made your heart twist. he read parenting books in bed at night, one hand on your growing belly as he absently stroked his thumb over the fabric of your pajamas. he brought you tea without being asked, stocked the pantry with your favorite snacks, and refused to let you carry anything heavier than a shopping bag.

when you found out the baby was a girl, it felt like the world completely shifted for him.

“it’s a girl,” you had informed him, holding the ultrasound picture out to him.

he took it from your hands carefully, as if it were made of glass, and stared at it for a long moment. his expression was unreadable, but you could see the way his fingers trembled, just slightly.

“a daughter,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “our daughter.”

you nodded with a small smile, watching him carefully. “how do you feel about that?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he set the picture down on the table and turned to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you shiver.

“i’m going to protect her,” cédric said, his voice low and fierce. “from everything. from everyone. she’ll never have to wonder if she’s loved. she’ll never have to fight for what’s hers.”

“i can already see it,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “you’ll be the dad who scares off all her partners.”

“damn right i will,” he said, his smile returning. “she’s going to know her worth. and if anyone tries to undermine that—” he didn’t finish the sentence, but the murderous look in his eyes said enough.

you leaned forward, cupping his cheek and drawing him back to you. “she’ll know her worth because of you,” you said softly. “because of how much you’ll love her.”

“and her mother,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

he kissed you then, slow and lingering, and when he pulled back, his hands settled gently over your stomach.

you reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “she’s going to be so lucky to have you.”

cédric shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “i’m the lucky one.”

***

as the months went on, cédric proved himself to be everything you’d hoped for and more. he was attentive to a fault, sometimes to the point of driving you mad with his insistence on helping you. ehen the baby kicked for the first time, he was right there, his hand pressed against your stomach, his eyes wide with wonder.

when your due date finally arrived, he was the calmest one in the delivery room. he held your hand through every contraction (even when you almost broke his bones), whispered words of encouragement in your ear, and refused to leave your side, even when the nurses told him to give you space.

and when your daughter was finally born, cédric was the first to hold her, much to your father’s exasperation. he cradled her tiny, wrinkled body in his arms, his expression soft and awestruck.

“she’s perfect,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

you smiled, exhausted but deliriously happy. “she has your eyes.”

“and a head full of your hair,” he said, his voice breaking.

in that moment, you knew without a doubt that he would be the kind of father who would move mountains for his daughter. he would be firm but fair, protective but not overbearing, and endlessly devoted to her happiness.

as he rocked her gently, humming a lullaby under his breath, you realized that this—your little family—was everything you’d ever wanted. and as much as you knew about how cédric wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions, it was clear as day right now that nothing would ever compare to the love he had for the two of you.

#i hope you had a great birthday!#i’m not very good at writing these kind of scenarios but i tried #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: c lacroix #ro scenarios #tw: pregnancy

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kinokkotsu · 7 months ago

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“Don’t js sit there and wait 4 me to talk,”ᶻz ⟢— yuta okkotsu x reader

TW: the reader is severely traumatized, the reader lost her loved ones during shibuya incident, HEAVY angst, love confession, fluff, THE AFTERMATHS OF JJK MANGA ENDING, MANGA SPOILERS!! Yuta has lost it too btw ୨୧

“Aren’t you tired?” You looked up from your hot dinner. “You had just returned from eliminating a special grade.”

The dining table was piled with various kinds of foods. The room reeked of unrequited love and affection. It almost made you want to melt into the ground out of shame.

“Tired? This is just a simple dinner. You deserve it. So sit back, relax and enjoy your evening,” Okkotsu gave you a gentle smile. He was sitting in his chair so elegantly. As if he was a doll for display.

You lazily swung your fork around the small chop of meat on your plate. It was regarded as impolite to play with your food at the table yet you could not help it. Whatever act he was putting up was rather exaggerated and nerve wrecking.

“I think I remember telling you to stay away from my house,” you muttered. Your voice came out like a whisper. You did not dare to look at him but you could sense his gaze burning down on your face.

He breathed out a laugh. “Did you?”

“I sure did.” You put the fork in your mouth. “I am no longer a part of the jujutsu society anymore. Why do you still insisting on clinging onto me?”

“Forgive me then,” He replied. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down. He had just dodged your question. Great.

It hadn’t been long since your partner, who you had been in a committed relationship, died during whatever that was. Ever since the disasters occurred within jujutsu society. You would never believe you could easily love somebody as easily again. You suppose you do not genuinely had the strength to.

You glanced at his abdomen. Behind the linen cloth of his shirt laid a dark giant horizontal scar that once made him almost lose his life. It’s only pure luck that had saved him from entering the death’s door.

“I once thought it is appropriate to only admire you— a undeniably strong colleague,” He broke the taunting silence, his eyes glancing away like he was thinking about something from the past. “However, now that everything had gone crumbling down and it’s only you and I left..” he smiled as his piercing eyes darted back at you again. “It feels like I have the responsibility to grasp every piece of love everyone else had for you.”

He dragged his finger, circling on the soft mattress of the table. “And finally form something full, something complete.”

You winced at his words. He knew you couldn’t handle this sort of conversation yet he dared utter those words like he wanted to let his friends die from the start.

Had he finally lost it?

Of course it was going to turn out like that for him as well. Everyone left the both of you in this grey world. Despite the other survivors remaining, you and him were like two small connected puzzle pieces lying far from the other pieces.

It was not the same. It will never be the same.

Everything hasn’t been okay since you stepped out of that butcher hole. It was beyond petrifying. It was traumatic for both parties. And yet he had the audacity to act like those deaths of his beloved ones had not fazed his delicate little soul. It was as though he was not quite as disheveled as you were.

