#i don’t necessarily mean any of this in a bad way i think their genre of famous woman feminism is still leagues ahead of what many | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

niningtori · 2 months ago

Text

an iron man | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: beomgyu has only ever known how to live function as a rental sexbot. he fucks whoever and whatever comes his way with a forced smile plastered on his face. that is, until you, a self-proclaimed trainwreck, come along.

genre: android!au, sexbot!au, angst, romance, fluff (more than i ever thought i could ever write i fear...), skippable smut at the very end (will be marked)

warnings: very brief and vague mentions of beomgyu being forced to engage in sexual acts he does not want with previous clients, skippable smut at the very end (will be marked)

smut warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, praise, dacryphilia, sub!gyu

word count: 14.7k (trust i will not be writing this much again if this flops BWNWJSJEJDK)

notes: terrified to post this one because this is probably my favorite thing i've ever written and if it gets a bad reaction i might die :,) also very unsure if this is the best time to post it since it's during kinktober so i'm not sure if the demand is there but i love this work so so much i pray you all like it. if you don't read anything else from me, i hope that you read this bc i rlly care ab it :,) please don't be mean i beg

beomgyu doesn’t know how long he’s been living like this. living is an odd term, too, and it’s not just because “life” is ill-defined for an android, but because to call what he experiences a life feels like a bastardization of the term. his power is turned on at some point, usually late at night, he fucks or gets fucked by somebody he probably doesn’t know, then he does the same shit all over again. so yes, he may be “alive”, but he wouldn't dare to call what he experiences living. living is too precious of a term to be used so cheaply on a sex android who’s made available for rent for the highest bidder of the night.

he’s seen how people live through his scattered vignettes of human life. he only gets them when he’s powered on, but he soaks them up with pleasure because they’re the only thing he’s ever known. some people do it wildly, living unattached to everyone and everything. their lives are not completely dissimilar to his, in a way, except they have a choice in the matter. they have time to find themselves, what their likes and dislikes are, and they get to connect with people in a way he will never have the power to. others, though, live the kind of life he really wants. they live by loving and being loved, knowing and being known. he wonders what it’d be like to know somebody outside of whatever secret deviant sexual pleasures they have. he wonders what it’s like to be known, too, but he guesses you would need to have something for someone to care enough to know about in the first place. he has no such thing.

it’s a night like any other when he’s powered on by a total stranger. he briefly takes in his surroundings and notices that it’s a really nice place, but you wouldn’t be the first rich person to rent him — not by a longshot. next, he takes you in. now, there’s no reason for you to dress up, really. you have no need to tempt him, as he will be able to feign attraction no matter what you look like, but he still finds it odd that you seem to have forgone any effort to appeal to him, if only because most people’s fantasies require them to look and feel sexy; but you don’t look sexy at all. you look like you’ve just gotten home from a long day at work, and honestly? you kind of smell like it, too.

“do you think you could do the dishes for me? i’m exhausted,” you ask with a perfectly-timed yawn. what… ?

he short-circuits for a moment as he tries to think of an appropriate response. he’s never had anyone try to get him to do chores for them, but maybe this is some sort of weird roleplay? maybe you want him to act as a house husband for you before doing the deed, which isn’t necessarily a problem since he’s well-versed in acting, but there’s just one issue.

“i don’t know how,” he tells you honestly.

“you don’t know how to do dishes?” you ask curiously,

“it’s not in my programming,” he replies. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s embarrassed because of the way he hesitates and looks away from you when he says it. he can’t possibly feel that, though, so it must just be your imagination.

“oh… that’s alright. okay, do you know how to clean a room? mine’s kind of dirty,” you try.

“n-no,” he says, and he wishes the earth would just swallow him whole. he’s never failed at living up to expectations, and never so badly, at that. just what kind of fetish is this?

“that’s okay,” you sigh, and he may not fully understand it, but he can sense your disappointment. “well, what can you do?” and the question is not asked maliciously, but with what seems to be genuine wonder. ah. he knows how to answer this one. slowly, he walks up to you and loosens your hair. you look up at him in shock, but he just cups your face, swiping his thumb across your lower lip.

“i can do whatever you want me to, baby,” he whispers alluringly. “just tell me how you like it.” you’re so stunned at his switch in demeanor that you forget how to speak for a moment, but you quickly recollect yourself and pry his hands off of you.

“i don’t want you to do anything,” you insist. “i’m just tired. if you can’t help me clean, that’s alright. you can watch something if you’re bored. i think that’s it. well, goodnight.” beomgyu is malfunctioning at the moment. he thinks the gears in his head might be sparking while he tries to understand this new development. you don’t give him time to process it, though. you just slam your bedroom door shut behind you. he thinks he hears you lock it, too.

genuinely at a loss at the thought that he has nothing and no one to do, he sits himself on your couch. he tries not to make himself too at home at first, just barely making a dent on it and scooting to the very edge of the cushion as to not appear to be too relaxed. what if this is some sort of test? what if you’re actually going to come out soon so you two can fuck? until then, what should he do next? thoughts like this plague him until he accepts the fact that you are actually sleeping. your obnoxiously loud snoring is a dead giveaway, and he finally, finally feels brave enough to fiddle with your remote control.

he scrolls for something to watch. movies and shows have been on as background noise during sex before, so he’s somewhat familiar with them, but he’s never gotten the opportunity to pick for himself or actually pay attention to what's happening on screen. he settles on a romantic movie about a robot who joins human society. the robot falls in love with a human girl, but in the end, the robot has to leave the girl because the town won’t accept him, even after using him. she marries a human man and has children, and eventually grandchildren, too. she still loves the robot even though he’s gone, which he thinks is supposed to make him feel sorry for her, but all he can feel is pity for the robot, who spends the rest of his life alone.

it’s enough to make him cry, which he shouldn’t be able to do in a non-sexual setting, but he does it, anyway. it’s just so unfair to him. the girl is able to live a normal life while the robot is doomed to be alone forever. why? because he was born different? it’s not his fault that he was invented, but he spends the rest of his time on earth paying for the crime of existing in a world not built for him. the more beomgyu thinks about it, the more wronged he feels. he’s outright sobbing by the time you plop down on the couch beside him. he jumps up and straightens his posture while trying in vain to regain his composure.

“yeah, this movie makes me cry, too,” you quietly remark. he’s silent, not because he didn’t hear what you said, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to act after being caught red handed.

“can i ask you something?” you ask in lieu of his lack of a response.

“yes,” he feebly answers.

“why are you crying?” you question with a tilt of your head, but something in him tells him that you already know.

“because the movie made me sad,” he admits after a pause.

“are androids supposed to feel things like that?”

“... no,” he replies after a pause.

“then why can you?”

“i… i don't know. just please don’t say anything to my owners,” he pleads. he knows that if the company that owns him were to find out about this, he’d be scrapped in a heartbeat. or worse, they’d analyze him like a labrat to try to find the anomaly within him. his “life” as a sexbot will be over, and he’d really rather be a box of scraps than live as a case study in a lab somewhere.

“it’s okay,” you tell him with a reassuring smile as you watch him trying not to spiral. “i won’t tell them. it’ll be our secret.” beomgyu has never had a secret to share with anyone before, so he feels an overwhelming amount of excitement at the idea that he will finally have one. his chest feels warm at the thought.

“thank you,” he says with a grateful smile.

“no problem,” you reply with a yawn. “i’m tired, so i’m heading back to bed. i just wanted to get some water. goodnight, for real this time.”

“goodnight,” he murmurs softly. you return his words with a sleepy smile and go back into your room. he finds that he’s smiling even when you leave.

he spends the night consuming as much media as he conceivably can before he has to leave. usually, he'd be powered off after he’s done being used, so he greedily savors every moment he can. who knows if he'll ever get this chance again. when you wake up, you're surprised to see that he's exactly where you left him, still watching the screen intently.

“good morning,” you say while stretching your arms.

“good morning,” he replies.

“are you ready to be returned?” you ask.

“... yes,” he lies.

“okay. i think somebody will be here to pick you up in an hour or so. you hungry?”

“i don't really eat,” he bashfully answers. for some reason, he's embarrassed at the fact that you're treating him like a human while he's unable to fully act like one.

“oh. i guess that makes sense,” you nod.

things are quiet until he’s picked up, but it’s not an awkward silence. you sit next to him on the couch as you wolf down some breakfast and let him watch whatever he pleases. when he eventually hears knocking at your door, he feels an incomprehensible sense of dread.

“i think that's them,” you remark, breaking the silence.

“y-yeah,” he replies.

“well, it was nice to meet you,” you say, reaching out your hand for him. he’s unsure what to do with it. not missing a beat, you gently grab his hand and shake it. he's stunned at the physical contact, and he's still reeling when you let the man from the rental company in. you have a brief conversation with him before he walks towards beomgyu.

“goodbye,” you tell the android with a smile and a little wave.

“... good—” and the man switches him off.

the next time beomgyu is powered on, he’s in your house again. relief floods him when he realizes it. you don’t seem as exhausted as the last time he saw you. when that was, he has no idea, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was just last night because of the fact that he’s so popular he’s rented almost every day.

“hey,” you greet him with a smile. he’s still feeling relieved before he realizes that tonight might be the night where you ask him to have sex with you. maybe you were just tired last night and had no desire to fuck, but he can tell that you’re feeling more energetic tonight.

“i didn’t catch your name,” you add.

“... beomgyu. i’m part of the choi line, but i’m a custom model, so they gave me a name,” he tentatively replies.

“nice,” you nod, and you briefly introduce yourself before asking if he wants to watch a movie.

“watch… a movie?” is this some sort of euphemism for fucking? it wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard of something like this. as mentioned before, some people like movies as background noise.