“I can’t return the favor,” you dropped your spoon next to the plate. “Look, I don’t even believe I have the ability to form a proper relationship again.” your voice trembled. “I am really, extremely sorry so can you please just stop seeing me agai-.”

“I can,” He smiled. His body leaned against the table. “but you must promise me something.”

“You must tell me what it is, first or I will not be confined to it.” You stared into his wet eyes. Despite the goodie-two-shoes look on his face, you could sense the heavy burden of the man who was once the second strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world.

"In the future, if you ever find yourself in the position to love somebody again,” He smiled softly. “let it be me.” Somewhere along that sentence, you heard his voice shook.

Your breath became unstable. Is he stupid? Your ability to love was lacking because you had become too afraid to dedicate your heart again. Therefore this ridiculous fantasy he had was never likely to happen.

What is giving him the strength to be so desperate?

You pressed down both your hands into the table mattress. “Why must you be so stubborn? Don’t you get it? We are both at the edge of turning insane! What gives you the illusio-”

“I love you,” Yuta confessed, “I learned to appreciate you even more given the circumstances. I wish to adore every part of you while I remain alive.”

You felt like something clicked within you.

You realised that you had taken the negativity out of the situation whereas this man before you learn to cope with it in a more meaningful way. Had he always been like this?

The familiar old smile appeared in your memory and you confirmed that. He’d always been like this.

You inhaled as you built up every courage to breathe out. “You were already adored by many including me.” You said, shaken by the pain of the loss of your old boyfriend. “But I..promise you I will not dodge my feelings for you if I were to discover myself again.”

“Good.” He gave you a toothy grin. The one that you hadn’t seen for possibly years. “We will be alright, [Name].” He took your cold hands with his warm ones. “You and I, together, will go through this.”

Your heart ached at the look of his thrilled face. Can you really be hopeful about this? It should not possibly be happening sooner or later but maybe if you just stand strong and get up again, both of you get to live a happy life and this time, a happy ending.

“Now eat up, the food is getting cold.” He insisted before retreating his hand from yours. A small smile broke out your lips. You were almost certain that you will be having this guy in your house more often to cook meals for you.

Regarding fairness, It’s a price for asking a huge favor from you.

I saw a slideshow on tiktok about this kinda plot and I’m balling my eyes out. BTW I hope I still have my people w me.🙂‍↕️ I hadn’t posted in a long time due to assignments and stuff. I apologize deeply for that, my loves. 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ⋅ᡣ𐭩 ་༘

LIKES AND REPOSTS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATIVE. as usual ‹𝟹

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chokchokk · 2 years ago

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𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 | song mingi x fem!reader

an ao3 requested husband!mingi one-shot

"Are you trying to challenge me?"

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You come home stressed, feeling like the world wants only the worst from you. Good thing that your husband wants the best, right? Right...

"Baby, I would never do such a thing."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 7.3k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : established relationship, girlboss office worker!reader, stay at home husband!mingi, praise kink, hand kink, size kink, service top!mingi, use of the pet-name “baby”, starts rougher but then gets really soft and gentle, cunnilingus, fingering, over-stimulation, passionate sex; reader and mingi are in their late 20s/early 30s, reader is a bit bratty but mingi is a brat as well, it pains writer mingi is not a sub in this FUCK, he puts reader in place just a tiny bit, but the dynamics are pretty even, reader and mingi love each other deeply

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : i wanted to make mingi wear a tanktop but when i digged for it THERE WAS NOTHING???? we never got tanktop!mingi selcas???? how do yall not die of hunger, no, THIRST?

anyhow. this was an ao3 request!!! i had lots of loving fun with it and i hope you do as well babes and bbies xoxo

masterlist link | join my taglist

Did you know married employees are respected more?

Well, that’s what statistics say, but you certainly have never had this observation be proven true. It’s been almost a year since the first time you’ve worn your ring at your work-place, but you still get weird looks for having settled down “too early in the relationship” at such a “young age”, as if they knew anything about your private life— so no, you don’t. You wouldn’t know anything about being respected more as a married employee, even if you’re a few working hours away from being promoted to General Manager.

You throw your keys into their respective tray and hold your nose-bridge, when you enter your house with the sound of your shoes immediately falling to the floor after you shake them off in frustration. Yes, you may have earned your money, but at what cost? To hear old people pick you out because “such a fragile thing can’t possibly handle life”, despite being their lead director, have their hairy fingers pointed towards you since “someone like Y/N needs extra checking” despite you never having missed a dead-line, and to be eyed by them while you’re just trying to get your papers— oh, fucking hell; that is, by definition, not respect, that is horror, and one more reason to finally just quit your job and—

“Baby, you’re home!”

You take deep breath.

“Here I am.”

“Allow me,” your husband hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his torso close to your back; he’s rubbing himself against you with the excuse that he’s helping you get that fucking bag from your hands, and you let out an exhale once the weight is removed from your grip and lands on the floor. He is masterfully not referring to the fact that you came a full hour later than the initial time you have texted him you would arrive, and rather focusing on the how your shoulders feel more tense than usual, massaging his strong thumbs into them.

“Thank you,” you sigh and lean the back of your head against his breast, for he’s towering over you like a guardian pressing gentle kisses onto your hair, making him one comfortable, cushioned wall. You feel a bit guilty for not having asked how his day went, but for all you know, he’s having a blast arranging his new studio that he wants to use in the future to produce with other music artists, but most importantly, help you earn money.

Your stay-at-home husband, Song Mingi. The man who makes it— the time, the work, the stress— all worth it.

“How do you feel, baby?”, he murmurs, kissing your temple while he’s at it. He brushed his teeth not too long ago, you can smell the remains of mint toothpaste at his lip. Is he being obvious? Yes, maybe. You're not complaining though. “Rough day?”

“Yeah,” you exhale and let yourself be touched by your husband, though it doesn’t make you as calm as it should in your heart. You’re not craving for any soft vicinity here, you want to smash something to the ground and stomp on it; you’ve spend the whole day surrounded by the loudest, noisy, dim-witted idiots who are certainly preying on your downfall if they don’t fucking—

“Tell me all about it, baby,” Mingi murmurs, his vocal chords vibrating against the back of your head, as he rests his chin on top of it. “I’m listening.”

Sometimes you ask yourself whether you would still be receiving the same comments, if your co-workers knew who Mingi was. Not because he’s some famous man to be afraid of, but because he is taller than all of them, has got a louder voice and could knock those douchebags out with his muscly arms— okay, maybe they should be afraid. Very afraid.

“No, it’s okay,” you breathe and turn around to get your arms around your husband’s waist and press your face into his collarbones that you didn’t realize were revealed. "Button up,” you murmur, almost annoyed that you can inhale Mingi’s comforting scent through the cleavage as well as you can. You wanted to stay angry for just a little bit longer, but your husband makes it nearly impossible. Not to say it doesn’t make feel you any less hot though.

“What do you mean?", Mingi pouts, "Is it not good? I showered! Just for you, baby.”

You chuckle and your lips graze his freshly-washed, freshly-lotioned baby-smooth skin. “No… It’s too good…”

Mingi gets his hands into your hair and rubs his finger tips across your scalp.

“What were you stressed about, baby?”, Mingi continues to ask you, applying a bit of pressure to his touch, his hand feeling like it’s ripping off the upper layer of your head in the best way possible.

“My co-workers hate me,” you murmur, teeth gritted. Your breast begins to slightly enflame at the thought of your co-workers’ faces, but your husband doesn’t seem to mind your tone as much, allowing your mind to roam freely.

“Hate you?”

“They, like, hate my existence.”

“What would they hate you for, baby?”, he asks, working his long fingers down to the lower side of your head, reaching for your neck to scratch it. His hand is well big enough to do all of it at the same time.

Preparing to answer his question, you inhale and exhale deeply, smelling the clothing and leaving it warm.

“They hate that… I’m already settled down at my age.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that I am as confident about it and— and as hard-working as I am…”

Mingi chuckles and strokes your hair one time to get your hair in its right place after having mushed it. His touch expands warmly on your scalp and it spreads like a soothing wave of comfort.

“They hate that,” you inhale, and then —with revelation— exhale, “I’m such a strong, successful woman.”

“There you go. My strong,” Mingi murmurs, and he’s letting his hands glide down your back, “successful,” further down your ass, “wife.” Squeeze.

“Oh,” you chuckle, fully aware that nothing is on your husband’s mind rather than to persuade you to get into bed with him. Cleaning his teeth, showering, putting on fresh clothes— Did he even shave his beard by himself? Wow.

After almost a year of marriage, some clues become very self-explanatory.

His amazing hands work their amazing ways on your ass, and as it goes for Mingi, he always prides himself that he can make you melt under his touch, especially when you come home from work late on days like these.

“You should just let your anger out on them next time,” Mingi smiles, cupping your ass with the big surface of his hand and you can feel how he’s trying to figure out whether he can raise you up like this— spoiler: he can— and continues to encourage you. “Or on me.”

Were you implying your co-workers should be scared of Mingi? Yes, but also no. For someone your size, despite seemingly being ever-so tiny in your husband’s embrace, to make it so big in such a short time is astounding; ground-breaking, even. You may or may not know, but Mingi finds you are one cold-blooded woman whose blood only boils when she’s being provoked, and if there is one thing your husband wants you to prove to your co-workers, it’s that you won’t think twice once you’ve got the title of being their supervisor.

Too harsh? Maybe. But that’s something you can consider when they’re begging you to accept their apologies, no?

“Don’t edge me on, or I might actually turn into the Hulk or something,” you laugh hoarsely and raise your head up to him. Mingi looks down immediately and grins, continuously groping his hands into your butt.

“You can’t scare me,” he lulls and kisses your forehead, “because you’ll always be my little baby, Y/N.”

“Ohh, shut it,” you sneer and can’t deny that Mingi is the only one who can make you feel this small, “I wouldn’t be too sure I can’t scare you.”

“Do try, please,” Mingi insists with a cheeky smirk and gung-ho, you’re raised from the floor, being carried to the bedroom. Was that a challenge you heard?

“Be rough all you want tonight, alright? I don’t think your stress is gonna get away our traditional way today.”

“Really? ‘Traditional’?”, you huff and raise an eyebrow, Mingi kissing your cheek, as he opens the door to your bedroom.

“It’s almost our anniversary, let’s try something new, baby. I'll do anything you want. Don't care about me. I'll just be... you know. I don't know.”

“What? Is my husband getting bored of being in charge?”, you gasp theatrically, easing your hands into his shoulders, “Does hubby want me to order him around?”

“Let’s get rid of the terminology,” Mingi mutters, a bit sheepish, not wanting to admit that he read the term ‘service top’ somewhere in the deepest corners of the internet earlier this evening and had to ask you when you came home. You coming home an hour later just made him travel further the needy path, imagining how good he could make love to you, when his "own pleasure isn't the focus" (that's a quote from the website.)