“yeah, you can pick,” you say, casually plopping down on the couch and patting the cushion next to you. he hesitantly takes your cue, and he’s mentally preparing himself for what comes next before you take a blanket and cocoon yourself in it so tightly, it’d be impossible for him to touch you.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, and he jolts a bit when he realizes that he’s been staring in disbelief. “oh, are you cold? do you want a blanket, too?”

“‘m fine,” he replies.

“are you sure? the clothes they make you wear look a little thin,” you observe with your nose wrinkled, and he feels impossibly small under your surveying eye. “here, i’ll get you some sweats. i think soobin left some the last time he was here.”

“who’s soobin?” he asks a little too quickly. so quickly, in fact, he doesn’t even have time to process why he even asked.

“my friend. stay here, i’ll grab them for you.”

when you return, you have a long pair of sweatpants in hand and a big t-shirt.

“you can change in the bathroom. it’s down the hallway and to the left, okay?” he nods in response.

he strips his clothes off as best as he can, and it feels like he’s shedding a second skin. when he’s finished undressing, he pulls on the clothes you gave him and stares in the mirror. it’s in his programming to always be mindful of how he looks, but he feels especially self-conscious now that he’s wearing a normal outfit. he fixes up his hair and clears his throat before exiting your (messy) bathroom and making his way back into your living room. he finds you fiddling with your phone before you look up at him.

“took you long enough,” you tease, and he blushes, which stuns you. just how human is this guy?

“s-sorry, i —”

“hey, i’m just kidding. you’re fine. you look pretty good in those clothes — soobin would be jealous,” you chuckle. his ears perk up at the mention of soobin again. is he your boyfriend? he must be. why else would he have clothes at your house? is that why you don't want to sleep with beomgyu? because you have someone already? if that's the case, why rent him at all? but he is not brave enough to ask these questions, so he settles for a soft “thank you” and returns to his spot on the couch.

you toss him the remote and he catches it with ease before unsurely flipping through your streaming services. he finds something that piques his interest and turns to you with an uncertain look before you nod encouragingly. he selects it and lets it play. he doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself sinking further and further into the cushions as it progresses.

it’s a sweet movie — a romantic comedy about an amnesic woman whose memory is wiped clean every morning, but a man falls in love with her, anyway. she never remembers him, so he has to make her fall in love with him in a new way every day. he finds himself smiling throughout it, but a particularly funny scene has him actually laughing for the first time. it’s a squeaky sort of thing, and he has never laughed before, so he’s somewhat surprised as it leaves his throat. he looks to you in trepidation, but you just smile warmly and respond with a soft chuckle of your own. he finds that he looks to you every time a new development occurs, and you always answer encouragingly.

the end of the film surprises him. it’s bittersweet in that she never does get her memory back, but the man makes a video recounting their entire love story for her to watch every time she wakes up. it ends with them living happily together in spite of everything, and it’s enough to make him sob. he turns to you and sees that you’re teary-eyed as well, but you seem to be enjoying his reaction so much that there’s still a grin on your face. after the film ends, you can tell that he has something on his mind.

“what’s wrong? didn’t you like it?” you gently ask.

“i did. i just don’t understand,” he replies timidly.

“don’t understand what?”

“why he would do all of that for her, i guess,” he says.

“because he loves her. when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you always find a way,” you tell him, and the sentiment seems to strike a chord within him.

“even if they’re that different?”

“of course.”

beomgyu spends the following nights with this same routine. he’s switched on, sees you standing in front of him with a smile, gets comfortable, and watches as much media as he possibly can while you two chatter away about every scene. he learns much more from it than he ever did from experience with his previous renters, and he finds himself becoming more and more emotional by the day. you never try to question him or press him to explain any of his feelings, and it just makes him feel even more comfortable with you.

one day, he even feels comfortable enough to ask you a question. the question.

“can i ask you something?”

“of course! what is it?” you reply in earnest. beomgyu has never directly inquired about you.

“why do you rent me? i mean, i know we watch stuff together now, but why rent me in the first place?” and even when he feels exponentially more at ease with you than he ever has in any other context, he’s still nervous when he asks it.

“oh, my friend did it as a joke, i guess,” you shrug. “he thought i needed to get laid or something, but i’m not into stuff like that, so i just thought i’d ask you to help me clean. obviously, that’s what i actually need,” you giggle. what he feels at your words can only be described as disappointment. “stuff like that”? so you’re not into sleeping with sexbots? is it because you find them disgusting? is it because you find him disgusting? he’s not sure what he expected, but this wasn’t it.

“oh. so why don’t you buy a cleaning bot?” he asks softly, and while you are usually pretty perceptive of his emotions, you don’t register the fact that he’s at a loss right now.

“i dunno. my parents were always against that sort of thing. they thought it was wrong, i guess, so i didn’t grow up with them like everyone else did. i didn’t really have an opinion on them until i met you,” you tell him while grinning and lightly nudging him with your elbow. he tries his best to smile because, in theory, your words are really sweet. you see him as more than just another android, so why does he feel like that’s not enough?

the fragile connection you two have made seems even more fragile now. at least, it does to him. you only met each other because of a joke your friend just so happened to make, not because of fate or the divine intervention that he always sees in the movies. maybe in another world, your friend rented a different sexbot. maybe you’d even treat them the same way you treat him. the thought alone makes something ugly burn in his chest.

still, you are oblivious to the internal war raging within beomgyu.

“hey, i’ve got an idea,” you tell him, and he perks up a bit. “have you ever listened to music?”

“not really,” he replies solemnly. people have played it in the background of their sexual escapades, but he hasn’t really gotten the chance to listen the same way humans do. you finally register his crestfallen appearance, but you chalk it up to him feeling like he’s missing out.

“why don’t we listen to some? i can play a bunch of different genres so you can find what you like,” you suggest, and he agrees to it. truthfully, he doesn’t fully understand how music can be better than movies and shows, but he is curious to find out what makes it so special.

and special, it is. he doesn’t like every song you play, he realizes, but that’s only natural given how different they are from each other. he finds himself being drawn to the more emotional and moody ones, but he can’t help but enjoy the way you quietly sing and nod along to the more upbeat tunes.

as you continue to sit together, you begin to fiddle with your hair. you’re scoffing and loosening it for the umpteenth time before you’re about to give up, but beomgyu stops you.

“let me do it,” he says.

“do you know how?”

“i think i can. i’ve been watching you,” he says simply.

“... okay.”

you turn your back to him to give him access to your hair and he scoots closer to you. closer than you’ve ever been. his touch on your head is careful as he gently gathers your hair and begins to braid it. you’re not sure how much time passes because he’s actually quite slow, but it’s relaxing all the same. you find yourself softly humming to the tune of the song playing. the lyrics are a little dark, but you follow along in earnest, and beomgyu thinks he finally understands why people like music so much. for moments like this. he tries to soak up every detail he can, from the way the light hits your frame to the melody you hum, and he wishes this moment could last forever.

but you only have so much hair, so the moment does have to end, eventually. he ties up your hair and you pull out your phone camera to admire his handiwork. admittedly, it’s a lot better than anything you could’ve done. it seems that he’s a fast learner.

“this looks perfect! thanks, beoms,” you say warmly. he’s stunned for a second at the nickname.

“beoms?”

“yeah, like beomgyu. beoms,” you say with a casual shrug, and something in his chest blossoms. “i give all of my friends nicknames.” and something in his chest explodes at the title of “friend”.

“you do?” he asks excitedly.

“yeah. like, i call soobin ‘soobinie’ or ‘soobie’, sometimes,” you giggle, and the bloom of hope in his chest dies with it.

“are you two close?” he asks, even though he knows the answer will probably hurt him.

“very. he’s my best friend,” you answer fondly. oh. you’re beomgyu’s best friend — you’re beomgyu’s only friend, and tentatively at that. the idea that the deep connection he feels with you is even deeper with someone else, at least in your eyes, makes him feel sick. do you let soobin play with your hair? do you hum along to songs you’ve shown him while he does it? do you smile at him after he’s finished and compliment him on his skills? probably, probably, probably. the ugly feeling that was previously completely foreign to him now takes its usual place in his chest, and it makes his stomach hurt so much that if he could vomit, his metaphorical dinner would be all over the floor.

“oh,” is all he can say.

days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, but every time beomgyu awakens, he finds you smiling up at him. this can’t be good for your bank account — he’s quite expensive to rent, after all — but he’s far too afraid to actually bring it up. what if you realize just how much money you’re sinking into him and want to stop renting him? what will he do if you don’t want him anymore? he feels an incomparable sense of dread at the thought.

he prepares to sit on the couch and watch something, listen to music, or even play a video game with you. you two have gotten into them recently, and he’s discovered that he very much enjoys playing with you, even when you’re yelling at him and demanding that he stop letting you win. he can’t help but grin when he thinks about it. you start playing a song, and you do, indeed, invite him to sit on the couch, but you don’t sit down next to him and start babbling away about your day like you usually would.

“do you think you could do me a favor?” you ask.

“what, do you want me to wash your dishes?” he jokes, and you share a laugh before you say your next words, but all laughter and joy is profusely sucked out of him when you say them.

“no, smartass, but can you braid my hair for me? i’m going over to soobin’s tonight, and i want it out of my way.”

“soobin’s?”

“yeah, it’s been a while since i’ve stayed the night, and he said we’re way past due for it,” you tell him, and the world as beomgyu knows it comes crashing down around him.

“you’re staying the night with him?”

“mhm. he’s right, it’s been too long; but don’t worry, i bought a pass so you can play video games online. there’s even a headset so you can talk to people, if you want. maybe you’ll even make some friends,” you say while playfully waggling your eyebrows. beomgyu’s silence is pensive, to say the very least, and you worry that he’s apprehensive of making a friend that isn't you.

“seriously, you might like it. it’ll be good for you to meet more people, honestly. i’m sure it’s driving you crazy to only have me to talk to,” you jokingly add, but to beomgyu, it’s the worst joke he’s ever heard. no, it does not drive him crazy to only talk to you every day. in fact, even though he’s not conscious during the time you spend away from each other, he thinks, deep down, that he still somehow misses you when you’re apart. and no, he does not think he needs to have anyone but you. you are more than enough for him, so how could you ever think he needs more? again, he is taunted by that same strange and implacable feeling he’s been having ever since he met you, yet he can’t quite put his finger on it, even when he nods and tells you that he’ll try making new friends.

but as he brushes out your hair and you sing along to the words:

"i’m glad i didn’t die before i met you

but now i don’t care

i could go anywhere with you

and i’d probably be happy"

he finally understands what that feeling is. that warm, all-consuming feeling. that feeling of comfort, safety, and unconditional understanding. that feeling of infinite curiosity about the other person. that feeling of wanting to known and be known in a way so profound it physically aches.

yes, as he gathers your hair and ever-so-gently twists it in his hands in preparation for you staying the night with a man you clearly prefer over him, the feeling becomes clear as day. love. what he feels for you is love — an emotion he should never be able to even fathom, yet he does.

and it makes him loathe himself to a degree he never thought he was capable of.

he’s so put off by this sentiment, he almost can’t finish the braid because his hands are shaking so much, but somehow, he finishes, anyway.

“are you done?” you ask as you fiddle with your hair and look back at him.

“mhm,” he replies.

“yay! thank you!” you say giddily.

“you’re welcome,” he mumbles. you’re not stupid, so you notice that something is off about him, but you just assume it’s because he’s nervous about being left alone to make new friends. you feel guilty in a certain sense, but it’ll be good for him to branch out and meet new people, so you tuck the feeling away as best as you can before packing your nightly essentials and getting ready to leave.

“i’ll be back tomorrow morning,” you tell him, and he only nods with his lips pursed, which makes your heart feel sour.

“try not to miss me too much,” you tease, but it doesn’t seem to cheer him up in the slightest.

“have fun,” he replies weakly, and your previously sour heart now kind of aches, but you have to do this for him. you can't always be beside him for everything, right? besides, it's only for the night.

you open the door to leave, but before you go, you turn back to him and he senses hesitation in you. before he can question it, you’re opening your arms, and his eyes widen when he realizes you’re inviting him in for a hug. you almost regret doing it as soon as you open them for fear of making him uncomfortable, but he embraces you before you have time to process such feelings. on beomgyu’s end, he has always been wary of touch for obvious reasons, but he gravitates towards your open arms like he was meant to be in them.

he rests his chin on the top of your head for a moment and you spend an unknown length of time just standing with your arms wrapped around each other.

“i’ll miss you,” you admit, and before you can smack yourself for being so dramatic and sentimental over what will ultimately only be one night, you can swear you feel his grip tightening even more around you.

eventually, you break away and look up at him with a smile. you ruffle his hair and promise to see him later, and he answers you with a nod. then, you're leaving and locking the door behind you.

immediately, beomgyu feels a sense of loss he’s never felt before. after all, to experience loss, you must have something worth losing in the first place, and he has never had anything like that. at least, not until you. so he stands at the door for who knows how long, just like a puppy waiting for his owner to get home.

soobin can sense you’re out of it before you even finish crossing through his doorway, and it puts a halt to your typically overdramatic greeting.

“what’s the matter? are you feeling okay?” he questions concernedly as he pulls you in for a hug. you nod before you break apart from him and walk through the threshold.

“y-yeah. it’s just, i don’t know, i guess i just feel bad about leaving beomgyu all by himself,” you tell him as you plop down on his couch.

“the android you’ve been renting?” he asks incredulously. “i’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually. why’re you renting it so much? i barely even see you anymore. is the sex that good?”

“you know i don’t use androids like that,” you snap in annoyance, partially because he’s calling beomgyu “it”.

“i know, which is why i’m so confused. why rent it in the first place if you’re not getting anything out of it?”

you struggle to answer his question. you promised beomgyu you’d keep his secret, but you trust soobin, and you know he won’t judge him, or worse, report him. besides, it’ll be good to have an unbiased third party weigh in on the situation. with this in mind, you tell him about beomgyu, skipping over some of the more personal details. he’s in disbelief at first and actually thinks you’re just fucking with him, but as you tell him more and more about the time you’ve spent together, his smile falls and his face turns serious.

“so that’s why i feel so guilty about leaving him alone,” you finish with a deep sigh. he’s silent for a few moments before collecting his thoughts.

“god, i can’t believe this is actually happening,” he whispers.

“i know. it’s insane, but it’s true. he’s just so… human. you should've seen the way he looked at me when i told him i was leaving. i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone look so sad before.”

“well, you’re right about him needing to make friends,” he says with a nod, and it validates all of your misgivings about leaving him alone. “but don’t you think you should, i don’t know, think about what all of this means?”

“what do you mean?” you ask, and in that moment, he knows you have no idea about the way beomgyu probably feels about you. he’s not 100% confident in his deductions, but the way you describe how beomgyu acts around you pretty much tells him everything he needs to know.

“i mean, you basically have a completely sentient creature who relies on you for everything. if he’s as human as you say he is, then he can probably feel everything that we do. right now, i’d guess that he feels like you’re all he knows.” and the sneaking sense of guilt that was previously threatening to creep up on you is now completely overwhelming. you’re all he knows. and you left him all alone to fend for himself and make his own friends. yes, he needs to learn how to make connections, but how could you expect him to know how to do that? it took weeks for him to finally seem comfortable around you, so how could he possibly know how to make them on his own? moreover, even though it's nothing to you, you're his entire world. he must feel like you abandoned him.

“i’ve gotta go,” you mumble.

“what?” he asks.

“i–i’ve gotta go home,” you repeat as you hurriedly stand up and hug him goodbye.

“wait! i think you should —”

“love you, bye!” you shout as you book it out of the doorway.

when you return home, you open the door to see beomgyu listlessly staring at the television screen. when he hears you, he turns to look at you with watery eyes. he looks so lost in this moment, and all of your suspicions are confirmed.

“beoms, i am so sorry,” you tell him as you rush over and throw your arms around him.

“for what?” he asks with a gulp as he stays in your embrace, shakily wrapping his arms around your waist.

“i’m sorry for leaving you all by yourself. i thought it was just for one night, so it’d be alright, but you don’t have anyone but me right now; and i realize that it’s unfair for me to expect you to meet other people all on your own when you’ve never had to do it before. if you want friends, i’ll help you, okay? i’ll be there with you as you do it,” you tell him, and you feel his body trembling.

“i-i’m sorry. i know it’s not a big deal, but when you’re not with me, i feel so scared. i… i don’t know how to do anything by myself. i’m s-sorry i need you so much,” he whispers, and your heart breaks.

“don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “how about this: i’ll join you online and we can talk to people together. then, when you’re ready, you can start hanging out with my friends in person, too, okay? we can keep going until you don’t need me anymore.” beomgyu outwardly agrees, which seems to put you at ease, but there’s just one issue: he’ll always need you.

gaming online is actually really fun, but making friends is hard for someone like beomgyu. he’s quiet and a little awkward at first, but after a few nights and with your help, he finally warms up to the people he games with. he gets so comfortable, in fact, that he’s even able to shit talk with them a little.

“fuckkk, that’s so unfair!” his new friend, kai, wails over the headset.

“it’s not unfair, you just suck,” beomgyu chuckles, and kai whines again. you laugh at their interaction before kai continues.

“how are you so fucking good at this game? you’ve only been playing for a few nights, and you’re already better than me!” he pouts.

“i’m just gifted,” beomgyu boasts.

“very true,” you add, and he beams, but kai’s next words throw him off-kilter.

“whatever. stop asking your girlfriend to argue with me — you two make me sick,” he jokes with his signature maniacal laugh, but the two of you are too stunned to laugh along. you look at each other in sheer embarrassment, and you can see beomgyu’s ears turning bright pink beneath his blond hair. you’re not sure why you feel so mortified, but you do. this is beomgyu, for god’s sake. there’s no earthly way you could ever see him in anything other than a purely platonic way, so why does your heart feel uneasy at the notion? while you’re still too stunned to speak, beomgyu tries to pipe up and respond.

“sh-she’s — we’re not, uh —”

“damn it!” kai yells as his character dies yet again, and any momentum beomgyu previously had to clear up the misunderstanding is killed stone dead in its tracks.

he turns to look at you unsurely, but the awkward moment seems to have passed for you as you laugh at kai’s character’s death. if only he could be as unfazed.

after kai goes offline, you two decide to quit gaming for the night. you turn to beomgyu nervously, and he immediately knows that you’re going to say something serious. he hopes beyond hope that it’s not about what kai said.

“can i ask you something?” and his heart sinks. oh god, you probably caught onto his feelings. he’s not sure he has the confidence to tell the truth, but how could he lie to you?

“y-yes,” he replies, voice a bit unsteady.

“okay, you can say no if you want, but soobin invited us to a get together he’s having pretty soon. it’s not anything too crazy, so there’ll only be a few of us. i think it’ll be a good start for you. maybe you’ll even make some new friends, you know?” he’s silent at your words just out of sheer shock. he’d definitely missed the mark when guessing your intentions.

“it’s okay to say no,” you hurriedly add, “but my friends are really nice, and i’d be with you the entire time. even if you don’t talk to anybody, you can talk to me.”