“I just want my wonderful wife,” Mingi sighs, as he lets himself fall on the mattress backwards, with you landing on his hard-on, knees propped next to his hips, “And relieve you from all your stress.”

You’re still in your office attire, got your tie on tight around your neck, everything that screams ‘not ready for bed’, but Mingi doesn’t seem to care for your sheets to become dirty. In fact, he apparently wants you to be the dirtiest you’ve ever been, huh?

His long, slender fingers hold you by your jaw, as your husband roughly presses his lips into yours, immediately opening up his mouth to get a second taste with his tongue. While he tastes like mint toothpaste, you taste like bittersweet coffee, diligence and dedication; you are dancing heavenly on Mingi’s tastebuds, and his tongue laps over yours eagerly to not let any drop of your essence go to waste. He’s making you feel wanted, no, he wants you, and as Mingi takes your blazer off, your own desire to have him grows bigger with each passing second.

Your legs feel a bit tight due to the fabrics of your suit, but it doesn’t prevent you from grinding yourself into him, pants interrupting your greedy kiss. “Let’s get this off,” Mingi murmurs into your lips, hooking his finger into your tie, loosening it up, pulling it until he can wriggle your head through.

“Let’s get all of this off,” you reciprocate and his hands are on your waist, as Mingi watches you flawlessly open up the buttons of your blouse, tongue running over his lower lip. “Your co-workers don’t know you,” he chuckles, admiring you sitting on top of him with a look in your eyes that he could feast on for days, “But they should know that you are, fuck, breath-taking.”

You move your hips over his crotch, enjoying hearing your husband gutter out his thoughts.

“You are eye-candy in that, baby,” Mingi heaves, “I’m getting kinda jealous of your co-workers here.”

Cheeky, you let the blouse droop over your shoulders, revealing your lacy bra. Saying that you’re eye-candy doesn’t put it into words, Mingi thinks, and gulps at the sight of you stroking over your own torso and your breast that is just being so perfectly pushed by your lingerie, and— though it barely needs any convincing for him to swathe his tongue around your pretty nipples and get even more prettier sounds out of you— your slight gesture gets your husband’s head fuming with the things he wants to do to you to make you crumble and eat it all up deliciously, not leave anything behind.

“I bet they don’t get to see this though,” he grins and with a quick, studied flick of his fingers, the tightness around your torso is released and your tits are out for Mingi stare into. “Only I get to see this, don’t I?"

You nod and sigh, when he traces the red indents from your underwear with his thumbs and wets his lips; but before you think he's being too gentle, Mingi doesn't let you speak out the words 'yes, only you do' and interrupts you with his mouth, his hands holding you by your waist.

"Mingi," you pant. He has pushed you over on your back to the mattress without warning, caging you in with his frame. "Sorry, baby," he grins, pulls off his tank-top, throws it on the floor, quickly— he's got things to do here!— and then zips open your pants, kissing you from your cheek down to your collarbones, covering your body with his fresh breath. "Works better this way."

Mingi hooks his fingers into your trousers and pulls it off until your panties are revealed to him, but before he's able to wriggle it down to your calves and finally have it off your body, he's having a moment to look at his wife laying in front of him; your glowing eyes are glancing up, waiting, no, teasing, urging him on to do what Mingi has been planning to do since the first time he asked you when you would arrive back home.

"Please don't mention 'work'," you hiss, pushing your tongue against the inner space of your mouth.

He knows. He has never been there at your work-place, and he never asks you more about it than he should, because Mingi does think that his distraction works way better than to rant for hours, and he sees it, feels it— your anger, your frustration, your stress— but does he... well, how should he say this... care for it?

No.

"Why not?", is what Mingi whispers into your skin to make you roll your eyes and border him in with your thighs, the pants that aren't off yet keeping him between your legs. Fuck, you're so hot when you're stressed.

Okay, wait, wait, wait— hear him out.

First, please forgive him. You really have to. Mingi would never say this out loud, not under any circumstance that doesn't include you directly asking for it, but shit, look at yourself right now. Enveloped by your open blouse, your perfect breasts hanging out of it like a window luring him to peek like the shameful man he is, your facial expression judging him for his fawning— you are a goddess in his eyes, Y/N. And gods get angry. And then, when they're angry, they're the most powerful they ever are.

So there you go; Mingi, even though he's a husband that has never, ever throughout your marriage or your relationship, made you angrier for more than 24 hours, kinda enjoys it when you come home stressed, gritting your teeth, panting, groaning— talking to him with umph. The stress makes you riled up, makes you breathe fire, shoot flames out of your eyes that seduce him to be even more ignited, just for you.

"Are you trying to challenge me?", you huff and Mingi makes himself comfortable, placing his elbows around the sides of your body, anchoring himself on your lower abdomen with his forearm.

"Baby," he grins, kissing the inner sides of your thighs, "I would never do such a thing."

Except he is. When you get— and your husband thinks he's a genius to think of this— 'worked up', you become demanding, slightly sassy, playful, and there is nothing Mingi loves more than his wife to tell him exactly what she wants, because he knows he can be a bit dense sometimes. He tries his best, always, to do things according to your liking, but usually, you just let him do his thing since sometimes you need nothing more than his presence.

"I would never tease you like that, my," he pesters, "baby." With his lips stuck at the last inch before he's able to get it near your clothed cunt, you scoff, pressing your thighs together to squeeze his face.

"You better fucking not tease me tonight," you warn him and Mingi bites his lip, feeling his already-very-hard cock twitch inside his joggers at the cause of your tone.

"I love you too much," your husband answers and moves his head around, his pointy nose grazing against your covered clit. Like an automatic reaction, you gulp and throw your face to the side, your hand intertwining with Mingi's long fingers that are resting at the seam of your panties.

"Oh, please," you taunt, “dare to give me your worst performance,” and you think you're safe, since his hands are occupied with yours, but when you are in bed with him, and proceed to tease Mingi like this, then you are never safe with your husband.

(Except the part that you are safe, and safe with the thought Mingi is indeed going to relieve you.) Pressing his tongue against the fabric, Mingi curves it into the band, pushing it with ease, without any type of struggle to— and you should've seen this coming— plunge his tongue into your folds. "Fuck, Mingi," you breathe and he's chuckling against your wet cunt, as he laps his wet muscle over your slickness to gather what has been collecting in your underwear, slow and sensually, though his heavy breathing tells you that he's going to feast on it in no time.

He ‘loves you’, you know that, but ‘too much'? — Can there ever be too much?

"Ohh, fuck, that's good, right fucking there," you groan, gripping into Mingi's hand. With your feedback, Mingi continues to purl over your clit, sucking the fluid so it can spread on his tongue and melt in his mouth.

No. There could never be too much.

You taste so delicious, and it goes without saying that Mingi finds it fascinating that you look even better from this angle; he can see every lash of yours flutter with the slow flicking of his tongue, adding speed as he goes. “Yes,” you whimper, “‘feels so good.”

His heart and mouth are cooperating wonderfully, as his lips are spelling words of awe into your labia; He’s pronouncing how good it feels so good to be your husband, how good it feels to do good— and oh, it is so good to be yours, Y/N. You can’t even believe. The sounds you let out tingle all of his senses and he’s definitely going to have to hurry with his studio, if he wants to eternalise them.

Mingi holds the eye-contact to not miss any of your expressions, laving at your cunt with bizarre flexibility that makes you twist here and there, but his forearm is pressing you down to keep you on your back. "Squirmy," he grins, babying you while you are unable to open move your legs, since your own set of trousers is keeping them closed together, "am I doing you that well?”

Panting because of how constrained you are despite wanting to move around so much, you throw your head down on the soft mattress. "Uh-huh," you exhale, feeling his tongue circle around your clit and tease itself into your entrance, "so well."

Mingi's head is spinning. He wants to make you cum so fast, but he also wants you to beg for your orgasm until your voice is hoarse from the moaning, just so he can see your ribcage move up and down the bed one more time, no, please so many times, and maybe he could get his fingers in so he can— fuck, didn't he plan this out?

He makes it look easy, but in your husband’s mind, he's puzzling and figuring out the ways to pleasure you the best way he can. Mingi heaves and laughs, noticing how he's been cutting himself short of breath, too excited to be pleasuring you. "You’re so beautiful, baby," he says, voice having become raspy and an octave lower than usual; it appears to you that he's drunk on your taste, "you're making me insane with that view."

You inhale through your mouth with your lip-corners pointing upwards, a bit shy with your husband's praise, but you have no other way around than to listen to Mingi's dreamy words. "Unnh-huh," you react, but once your husband is laving at your cunt again, talking amidst of it, you are becoming a mindlessly noisy mess.

"My pretty baby," Mingi murmurs, and as he does so, his mouth is flocking in your slick, tickling your clit repeatedly, "my prettiest, loveliest baby, so whiny for me, fuck."

"More, Mingi," you grunt, feeling like the blouse is keeping you tight, so you push yourself up and get it off your arms— Mingi uses his chance to pull your panties over your knees— and after that, the male digs deeper into your crevice, thighs pressing him in which makes him gasp for dear air, "please."

Your pleads are meaningful to him, make his heart jump, make his head click like he's a dog being asked to obey, and okay, Mingi doesn't think he wants to be a pet, let alone an animal, but— you know what? Your pleads not only show what a considerate wife you are, it also makes Mingi know how much you want him, and that’s the best feeling in the entire world, and he would do everything to chase your pleasure and praise.

“Oh, I got all night, baby,” your husband chuckles, he’s grinding himself against the bed, huffing and panting, tongue delving deep into you on your command.

He drags the intertwined hands of yours down the tiny bit it needs for his thumb to meet your clit, and as Mingi rubs extensively over it, your knuckles go white from how strongly you grip into his fingers.

Oh god, this is exactly what you wanted. His tongue, his lips, his hands, oh, his hands— his fingers; those ridiculously long fingers that cover your whole pelvic bone when extended— slender and rapid, frantically incautious over your cunt, so eager to push you over the edge, pull you back up and throw you over again and again; you love how they look against your body, on your head, on your neck, on your cunt, everywhere they travel during your desirous journeys.

"Aren't I so scarily good?", Mingi huffs, nervy and immodest, talking to get himself to breathe, clearly confident that you are feeling the best you've felt the whole day given the way your muscle was contracting around his tongue, when it was still in you; unfortunately you're unable to answer him with words, just letting out another gutsy "unnnh" as feedback.

"I know, oh, I know," he grins, his thumb rubbing over your clit like he's racing with your stuttered breath, but ultimately, he’s making you feel quite empty with the lack of his mouth at your cunt, and he’s making you feel that way on purpose, "I'm the best, I can do you the best—"

"Mingi! Your Tongue! Please."

After his pant, his mischievous little chuckle, you understand it, understand it all clearly: your naughty Mingi loves to be ordered around by his wife. Loves being ordered around knowing that, once his tongue is inside you, you'll do absolutely nothing to hold him back, and it does make you want to fuck him even more, doesn’t it? You love your husband, you feel so young with him, so undisturbedly yourself— and how loved you feel, too.