“okay,” he agrees before he can even really think about it. he guesses he’s just relieved that you still don’t know about his feelings, but part of him aches even still.

“really?” you ask incredulously. “oh my god! i have to tell soobin — he’ll be so excited!” you babble, and his lips curl upwards at how happy you are. he wishes he could always make you happy like this, and it seems that he’d agree to absolutely anything if you were the one asking.

work has been especially taxing today, which is nothing new, but you have this insatiable suspicion that something feels… off as you finish up for the day. as you’re about to head out for the night, you wonder what beomgyu will want to do once you get home. maybe he’ll want to play games with kai, or maybe he’ll want to watch a movie with you. maybe he’ll let you cuddle up to him for warmth, which he’s been very willing to do, lately. the unspoken rule that you two will never touch has become blurry for some reason, but you’re pretty touchy with all of your friends, so it only feels like a matter of course to you.

you’re thinking about all of the potential ways tonight could play out when it hits you: you didn’t reserve beomgyu. you spit out a curse and hurriedly take out your phone to book him, but it’s too late. he’s already assigned to someone for the night. fuck.

when you get home, you’re anxious beyond belief. you haven’t spent a night without beomgyu in months, but more importantly, he hasn’t spent a night without you. you try not to think about how scared he will be when he’s powered on in a stranger’s home. you hope he’s able to just switch back to his initial programming, but somehow, you just know it won’t be that easy. you feel sick with worry when you think about how someone so human will have to involuntarily turn his feelings off and pretend to enjoy something he’s being forced to do — with no compensation, no less. he must think you abandoned him. he must think you don’t care about him. how could you forget to reserve him when he needs you so much? fuck how busy you were with work, his wellbeing should have been your first priority.

so you sit and watch the hours tick by. you try to relax. you try to tell yourself it’s only for one night, and he’s been doing it for years, but something just feels wrong, wrong, wrong. you’re about to try to force yourself to go to sleep so the night ends more quickly when you hear a rapid knocking on your door. it’s strange for someone to call on you so late, indeed, but when you look through your peephole, you see none other than the very boy you’ve been worrying about.

“beomgyu?” you say incredulously when you swing open the door. immediately, he embraces you, and you feel hot tears streaming down your neck as he nuzzles his face into it. you hold him as best as you can as you rub circles into his back and try to shush his cries.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” you tell him, and he whines. you try to break away to get a good look at him, but he just pulls you in even closer, as if you’re his only lifeline in this world, and in a way, you are.

after his breathing slows and his sobs die out, he reluctantly parts from you, so you hold his hand and lead him to your couch. his eyes are swollen and bloodshot while his nose is a bright pink, but he never once takes his eyes off of you for fear of letting you out of his sight. in his mind, you can’t leave as long as he can see you.

“are you alright?” you tentatively ask, hand still holding his and soothingly caressing it in an attempt to calm him down. he goes to nod before stopping himself and shaking his head in the negative. your eyes soften even more at the action.

“do you want to talk about what happened?” you try, and he nods before clearing his throat.

“i, um, i woke up and i was at this woman’s house. she… she wanted me to get undressed, but i didn’t want to, so she started doing it for me.” you wince at his words, but he’s not finished yet.

“she kept touching me, and it was so disgusting i just — i just couldn't stand it, so i ran away and came here. i don’t mean to make your life harder, and i won’t ask for you to stay the night with me anymore, but if you could just let me stay here, i promise i’ll learn how to clean or do anything you want. please, just don’t make me —”

“beomgyu, stop it,” you say softly, but firmly. “you are not making my life harder. you can stay here as much as you want and do whatever you want while you’re here. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for this to happen. i was just so busy with work, and by the time i realized it, somebody had already booked you. i promise you that it’ll never happen again, okay? so you don't have to be afraid. i’m not leaving you, and i won’t let anyone hurt you, either.”

you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone look so relieved before. it looks as though you just saved his life, and to beomgyu, you essentially did. he holds your hand even tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of this planet.

“wait here, i’ll get you some clothes,” you say gently, but as you go to leave, he holds you even tighter. your eyebrow quirks in a silent question at his actions, and he looks sheepish for a moment before saying his next words.

“c-can we just stay like this for a bit? just for a little while? i’m still scared,” he mumbles, and your heart melts.

“of course. come here,” you beckon, and he falls into your arms and rests his head on your shoulder, breathing your scent in as he tries to imprint this moment into his hardware. you stay like that for a while before you finally convince him to change out of his uncomfortable clothes. he reluctantly lets you go, and his eyes follow you everywhere you walk.

that night, you stay up later than usual to spend more time with him. he stays glued to your side and ensures that he’s always touching you in some way, which is endearing in a way you can’t seem to put into words. when you’re about to head to bed for the night, you swear you hear him whimper, but he lets you go, anyway. as you lay your head down and get comfortable under the covers, you hear a timid knocking on your door. you call him in, and his gaze shyly flickers between you and the floor.

“c-can i stay with you tonight? i won’t bother you, i swear. it’s just — i just still feel weird. y-you can say no! i just thought that —”

“come here,” you softly interrupt, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen. he closes the door behind him and shuffles towards you, stopping uncertainly at the edge of the bed in a silent plea for permission to enter it. you feel a weird, warm feeling in your chest when he does it. you scoot over and pat the open space next to you before he gathers enough courage to slide in. you cover him with your blanket, and he stiffly accepts it. you giggle at his awkwardness and cuddle up to him, placing your arms around his waist before thinking better of it. how could you just invade his personal space when he’s clearly traumatized? you go to remove your arms and scoot away before he firmly locks you in place.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, settling himself into your embrace and mindlessly toying with the ends of your hair.

“are you sure?” you ask.

“i’m sure.”

it isn't long before beomgyu hears your breathing slow down, and eventually he hears you begin to snore. he smiles at the sound. he can't really sleep, but he's perfectly content with watching you rest. he continues to play with your hair, and you nuzzle into his touch every so often. he doesn’t want to repeat the events leading up to tonight, but he would do it all over again — any number of times — with a smile on his face if it meant he got to be with you like this again.

the next morning, beomgyu waits for the usual delivery guy from the company to pick him up, but it’s currently way past the usual pickup time. he’s most certainly not complaining, but you don’t seem even remotely fazed by the matter. however, while you’re casually flipping through your streaming catalog literal hours after he’d already be gone, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“um, d-do you know when i’m being picked up?” you pause, and he worries that he may have said the wrong thing before you turn to him.

“do you want to be picked up?” you ask solemnly.

“n-no! of course not. it’s just, you know, i’d usually be gone by now, so i —”

“do you want to stay here? with me, i mean,” you interrupt.

“i… i do,” he replies with a gulp. usually, that’d be all you get from him, but it feels like the perfect opportunity to be honest about his feelings. “i always want to stay with you, but i know i’m expensive, and i don’t want to be a bother.” he looks ashamed as he admits it, but if he had the courage to look in your eyes, he’d note the fondness that lies within them.

“i told you that you’re not a bother to me. i also told you that you could stay here for as long as you want, remember?” and he does, so he nods.

“alright. i meant it when i said it last night, and i mean it now. if you want to be here, you can stay for as long as you’d like. you don't have to worry about your owners anymore, i promise.” and he thinks he’s never seen you as serious as you are now. he wonders what you mean before it dawns on him.

“you… did you buy me?” he asks in disbelief.

“y-yeah. i’m sorry, it sounds so gross when i hear it out loud, but that doesn’t mean that i own you or anything. what i really wanted to buy was your freedom, so you can stay as long as you want, but that also means that you can leave whenever you want, too.”

“i’m so sorry,” he says in a hushed, hurried tone. “i know i'm expensive. i’m really sorry.”

“money is not an object to me,” you dismiss in faux arrogance with a wave of your hand in hopes that it’ll lighten the mood, but beomgyu can’t stop the tears from falling over his waterlines, and you’re afraid your attempt to help him only made him feel more indebted to you. all worry is promptly washed away when you feel him pull you into his arms.

“thank you,” he just barely breathes out. “i don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back, but i’ll try, i swear.”

“you don’t have to do anything for me, beoms. i should’ve done it a lot sooner, but i’m just a little slow, i guess,” you muse, and he chuckles softly into your neck.

sleeping with beomgyu should’ve only happened once, but every night when you say you’re heading to bed, he looks at you with puppy eyes and you find yourself inviting him to come along. each time, he looks so excited that if he had a tail, it would most certainly be wagging. he obediently follows you to your room and settles into the empty space next to you before holding you in his arms as you drift off. he’s even taken to humming the tunes of songs he likes when you struggle to settle down, and his baritone voice lulls you to sleep like a charm every time. he spends his time by just looking at you and trying to reconcile with his new reality. this is real. he gets to spend however many nights he wants next to you, as per your own words. even if you didn’t mean them, he plans to take them seriously. he is perfectly content with spending the rest of his life just sleeping with you, looking at you, being with you.

soobin’s get together is tonight, and you look different than usual. your typical look is very casual, which makes sense because you’re only ever at home when you’re with him, but you are now primped and ready to be seen, and it makes him anxious because you look even more lovable. he knows these people are your friends, so they must’ve seen you dressed up before, but that only makes him all the more uneasy; they know a side of you he is only now seeing, and it makes that same old ugly feeling he's grown so accustomed to sprout in his chest.

when you arrive at soobin’s place, the first thing you do when soobin swings open the door is jump in his arms like you didn’t just see him a week ago. he spins you around with a dimpled grin that’s so sincere, beomgyu feels emotionally decimated by it. you both giggle as you break apart, and the jealousy beomgyu feels brewing within feels unpacifiable.

“is this beomgyu?” soobin asks, grin still very much apparent.

“yes! you’re gonna love him,” you answer giddily.