Humming a fond "I got you, baby", Mingi shuffles himself together one last time, your thighs sitting perfectly on his shoulders, and there he goes, driving his tongue into you, even more ecstatic than before; now, that you even begged him to, it's like your husband has taken enough of a back to duplicate the amount of vigor, exponentially getting faster and more impassioned. "Oh, fuck," you breathe out and with Mingi's tongue rubbing your inner walls wild and avidly, his thumb sprinting across your sensitive clit, you are heading straight to your first orgasm.

"Just like that," you whine, knowing very well that it gets your husband riled up well across his usual efforts, and you continue with it just to chase your high, "just like that, baby, just like—"

Hey now, did you just call him 'baby'? And how sneakily you did it, too! You know how crazy it gets him, you tease. Your husband’s tongue raves against your sweet spots and your slick gets combined with his saliva, his thumb using the moisture as lube to not miss any of the chances to make you squirm and spasm on his touches, but Mingi’s cock, his poor cock, twitches in the short moment his sweet, desirous pet-name is exhaled out of your pretty mouth he’s definitely going to need to kiss a thousand times until he can only taste the word “baby” on his lips.

His own pelvis is grinded deep into the mattress, and pearls of sweat form on both your foreheads, your eyes rolling to where you can’t see Mingi concentrating on your face, when it cums with a movement of your pelvis bucking up.

“… That!”, you moan, and Mingi pants, shovelling your come into his mouth, slurping it up so long until you physically have to wring with him to get his tongue off your pussy, but the trousers at your calves make it impossible. It’s Mingi’s choice here. And he’s not letting go.

“Ba—,” you squirm, rocking your body from side to side, “—by, please! Fuck!”

“Call me ‘baby’ one more time, just for me,” he lisps, laving his tongue against your throbbing, pulsating clit, all the while you try yank your ass down, overwhelmed by your prolonged pleasure.

“Baby! Baby, baby, baby—“, you whimper, and Mingi kisses your inner thigh, when he finally stops, satisfied by your calling. With one last peck on your clit, he lets go off your hands and slips out your chokehold, pulling off your pants by hooking his fingers in and sliding them off your feet. “Aww, look at you,” he beams, grinning, going through his hair and stroking his swollen lip, “all blushed away, reminds me of the older days, baby.”

“You are the worst,” you sob, and lay lax on the bed, legs once in for all extending and relaxing. Strangely enough, your head feels light, and your body that was straining and trying to get Mingi off of it, is now feeling warm and calming down from the high.

“Aw, you think so?” Mingi smiles, kissing up your leg, your hip-bone, pressing his lips on your abdomen, your tummy, your ribs, marking all of your body with his love-soaked mouth. "I adore you so much."

Having wrung with your husband, you got rid of some of the fighting needs, but— as you’re being smothered by him and his sweet antics— you sigh into the gentle, feathery contact with your skin, and play molten with his soft hair.

You remind yourself of his words, ‘don’t care about me’, but your husband would be a fool to assume that his wife doesn’t want to give him anything back. “Mingi,” you murmur— noticing that you’ve been closing your eyes due to the relaxation you are experiencing, and he immediately answers an attentive “yes, baby?” back, as he repeatedly kisses your jaw.

“Do you really want me to order you around?”, you hum.

“Haha, no, baby,” he chuckles, “it's just…”

Mingi harrumphes in his thoughts, wrapping his arms around your waist, laying his head on top of your tummy and looking up to you— whispering, "I want to do what's best for you. Especially on days like these."

Your heart throbs at the sight of your husband's hair being dishevelled, his already plump lips seemingly looking more peachy, rosy, kissable after he's eaten you out with more than greed and thirst; something that’s more valuable to a healthy marriage than the phrase ‘good sex, no ex’— Love. And the sweetest love there could ever be.

"You would do that for me, baby?", you ask him, your voice coming out sighed.

"Yes, of course," he insists, kissing you down your sternum, your ribcage moving up and down in a slow rhythm. “Baby, you work so much for us… I feel like this is something I can do for you in return, you know?”

“But what if I don’t make you cum?”

"Huh?"

Mingi stops kissing you and glances upwards. You grin. You wanted to catch him off-guard a little bit. (Though you don't know whether that's surprise in the white of his eyes or something like... intrigue.)

“… Uh,” he gutters, thinking about his words very carefully, but ultimately failing to find something good to say.

You smirk and go through his hair, gently grabbing a handful of it. “I think you’d find it hot."

"Really?", he asks, nervously huffing.

"Mingi, didn’t I edge you all during our early twenties?”

“Baby, don’t—“

“What? Well, I thought it was hot. I remember it being really hot.”

“Those were trying times.”

“We did try a lot of things during college.”

Reminiscing and visiting your rather youthful, spry days, Mingi pushes his head deeper into your hand and smiles, having calmed down from the rather exciting idea that you would suggest something so risqué to him. How long has it been? More than ten years, wow.

"Look at us now, baby," Mingi murmurs, sub-consciously wandering up the silhouette of your body with the backside of his hands, making you rather ticklish, but in a way that goosebumps find themselves on your skin, your breath feeling lighter with each stroke of his finger-tips, "Look at you." He inhales, and then exhales, your thumb resting at his ear, "You are trying to kill me, baby..."

"Ohh, Mingi, I'm not!", you giggle, and you may not know what your husband is talking about, but through his lenses— though you would be right to assume that these lenses are painted a deep, deep red— he's seeing his wife be tempered, moderate, relaxed. If he finds you so hot when you're fuming, Mingi finds you enthralling, when your eyes are barely open, the slightest of smile decorating your lips, and an even more hidden pink daubed on your cheeks... You're his wife, Mingi repeats to himself, and his heart grows double its size because of it.

"I love you," he murmurs, and for the moment, he doesn't even know he said that out loud, “I love you so much”, and means it more the second time.

And there you lay, on the mattress, your husband beginning to kiss you again, his hands cupping your head, your fingers interlaced in his hair. "I love you too," you whisper, and as Mingi grabs you by your back, inviting you to get your body up, you're right in the zone again.

Soft, smitten contact— it’s your lips this time to cover Mingi’s neck with kisses, down to his shoulders, his collarbones, your knee working against his crotch, arms swung behind his head.

“I want to take care of you, baby,” Mingi whispers, his thumb caressing your jawbone, as you peck away the sweat on his skin, he will need another shower. “I want to make love to you.”

You smile in awe of your husband lulling the loveliest of words into your ear, soft rustling from your sheets accompanying his voice. The room you decorated together, the home you fill, and even sooner, you'll start a family— with Mingi as a father to be proud of. Who has done so much to keep you happy.

"But sometimes I think—”

“No, baby,” you interrupt him, his voice was dropping and you know you are preventing Mingi from talking bad about himself. He feels guilty, though you've told him uncountable times that you don't feel like you're the only one under this roof.

"But—"

“Baby, no.”

"Okay... I guess I just love you, then." Mingi chuckles, when your fingernails trail down his breast, drawing a line along his muscle definition, “what did you think I was gonna say?”

“Something that’s gonna take me off my mood,” you hum, hooking yourself at his joggers. Mingi sighs, loudly, not yet relieved, but still at peace somehow.

“Make love to me, Mingi.”

A slight gasp leaves his mouth. Oh…

“Y/N… You can’t say things like that.”

With a smirk, your hand disappears in his joggers, and then in his boxers; his thick, throbbing, struggling cock slicking in your grip, as you wrap your fingers around it.

“I can, baby, and I will,” you sneer, “I thought you wanted the best for me?”

He grits his teeth, but Mingi smiles, finding himself at your service. “Am I the best?”, he asks you, leaning forwards to rest his head against your shoulder, pushing you down again.

“You’re the absolute best, Mingi.”

You slowly glide your hand up and down his length nibbling at his ear, exhaling, seducing him. “You’re the best husband,” you purr, “with the most handsome face,” kissing his temple, “and”, with your other finger hooked at the waist band of his joggers, you reveal “the best cock.”

Mingi is touched. A bit embarrassed, yes, it’s been a while since he’s heard you talk like this, but to hear from the best wife that he is deemed the best husband is the highest compliment he could have gotten. What, his face still charms you? His cock is still alluring to you? Don’t judge him, but even after ten years he will be moved by your words.

Moved.

“Come on, Mingi,” you coo, feeling your cunt pulsate between your legs, his cock twitch between your fingers; your husband gulps and, with your command, roams against your body, "let's get you to work."

Maybe he's really revisiting things from the past, after all the talk about your college endeavours, because you definitely recognise his canine teeth ever-so slightly sunken into your shoulder, as Mingi grabs you by your thighs and spreads your legs gently. Your body remembers, and his cock surely does as well, glistening in pre-cum as it is positioned at your cunt. "God, baby," Mingi grunts, and you lick over your lips in anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pouts, and in an almost reverent tone, Mingi brushes away a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“Not even your mom?”, you giggle, and while you think of your mother in law with utmost respect, your husband smiles, unfazed; “She’ll agree.”

And with that, Mingi is inside you, all of his length gliding into you with utmost caution; he’s driving in his pelvis unhurriedly, slow and deliberate, just so you can feel every inch of you inside expand for his girth, stretch for his entrance. "Fuck," you gutter and grab Mingi by his hair, pulling him close to you just as he begins to move, your moan coming out muffled against his lip.

"Never growing tired of it, are you?", Mingi grins into the kiss, and he's right, he's so, totally right, but your face is strained together in ecstasy, lascivious— aphrodisical to your husband. He's throbbing and he can feel how warm his own cock is, as Mingi pulls himself out of your tightness in his entirety and then, "fuck," pushes himself right back in inside you to experience it all again.

"I could never grow tired of my hubby," you chuckle and fuck, feel him, physically feel how he's getting excited about your words, something so enrapturingly hot boiling inside him; but while your personal heat ends up being your devilish little voice encouraging you to tease him, Mingi's does nothing more than to whisper him the most delicate ways of loving.

If he sucks on the spot right here at your pretty, graceful collarbone, will you sigh out an even more graceful breath? (Yes!) If he slides his tongue across your neck, just until your sensitive jaw, will you pull his hair with some type of feistiness? (Oh, god yes!) If Mingi, looking at you with sunken eyes, catches you off-guard and pistons his pelvis in at this exact moment, will you— "Fuck, baby!"

Oh, he didn't even need a voice for that one. Your husband slithers his arms under your armpits, one hand holding you by your back, the other resting on top of your head, so you don't hit the bedframe and hurt yourself, as it falls to the back with his thrust.

"Want me to say sorry?", he hums, again slowly driving himself out, knowing very well that once Mingi changes the direction, he will hit your sweet-spot again, and you shake your head rather weakly, drunken on the feeling of him filling you out.

"Good," Mingi confirms your answer, peppering kisses all around your forehead, as he quickens up his pace, breathing throughout it all. "Y/N," he sighs, you sighing with him for all the same reasons, "you feel so good."

You get used to the rhythm and let loose of the sheets, lightly scratching his skin at his waist. "You feel so good, baby," Mingi repeats himself and his eyebrows are pushed together, his grunts vibrating down your cunt. "Do you feel good, baby?"