“it’s nice to meet you,” soobin says warmly while stretching out his hand, which beomgyu awkwardly shakes while he tries to force his lips to curl upwards in what he prays is a believable smile.

“nice to meet you,” he mumbles.

“everyone’s already here, but you’re late as always,” soobin playfully chastises, and you pout in response.

everyone greets you when you walk in, mostly by hugging you and lightheartedly scolding you for not coming out anymore. they’re very clearly bantering with you, but each reproach feels like a knife to beomgyu’s heart. he’s the reason you haven’t seen them in so long.

clueless to it all, you introduce him as your friend to everyone, which only makes him feel worse, somehow. he is just one friend out of many, meanwhile you’re his entire world. you’re far too caught up in the joy of seeing some of your favorite people after so long to notice his dismay, however.

you lead him to soobin’s couch to have a seat with you and one of your friends, taehyun maybe, offers him a drink, to which he awkwardly declines. you quickly follow up with something to the effect of “he isn’t much of a drinker,” and beomgyu nods in affirmation. you try your best to include beomgyu in conversation, but they’re all talking about people and places he doesn't know. all he knows is you, and the world you two built together seems smaller and smaller with every new topic of conversation.

he notices that soobin seems to be eyeing him somewhat strangely, though he tries his best to play it off. he could just attribute it to surface level curiosity, but his intuition tells him it’s much deeper than that. is soobin sizing up his competition? maybe so, but there’s not much to see. beomgyu is handsome, and he knows it, but soobin knows a side of you beomgyu has only ever heard stories about. you’ve told him about your friends and the goings on between you and your coworkers, but it pales in comparison to actually meeting them. he makes an internal note to ask even more questions than he usually does the next time you’re telling him about your day. until then, he sits as close to you as humanly possible and clings onto your arm, which is so second nature to you, you don't even notice that he’s doing it.

soobin, who is usually not the inquisitive type, can’t help but question the dynamic between you and beomgyu. at first, the lingering glances and intimate gestures were innocuous enough to be written off as mere friendliness, but when you whisper something in beomgyu’s ear and he flushes a bright pink, soobin knows he can’t ignore it any longer. he especially can’t ignore it when you turn away from beomgyu and he raises a hand to the ear you just whispered into as if he’s reliving the moment. well, time to test his theory.

soobin slides into the open cushion next to you and begins excitedly chattering about how pretty you look tonight, and he even takes your braided hair into his hands and twirls it between his fingers.

“your hair looks pretty,” he muses.

“beomgyu did it, actually,” you grin, and soobin glances over to said boy, who is currently glaring daggers at him. the look in beomgyu’s eyes is so intense, he almost wants to back off, but he has to get to the bottom of this.

“did he? you know, it’s been a while since you stayed over. wanna have a sleepover tonight? you have some clothes here from last time, and we can cuddle, i know you like that,” he says as innocently as he possibly can.

before you can even reply, beomgyu is slamming his hands on the coffee table. you turn to face him in surprise, and the look on his face is the angriest you’ve ever seen him. his eyes are dark and his nostrils are flared as he heavily breathes. he’s never been angry at all in front of you, actually, so to say you’re taken aback is the understatement of the century.

“beoms? what’s wrong?” you ask concernedly, completely turning away from soobin. your voice is enough to somewhat placate him, but before he can fully calm down, soobin is saying his next words.

“i’m sure he’s fine. beomgyu, you can find your way home tonight on your own, can’t you?” beomgyu is positively seething at this. before you can question him again, he’s gripping your hand so tightly it’s like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning, so you excuse the both of you and drag him to the bathroom for some privacy.

“are you alright?” you ask, frantically scanning his figure for some sort of sign of pain or discomfort.

“i-i’m fine, i just, uh, i don’t feel good,” he says flatly.

“what’s wrong? is it too much? do we need to go home?” he’s so flustered, he barely registers that you’re calling your house “home”, but he still notices it in spite of everything, and it’s like a balm on his aching heart.

“y-yeah, can we go home? please?” he pleads, and you hurriedly nod.

“of course, just let me say bye to everyone before we leave, okay?” and he wants to say no, but he’s as weak as ever in front of you, so he relents.

that doesn’t stop him from gripping your hand, though, as you say goodbye to everyone. you go to give soobin your usual hug, but beomgyu pulls you back to him even more tightly. you write it off as him not feeling well and just wanting to leave as soon as possible, to which you oblige, and before you know it, you two are scurrying out of soobin’s place like there’s something chasing you.

as you’re driving home, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket, but it isn’t until you’re walking through your doorway that you check it.

soobie: we need to talk. call me as soon as you get home

you’re worried beyond belief at his serious tone, so you tell beomgyu that you’ve got to make a call before ducking into your bedroom. you don’t shut the door behind you, because why would you?

you quickly call soobin and the line connects after just one ring.

“what’s wrong?” you ask anxiously, and soobin just sighs, which makes you all the more anxious.

“we have to talk about beomgyu.”

“beomgyu? what about him? is something wrong?” you question.

“yeah, i mean, maybe. this might sound crazy, but i think — i know — he likes you.” you’re stunned silly for just a moment before bursting into laughter.

“likes me? what the hell are you talking about?” you dismiss, and you sense his agitation even through the phone.

“i’m serious. i had a feeling before, but tonight just confirmed it. he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment, just trying to process his words, but once your mind somewhat clears, you can’t help but deny, deny, deny.

“you’re wrong. it’s not like that at all. i’m just the first person who’s ever treated him nicely, and i —”

“you’re not listening,” he cuts in irritatedly. “he looked like he wanted to skin me alive tonight. how else do you explain that?”

“soobie,” you sigh. “you’ve got it all wrong. maybe you’re right and maybe he was feeling insecure, but that’s probably because i’m the only person he knows. he most likely just felt like you were stealing my attention away.”

“you’re always so dense about these things, you know?” he groans. “okay, look, i’m not sure how they came about, but i do know that he has feelings for you. maybe it started out as dependence, i’m not sure, but it’s definitely much more than that now.”

“that’s impossible,” you snort, actually feeling a bit impatient now. how could he possibly think that your relationship with beomgyu was anything other than platonic?

“why? because he’s a robot?” oh, that shuts you up. “just think about it. if he were a human, would you still be saying the same thing? like i said before, if he’s as human as you say he is, he can feel the same way we do, and he’s definitely capable of feeling love, too.” you are, again, stunned into silence. suddenly, as if there was a fog that covered your brain before, things that you never really considered become clear to you. the soft touches, the gentleness. sleeping in the same bed and waiting for you to get home. wanting you — needing you — around all the time. the way he plays with your hair. the way he’s so interested in everything you have to say. the clinginess, the dependence. it all makes so much more sense to you.

“i —” you begin, but you just so happen to glance up and see beomgyu right outside of your doorway… looking absolutely devastated.

“i’ve gotta go,” you tell soobin as you hang up, not even bothering to say your usual goodbye.

“beoms, did you hear us?” you ask tentatively, and he flinches a little bit before looking down at the floor and nodding.

you’re unsure of how to navigate this situation from here, but while you’re still trying to figure it out, beomgyu speaks.

“i-i’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly. “i understand if you don’t want me anymore.”

“w-what? no, i —”

“i’m just really sorry,” he says, looking as ashamed as a person ever could. “i know it’s wrong, i know it’s disgusting, but i —”

“beomgyu.”

“but i can’t help it. i wish i could, but i just can’t; and i understand if you want to return me or whatever, but if you could just —”

“beomgyu, stop it,” you interrupt firmly, no room for argument. he stares at you with defeated eyes, and you feel your heart break in two. “i am not disgusted, and i don’t want to return you.” his eyebrows furrow as if he doesn't quite understand, so you continue.

“your feelings are not disgusting to me, don’t ever say that again, okay? please? it makes me sad,” you plead, and he hesitantly nods. “i think it’s normal, actually. you don’t really know anybody else other than me, so of course you’re confused.”

“confused?” he asks incredulously, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“confused,” you nod. “it'll change once you meet more people, i swear.” you try to smile reassuringly, but suddenly, you see tears welling up in beomgyu’s eyes.

“beoms?” you carefully try.

“i don't need to meet more people. i just need you,” he chokes out. “don't tell me i'm confused because i'm not. i-i'd rather you just say you don't want to be with me than tell me that.” your heart clenches at his words, but he continues.

“i just want to be with you, no one else,” he tells you desperately. “i can understand if you don't feel the same way, but i can't stand to hear you say i don’t love you, because i do. i really, really do.” and as if you're dissociating, your mind is bombarded by times where he's shown you this exact sentiment. again, you go back to every intimate moment you two have ever shared. it was easy to just chalk it up to his lack of experience, but when he's telling you that's not the case so earnestly, is it truly possible to still believe it’s nothing? after a while, you decide that it most certainly is not.

the question is: do you feel the same way? you try to put a name to the feelings you have when you’re with him. the trust you have, the understanding. the desire to share everything you know and like with him, no matter how mundane it may seem to others; and consequently, the endearment towards him when you see how eager he is to listen. more than that, the intimacy between you two. how you like waking up to him smiling down at you, and how when something happens, he’s the first one you want to tell, good or bad. how when you listen to new music, you feel excited at the prospect of sharing it with him.

you realize you want to know more about him, the happy things and even the sad things. why he is the way that he is, why he thinks the way he thinks. the peace you feel when he’s running his fingers through your hair and holding you close when you watch the same film for the dozenth time. you try to picture a world where somebody else rented him. a world in which somebody else got to see him as soon as they wake up or as soon as they get home from a particularly grueling day at work, and you finally understand that you wouldn’t like that at all. but why? you’ve only ever thought of him as a friend, right? so why does it matter to you?

your eyes focus on beomgyu again, and you notice how utterly defeated he looks. his heart is on full display for you — and you alone — as tears stream freely down his pretty, doll-like face. are these tears just for you? you think so. is it safe to trust that these feelings he has for you are real? you’re not sure, but you want to. still, there’s something stopping you.

“i think… i think i feel the same way,” you admit, and his previously downtrodden appearance immediately lights up with hope. “but we shouldn’t.” and the words are like lead in your mouth.

“why not?” he asks, clearly distressed. you just gave him an inch, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take a mile. he never in a million years would have thought that you’d ever reciprocate his feelings, so he can’t just let them go so easily.

“i just… it’s just not something that i can —”

“is it because i’m an android?” he questions, voice teeming with self-loathing.

“n-no! i mean, we’re just so different,” you tell him, trying to skirt around the topic as best as you possibly can, but he won’t have it.

“whatever it is, i’ll change it. please? i can do anything,” he pleads.

“it’s not like that. i want to, but we can't. i-i'll get older. i won't look the same — i won't be the same,” and it’s embarrassing as hell to admit it out loud, but you mean it. beomgyu’s urgent gaze softens, and he inches closer to you before he’s standing before you. he reaches out to gently cup your face and tenderly pushes your hair behind your ears.

“and what about me?”

“what about you?” you scoff, but you don't pull away from his touch, though your eyes do dart away. “you’ll still be you, and i’ll be old and —”

“what about when my parts start creaking? what about when i don’t remember things like i’m supposed to? you’ll still love me then, right?” he asks, but he already knows, and your eyes snap back to his.

“th-that’s different. you can get repairs. i can’t —”

“then i won’t. you’ll get old and gray and i’ll get rundown and out-of-date. i don’t care what happens, as long as i’m with you.” you’re silent in the wake of his heavy words, so he quickly continues.

“you told me that when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you said you always find a way, and i want to find a way to be with you.” your heart simultaneously warms and aches at this sentiment.

you consider what it would be like to be with him. things would be difficult, yes, but not impossible. maybe you’ll come to regret it someday, but you don’t want to think about that right now. you feel like the luckiest girl in the world when you think of the fact that somebody so beautiful, inside and out, wants to be with you. you don't think you’ve done anything particularly special for him, but he still wants and accepts you for everything that you are and ever will be.

“okay,” you say shakily, and you finally recognize that his hands are still very much cupping your face, fingers lovingly rubbing against your cheeks. he smiles in pure relief at your answer, but he makes no move to break away his hold on you.

you notice how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, and you decide you'll have mercy on him as you lean up to him and press a chaste kiss on his pouty lips before parting. he’s visibly red at the action, and you grin at how flustered he looks. on beomgyu’s end, he feels another bloom of excitement and swell of hope threatening to overcome him. when he looks at the playfulness in your eyes, he smiles even wider.

“i love you,” he whispers affectionately.

you pause before you tell him:

“i love you, too, beoms.”

that night, beomgyu is even clingier than usual. he sticks like gum to your side. when you head to sleep, he eagerly nestles in your bed and holds his arms wide open. you follow his lead and settle into his warm embrace. he sings you one of his favorite songs you’ve ever shown him. the last words you hear before you sink into sleep are:

“to die by your side

is such a heavenly way to die

to die by your side, well

the pleasure, the privilege is mine”

notes pt. 2: sfw work ends here!

you and beomgyu have been “together” for a few weeks now, so the relationship is still very new. surprisingly or not, things seem more or less the same. you guess you never realized just how intimate you two have always been until you put a label on things. the only tangible differences are that instead of just a mere hug when he greets you, he plants kisses all over your face before finding his ways to your lips. and when you’re watching movies or even just talking, he’ll steal a kiss or two. and when you head to bed, you know you can expect him to catch your lips like a man starved before you sleep. things get heated, sometimes, but they never lead to anything besides labored breaths and promises to calm himself down. you take his hesitancy as him wanting to take it slow and treasure your first time together, and you realize he still may be traumatized from the years he spent as a sexbot.

you have apologized to him for telling soobin his secret. you let him know your reasoning for telling him, and he accepted your apology quite graciously. honestly? he was never mad, and he tells you that very clearly, but you still feel somewhat guilty even when he says he understands. your guilt is only absolved when he says he’s thankful you told soobin because things may have never changed without his wise input. he says that he’s grateful to soobin for being a voice of reason in the face of your emotional density. you blushed when he told you this, and apologized for being so slow on the uptake, but he just assured you that he wouldn’t have you any other way, which made you love him even more, somehow.

you’re now about to go to soobin’s again for another get together with your friends. second time’s the charm, you cheekily told him when you brought it up, and he blushed in response. when you two walk through the doorway, everyone cheers. you greet everyone as usual, and beomgyu tries his best to keep his searing jealousy at bay, but his anxiety starts clawing at him as soobin seats himself next to you and asks you how you are.

you giggle and tell him you’re doing well, and he responds by updating you on his tumultuous work life. beomgyu immediately wonders why you haven’t told soobin about your new relationship. are you embarrassed to be seen with him? it’s not like he doesn’t understand, what with him technically being made out of wires and machinery. of course a human like you wouldn’t want to be seen with a metal man like him. you could have the entire world in your hands if you wanted, so what’s the point of playing pretend with a fake like him? maybe, if he were you, he’d be embarrassed, too. he likes to think that maybe you aren’t like that, but at the end of the day, how could you not be? he’s nothing more than a robot masquerading as the real thing.

his anxiety worsens the more in depth your conversation with soobin gets. you try to include him by briefly giving him context about the stories soobin tells, but he can’t stop himself from worrying. again, he feels like soobin is stealing you away from him, and his mood sours.

your other friends try to talk to him, too, but he’s very obviously in a bad mood as he watches you two continue to laugh together. when you finally do turn to beomgyu, you immediately notice how awful he looks.

“beoms? are you alright?” you ask gingerly, but beomgyu’s discomfort is not at all placated even at the term of endearment.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, and you’re genuinely in shock at his change of attitude. soobin looks very concerned, but he excuses himself to get a drink so you two can work it out, though he has an inkling of an idea of what’s triggering beomgyu.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask concernedly, but he shakes his head sulkily.

“do you wanna go home?” you offer, and he immediately nods. you look torn for a second, but when you see how sad he looks, you know you can’t deny him.

you say your goodbyes to your friends and apologize for leaving early, but everyone says they understand. soobin makes you promise to host the next get together, though, to which you happily agree.

the ride home is mostly silent, but you look over to beomgyu in concern every so often. you grab his hand and squeeze it in a way you hope is comforting, but he doesn’t look any better at all.

when you enter your house, you immediately head to your bedroom, and he follows you in silence. you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you.

“beoms, what’s the matter?” you ask pleadingly as you grab his hands, and his heart, which was previously aching, is (a little) soothed by your concern.

“i-it’s nothing,” he answers, but you can tell that he’s lying because of the way he refuses to make eye contact with you.

“baby, i can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” you say. you’re right, and he knows you’re right, but you’re already doing him the favor of a lifetime just by deigning to be with him. how could he dare to ask for more? he’s ashamed at the thought, but you look so sincere, and he knows in his metaphorical heart that he needs to be able to communicate with you if you two are going to have any shot at a lasting relationship.

“i-i’m just j-jealous,” he sputters.

“oh, baby, why?” you ask.

“because i’m not like you,” he admits after a pause. “i already feel like i’m not good enough for you, so seeing you with someone who actually is makes me feel awful.”

“who? soobin?” and you’re absolutely petrified when he sheepishly nods.

“honey, it’s not like that at all,” you tell him. “we’re just friends, i promise.”

“but it would be so much easier to be with him. you wouldn’t have to be ashamed about telling everyone you’re with an android,” he argues.

“beomgyu, i am not ashamed of you. i just wasn’t sure if you felt comfortable with me telling everyone. if you want me to tell them, i’ll happily do it. you’re so good, how could i ever be embarrassed of you?” his eyes soften.

“do you mean it?” he asks, and you nod.

“do i not show it enough? how much i love you, i mean.” he furiously shakes his head no, but you know it’s a lie. beomgyu himself will admit that he needs more validation than most people, and it’s going to take him a while to ever get over it because of his own issues. that doesn’t mean you can’t try to help him, though, so you brush his cheek with your hands before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

“does this make you feel better?” you ask after you pull away, but he still looks somewhat depressed, so you pull him in again before pressing your lips against his. this time, you swipe your tongue on his pout, which makes him gasp. you tease your tongue against his and electricity thrums between you two when you do it. he reciprocates your enthusiasm immediately, and before long, you’re both sucking and teasing each other until you’re out of breath.

you pull away again and rest your forehead against his.

“better?” you question.

“a little,” he says. “m-maybe a little more?” you grin at his coquettishness, and you go in for another kiss. your tongues tangle, but you don’t stop there. your mouth travels, peppering kisses down his jaw to his sensitive neck. he shivers at the contact when you swipe your tongue over his unmarred skin before lightly sucking. he lets out a broken moan when you do it, and it reverberates throughout your entire body and straight to your core.

“better?” you ask again.

“m-more,” he pants.

“anything you want, baby,” you tease before your lips hungrily capture his. one of your hands snakes its way up his shirt, and he gasps when you roll his hardened nipple between your fingers. beomgyu is more sensitive than most people, as is the nature of his model, so every little touch drives him crazy.

you seem to have noticed this, so when your other hand palms his hardened length through his sweatpants and he almost screams, you have to bite back a giggle.

“d-don’t tease,” he begs, and you’d do anything for beomgyu, really, but not this time.

you palm him even more harshly and his breath catches in his throat.