Nodding, whispering a wispy string of a lot of 'yes'es, Mingi flashes his eye-smile and digs his face deep into the nook of your neck. He doesn't say it, because he's too busy panting, moaning, breathing out to his own thrusts, but your husband is overjoyed. You feel so tiny under his body— and maybe it's because you are, and yet the place you have reserved in his even bigger heart— which even in this moment, is beating for you and nobody else— is inexplainably huge. He wants to be yours as much as he wants you to be him, be with him, have all his life painted in your pretty colours until his canvas drivels over.

His cock is slipping in and out of you at fast speed now, your whiny moans encouraging Mingi to hold this angle since you're not stopping with it; "Are you close?", he asks and gets one arm of his out to rest his hand on the bedframe, towering over you, hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Yes, I'm close," you answer and search for another kiss, raising your hand to his cheek, Mingi immediately plunging his face into yours. He's close too, has been for a while now, but he had to get your confirmation that he was finally able to release himself into you— and then, when you nibble at his lip while a heavenly note of a moan leaves your opened mouth, Mingi's pelvis moves by itself.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he cusses, having to install one hand at your hips so he doesn't rock you around too much, voice becoming high and needy, greed messing with the practiced way he thrusts into you, becoming sloppy and all the while passionate, chasing the speed it takes to make you feel the best and even better. His other hand slides onto your clit, and it does so by muscle memory, knowing exactly where to rub so you clench around him, scream out his name.

"I love you so much, baby, I want you so bad, and I'm— fuck," he heaves, his voice catching up with his movement, "I'm going to love you until we grow old, baby, I want to be with you until the end of our days— I," and Mingi is rambling his free mind here, his whole body, mind and soul at your service, "I want you to have me forever, Y/N."

"Mingi," you whine, and his cock doesn't stop hitting your soft-spot, your clit tingling from his thumb, making you dopey, skipping you through time, to a future where you lay with Mingi in bed at the same late hour, both heads fuming from work, trying to your steam off together now, worried that your kids will hear your words, grunting silently into each other's ears, the words being, "I'm gonna cum!"

Oh, what good days await you two, and how straight you're heading for it, too— with Mingi's breathing being cut short, coming out stuttered from how fast he's ramming himself into you, not too rough, but fluidly and ceaselessly until you are gasping for air, feeling the string be stretched further and further, pulled for release, spiralled by your husband's vigor and his panting; "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum so fucking bad, fuck!"

Mingi soaks sweatily in your words, his hair chaotic, his abs glistening from the heat of it all— you yank your hand out his mouth, your lower body curling up— "Fuck, baby!"

And with your tightened cunt Mingi lets out a deep, whole-hearted grumble, falling flat on your body, as he spasms; his hot, thick semen shot seeps through along the tip of his cock out your cunt, needing to be fucked right back into you so it doesn’t get lost on your sheets— you seeing absolute bliss, as he pistons into you one last time, eyes focused on your husband.

“Baby,” Mingi pants, and with your gazes meeting, his lips rush over to your cheek, pecking you one, two, three times— and then, on your lips one, two— no, holding one long kiss with you, his plump, rosy softness making your body melt into the mattress, as it falls deeper in slumber. “I love you,” he whispers into your kiss, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “my baby.”

He pulls out, infamously slow, making you heave on his length even after you both finished. “Mingi,” you exhale, feeling your eyelids close by themselves, your husband slightly chuckling.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, caressing your waist and cheek, “you need anything?”

“Oh, Mingi,” you laugh; Mingi can't help himself, can he? Will always ask for your wishes, wishing to grant them, like he's some wizard, a magician, a devoted believer of your enjoyment and happiness— "You did all you could have done, baby."

"Really?"

"Come on, Mingi, you big baby, c'mere."

He huffs, a bit sulky maybe, your silly husband, getting the blanket from the bed to throw it over his shoulder and wham, over you— cuddling you in, for now ignoring that the both of you need a hot, steamy shower, just breathing in and out your presence, your sweet, dulcet presence, which caramelizes in his warmth, against his body, melting.

"Thank you for being there for me, baby," you smile, voice dampened by the blanket, but Mingi understands you just well enough.

You don't need to thank him. Mingi knows you know that. He's obsessed with you, and though you could try and say you're just as obsessed, your husband will try everything to your favour to prove otherwise.

As Mingi throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his breast, making you listen to his heartbeat, beating just for you, you hear him whisper all kinds of affirmations. 'I'll never leave your side, I'll never make you feel lonely, I'll be yours forever.”

A career? A family? A happy life?

It's all waiting for you, patiently, each day and night you leave and come back home— in office clothes and a chaotic mind— watching, admiring, hoping to get the weight of responsibility off your shoulders, get you a taste of freedom, a taste of the fruits of your labour.

"Are you asleep?", he asks and you groan silently, pressing your face deeper down his armpit. "Baby..."

Mingi chuckles. You need this sleep, totally, but you also need to be cleaned up, which gives him the challenge to grab you by your leg the most gentle way he can, lift you up— and, when you lie in his embrace, head snuggled into his breast— he’s careful to not wake you up with the sounds of water splashing down his hand, as he soaps you in.

It’s difficult, this is difficult, it will all be so difficult— but Mingi, being your husband, your soul-mate, your everything, he’s putting his all on it to make it work.

(Work you up, make you work for it; until your voice is hoarse, until your body shakes, until your head is light and you can do it, all over again, the next day, evening and night.

“Happy wife, happy life!”

(Maybe Mingi embraces his new role as the father of your children too much.))

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