“more?” you ask, and he fervently nods. you oblige, sliding your hand under his waistband and teasing the sensitive skin around his length. your fingers brush against it every so often, and he involuntarily bucks every time you do.

“c-can i touch you?” he practically implores.

“of course, my love,” you tell him as you remove your devious hands and pull your top off before unclipping your bra.

his mouth waters when he sees you, and you can see him gulp almost comically as his big hands meet your breasts. he copies your movement from earlier, rolling your sensitive buds between his very clearly experienced fingers. you let out a contented sigh at the action, but you won’t let this be all about you, so your hand sneaks it way back down his pants. this time, you grab his girthy cock and give it a harsh tug. his actions stutter, and you smirk devilishly at how fucked out he is when the fun part hasn’t even begun.

you pull at his waistband, and he eagerly tugs his pants and boxers off as soon you do it. he even goes as far as to tear his t-shirt off over his head before he pulls your half-naked body flush against his, falling onto the bed as he desperately kisses you for everything that you’re worth. eventually, he situates himself on top of you, rutting his thick, long cock onto your still clothed thigh. you didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at him before, but you’re able to look down at him now, and you realize his dick is gorgeous. just like every other part of him. it stands tall, blushing profusely at the tip and practically weeping precum. it’s a bit hooked, too, no doubt to elicit the most pleasure out of his clients. your pussy is drenched just thinking about how it’ll feel when it’s inside of you.

he almost rips your bottoms off of you and his mouth waters even more at the sight of your pussy, all slick and glistening in anticipation for what’s to come.

“so gorgeous,” he whispers as he prepares to lay himself between your legs, but you hook them around his waist before he can do so. tonight will be all about him, you’ve decided, so you tug him closer and put one of his pretty nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue on it and occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. your other hand continues to tweak the other one before you alternate between the two, causing him to let out a low, guttural groan.

eventually, he goes in for another kiss, all tongue and teeth and saliva, and you take one of your hands and harshly clench around the base of his throbbing cock.

“is this what you needed, beoms?” you tease, and he nods pathetically as you tug again, harder this time, and let your hands stroke all the way up to his reddened tip. your thumb glides over his slit, and he’s seeing stars.

“i don’t know why you’re so jealous of someone else, my love. you’re so perfect,” you praise, and his ears get even redder, somehow, in spite of the situation you’re both in.

“i — nghh — i don’t like when you’re with him,” he pants, in spite of everything you're doing to him. “only want you with me.”

“oh, baby, you have me,” you coo. “always.” and with that, you begin to feverishly jerk him off with one hand while the other returns to his nipple. his hips buck with every movement, and his eyes are screwed shut. you can tell he’s about to come before you completely take your hands off of him.

“n-no! w-why?” he asks with a crack in his voice, watery eyes shooting open at the sudden action.

“don’t you wanna come in my pussy, instead? it’s warmer and wetter than my hand,” you ask with faux innocence with a tilt of your head, and his previously aggrieved demeanor morphs back into pure lust.

“that’s what i thought,” you giggle as you grab his length and rub it against your slickness. he groans at the feeling, but you don’t immediately take him in, opting to instead roll your hips up, just barely letting his flared head catch against your entrance.

“baby, please,” he whines, and with a smirk, you finally wrap your legs around his waist and line him up with your entrance. you just barely take the tip in, easing it into your pussy, before you force him out again. he gasps raggedly at how tight you are, and he’s wound up so much, he feels like he’s on the brink of exploding. he’s about to take matters into his own hands before you guide him back inside of you, and he feels your walls struggling to accommodate him.

“s-so tight! h-how are you so tight?” he hisses, eyes reddened and face strained, but you’re far too busy with the euphoric feeling of him finally inside of you to reply. he eases in inch after throbbing inch, and it is a snug fit, indeed. he almost wonders if he’ll even fit, but though the stretch burns you, the pleasure is too great to ignore. finally, your walls slightly relax, and he’s able to completely sheath himself in you. you both moan as his tip pulsates against your cervix, and he considerately gives you time to adjust, walls contracting wildly around him, before he attempts to pull out and really begin.

“stop,” you command before he can do so, and his eyes fill with worry at your words.

“w-what’s wrong?” he stutters.

“oh, nothing,” you say between pants. “i just want to see how long you can last.”

“w-what do you —”

and you interrupt him with a kiss. he ravenously reciprocates it, and he can’t help but unconsciously thrust his hips, tapping deliciously on the deepest parts of you, but you prevent him from ever fully pulling out. you tangle one of your hands through his hair and grip it — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him groan into your mouth.

“c-can i move?” he pleads, but you shake your head no.

“why?” he whimpers, but you just smirk as you kiss him again and bite his bottom lip.

he doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, but it’s far too long for his liking. he feels his dick swell, and you still refuse to let him move, but you teasingly scrape your fingers against his balls and it’s all he can do not to come.

“p-please let me move, it hurts,” he cries, tears now flowing from his eyes. for once, sex is all about beomgyu and what feels good to him. he could cry just from the sentiment alone, but his current tears are the direct result of how you’re teasing him.

“and where does it hurt, baby? use your words, i know you can.”

“h-hurts, my c-cock hurts,” he sputters out.

“and would pounding my pussy make you feel better?” you goad, and he whines even louder at the imagery.

“y-yes,” he sobs, and you smile as you say your next words.

“such a good boy. you can move.” and that’s all it takes, really, before he’s pulling out despite your cunt’s attempts to suck him back in, and ramming himself back inside of you again and again.

the curve of his cock hits places previously untouched, and your walls spasm around him at the sensation.

“does it feel good, beoms?”

“s-so good,” he mumbles as drool pools off of his tongue and out of his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “so warm and t-tight.” you clench against your will at his filthy words, and it makes a strangled cry leave his throat.

“pussy so good, baby. your pussy is the b-best,” he babbles, and your lips meet his again before your mouth travels down, sucking a blooming hickey onto his neck. he trembles at the pain that comes with the pleasure, but somehow, he still has the presence of mind to roll his skilled fingers against your clit. just a few touches, and you already feel your orgasm approaching. he can feel every spasm of yours, and it makes his dick twitch inside of you as he wildly fucks you open.

he’s drilling into you so hard, you have to dig your fingernails into the skin of his back to keep yourself grounded. with each thrust, you feel more and more like you’re about to burst.

“gonna come!” you whine.

“do it, baby. c-come all over my cock,” he pleads.

“come inside? want it so bad,” you mewl.

“of course, my angel. a-anything for you,” he tells you as he tenderly brushes your hair out of your sweaty face, and he hammers himself into you at an inhuman pace as you feel the pressure in you crescendo into a searing hot orgasm. you clench even tighter around him while you come, gripping him so forcefully he can barely pull out, so his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated before he rams himself into you one last time and paints your inner walls with his cum.

you two stay like that for a while, just panting and basking in the feeling of closeness you feel. he presses a kiss on your forehead as he relaxes his arms and lays on top of you. you giggle at the intimacy and he finds himself sharing your laughter, your joy.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says between breaths, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing. “i love you.”

“i love you, too, beoms,” you tell him, and you do love him. unconditionally.

notes pt. 3: :,) :,) :,)))))) i'm very sorry if this was disappointing but i hope it was worth it! i would love to hear your thoughts or answer any questions you may have about this fic/universe. feedback is needed to a disgusting degree bc i need validation to survive #sorry

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avis-writeshq · 9 months ago

Note

omg omg please for track four of your event 🙈 we know that sparks fly!reader calls spencer ‘Walter’ but can we get the first time he calls her ‘angel’ please???? 💕💕

l.d.s.k – spencer reid [bonus 'sparks fly' chapter]

summary: in other words, the first time spencer calls you an angel pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff warnings: rated 15+ for general criminal minds violence, canon compliant with s1 e6 ‘L.D.S.K’, a hint of Derek slander oops, not beta read wc: 2.2k a/n: many many apologies for the delay anon! i hope this can live up to your expectations! sparks fly masterlist | event page

“Reid failed his qualification,” Elle tells you as she makes her way into the bullpen looking flawless as ever.

Her words bring you out of your daily crossword puzzle, your brows furrowing. “He failed?”

“Well, he can re-test in two weeks,” Gideon says dismissively, making his way over to the water dispenser.

Elle shrugs, craning her head to look at him. “They took his gun this morning,” she replies. She looks back over. “Be gentle.”

“I’m always gentle,” you tell her, harshly erasing a wrong answer in your puzzle. “Was that not already obvious?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Elle responds swiftly, her gaze set on Derek’s forehead.

Derek is quick to raise his hands in surrender, but the glimmer of amusement sparks in his eyes. You narrow your own just as Spencer comes walking through the glass doors with Gideon following behind him. The young doctor looks dejected as ever, the grip he has on the strap of his bag so tight that his knuckles blanche.

He slumps down onto his desk beside you, turning the computer on with a scowl. You open your mouth to say something, an attempt of making him feel better, but Derek beats you to it.

“We’re all here for you,” Derek says, noticing the way Spencer avoids his gaze. “I’m serious.”

It starts off well. Spencer finally begrudgingly looks Derek in the eye, an unimpressed look on his face.

“If you ever need anything,” Derek continues, fishing something out of his pocket. You lean over the desk divider to get a better look, but apparently you don’t need to. A shrill whistle sound fills the air, and Morgan snickers in jest. “Just blow on that.”

Spencer’s face falls into a stern frown as he hurries to rip the whistle off his neck, throwing it onto his desk.

You try once more to offer any form of condolences but your efforts are once again cut off by JJ carrying a stack of manila folders and passing them off to the team. You don’t pay much attention to what she’s saying (something about a shooting and three victims?), your gaze fixed on Spencer’s troubled face. The others rattle off about long distance serial killers and profiling, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for your lack of contribution, but your thoughts are filled with more pressing matters.

After the briefing and Hotch saying a simple, “Wheels up in twenty”, you turn in Derek’s direction as you stuff your bag with files and random pieces of stationary. Elle sits within earshot, packing her own things.

“Why are you so mean to him?” Your voice carries no malice and you don’t look in his direction at all, head down as you furrow through your go-bag.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“To Spencer,” you clarify, “like, just now. He was already in a bad mood. You didn’t really have to say much else.”

“I’m just… toughening him up,” Derek says with a shrug.

“This job would do that by itself. Spencer doesn’t need to ‘toughen up’, and this job doesn’t need your help to do that, either.” You lift your shoulder noncommittally. “I think you’re just insecure.”

Elle cackles at that, stifling her laughter behind her fist while Derek snaps his head in your direction. “Alright then, I’ll bite. How am I insecure?”

“You’re a classic alpha male, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you’re an alpha male who is in a work environment where almost every other man is also an alpha male. Spencer is the opposite; he’s more timid which, again, not a bad thing, and he’s also more intellectually gifted.” A wry smile spreads across your face as you hoist your bag off your desk and sling it over your shoulder. “You’re insecure that he’s smarter than you and because he’s the quote-un-quote ‘weakest’ of the pack, you just can’t help but pick on him.”

“Reid and I are friends,” Derek says defensively. “And come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t his ramblings a little bit annoying.”

You hum. “I don’t find them annoying. Even if I did, I wouldn’t cut my friends off when they’re talking about something they find interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He swears that it was never his intention– he just forgot his wallet on his desk after everything that happened that morning. Regardless, hearing you defend him in such a way is enough to make his stomach flip.

He’s barely known you for two years. He joined the team a little after you did, granted, he was a permanent addition to the team while you at the time was just interning as a part of the course you were taking. It was only after a very long discussion with Hotch that you became a solid member of the BAU (you told Spencer all of this while you shook out your hands and by extension the nerves you experienced when you were seated in front of your boss’s desk with your resume. It took everything in him to not grab onto your hands and hold them firmly in his).

Even when you were an intern and only at work two out of the five workdays, Spencer was able to find solace in you. He didn’t really understand the logistics of it, much to his chagrin, but he has chalked it up to you being a little younger than him and feeling that slight twinge of ‘protectiveness’ over you. It doesn’t make sense, he gathers upon second thought, you don’t need protecting. Despite that, he finds himself gravitating to you as if you were the earth and he was the moon. You, full of life and all things wonderful, and him, a dim light that he hopes could brighten up your darkest nights.

He doesn’t think that that comparison is accurate enough, is the conclusion he comes to when he hears you chastise Derek for his lack of compassion. It isn’t so much ‘chastising’ as it is stating a fact. Spencer thinks you’re an angel and that everyone should kiss the floor you walk on. His head spins with facts about angels and their origins. He mumbles the facts under his breath, considering all the different backgrounds of angels and the connotations of viewing you as such. Spencer scrunches his nose in annoyance. He’ll be thinking about this the entire flight.

***

You sit next to him during the flight. Your hands are in your lap as you fiddle with your fingertips, almost as if you’re contemplating something. Spencer glances at you expectantly from the corner of his eye, ignoring the book he is supposed to be reading.

“I know I shouldn’t really have to say this, but don’t worry about Derek,” you tell him through a hushed whisper. “He’s just being an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, trying to not look fazed about the situation. “I know.”

You shift again in your seat before playfully flipping his collar upwards. “I like this shirt on you. Red is totally your colour.”

He thinks it’s pathetic, the way his eyes light up and the way he physically preens at your compliments. “There have been studies on the colour red and how it may impact one’s perceptions of others. Actually, it has been found that seeing the colour red can cause an elevation in blood pressure, enhanced metabolism, and a spike in heart rate which are all physiological changes associated in increased energy levels. Another study showed that those who wear red are perceived to be more sexually appealing than those who wear other colours.”

His cheeks flare in embarrassment upon realising the insinuation of his words and he hurriedly backtracks. “Not that I was expecting anything! It was just interesting and–”

“Walter, it’s fine.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’s okay! You’re right, it is interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t think you’re an angel anymore. He knows it. He manages to crack a smile. “You think so?”

You nod enthusiastically, looking over at him. “Tell me more.”

He thinks that he might faint.

***

The hospital is under lockdown. Your head spins when you see SWAT making their way through the lobby, armed in heavy bulletproof uniform and guns that are at least half your height. You’ve never had to work a situation where they had to be called and the severity of the situation sinks in.

“Hotch and Spencer will be okay, right?” You ask worriedly, glancing over to where Gideon is trying to negotiate with the captain.

“They’re good at what they do,” JJ reassures gently, squeezing your arm. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Gideon returns with a disgruntled frown, gesturing with annoyance towards the SWAT team. “They’re taking the ER in three minutes.”

“That’s it?” Your words are quiet as you try not to attract the attention of the people in said team. “So, what, Hotch and Spencer need to talk down a crazy armed sociopath in three minutes?”

“It’s like they don’t even want our help,” Elle says through a grumble. “What’s the point of asking us here if they’re not even going to listen to us?”

Somehow, those three minutes are both the longest and shortest three minutes of your life. There’s nothing you can do except wait and even then, the hospital is borderline silent. You’re not necessarily sure if that’s a good thing. You watch with the others as SWAT trek up the stairs in formation, and you wring your hands out nervously. Time continues to tick by and just when you’re sure that you’ll be stuck here for the next however many hours, a loud bang rings through the hospital. It’s so sudden that you jolt on the spot, your head snapping towards the door.

A few civilians, all accompanied by SWAT agents, make their way through the doors and towards the ambulances stationed outside. You follow them out, taking in a breath of fresh night air while a shiver runs down your spine from the cool breeze. Everything seems to be in order and everyone seems to be calm and collected. That must be a good sign, right?

Spence grimaces from his spot on the back of an ambulance, rubbing at his lower torso. The pain isn’t that bad anymore, but it does feel a little raw from where Hotch repeatedly kicked him. His face is bruised from where Phillip Dowd hit him with the back of his rifle. The gun he used feels heavy in his pocket and he genuinely isn’t used to it being there.

“You alright?” Hotch asks. He’s using a softer tone, one that Spencer isn’t particularly accustomed to.

Spencer nods, his arms crossed over his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Nice shot.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I was aiming for his leg.”

Hotch looks a little amused before he continues, “I wouldn’t have kept kicking but I was afraid you didn’t get my plan.”

“I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire,” Spencer says genuinely, nodding.

“Well, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly,” Hotch says guiltily.

Spencer can’t help but laugh quietly. “Hotch, I was a twelve year old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school. You kick like a nine year old girl.” He pauses, offering the gun back to him.

“No, keep it,” Hotch says, patting Spencer squarely on the shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned you passed your qualification.”

Spencer offers a smile as his boss walks away, his gaze meeting yours as you hurry over to him. “Hey–”

“Walter, your face,” you lament with a frown, reaching a hand out to brush against the bruising.

Spencer flinches, hissing softly and you pull back. “It’s still a little sore.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, glancing again at his injuries, worry laced in your tone and etched upon your features.

“You’re an angel,” Spencer says softly in a daze, watching the way the flashing lights from the ambulance.

Heat travels up towards your cheeks at his words and you press the backs of your hands against your face in an attempt to calm yourself down. “I’m not an angel.”

He’s in too deep to try and backtrack so he nods. “You are,” he says honestly, looking up at you from where he sits on the ambulance. “And if you can call me by my middle name, doesn’t that mean I can give you a nickname too?”

“Well, I guess,” you relent, your heart still aching at the sight of the bruise on the side of his face.

He beams at you as he pockets the gun. “Alright, then, angel.”

Your cheeks grow hot again and this time you feel the blood rush to your ears. “It’ll take a while to get used to it.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“I heard what you did in there,” you say swiftly, effectively changing the subject. “You don’t need that whistle anymore.”

Spencer nods and smiles. “Yeah. Thanks, angel.”

“Anytime, Walter.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

sparks fly masterlist | event page

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evangelical04 · 4 months ago

Text

A Single Daffodil || 5

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, slight smut in this chapter but not really

Author's Note: hi everyone! sorry it took so long to get this out, but I literally (finally) got my car back yesterday and wrote almost this entire thing today lol. thank you guys so much for being so patient with me, I really appreciate it. I'm hoping to get the next part out super soon but I hope this is good for you guys for now!! as always, please let me know what you guys think, I love to hear your feedback

TAGLIST CLOSED

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daises-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @weareatthebadlands @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeomeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @praetae @sylviamuela @notarshia @minghaosimp @wobblewobble822 @ilikekpop-c @maynina @rinkud @jesshujk @kimsaerom @suker4angst @mar-627 @maynina @pitchblack0309

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The night had given your frustration towards Yoongi some time to deflate, but you still felt it bubbling deep inside your consciousness. You weren’t one to hold a grudge necessarily, not outright at least, but you would never forget either. Joohee said that made you even more dangerous, but you liked to think it made you amicable. The next morning brought you to a lazy Sunday where you had initially wanted to bum around in your bed but the small items scattered around your floor reminded you of the tasks you had yet to finish.

Your morning was spent tinkering with your console and Blu-Ray player to get them to connect properly with your TV and the wifi, and while you struggled, you refused to ask Yoongi for help. It was a bad habit of yours, avoiding those you were mad at or were mad at you. It certainly hadn’t worked with your mother, but then again, she’d barely been home to avoid in the first place.

Thoughts of Yoongi swirled around in your head as you finished cleaning up your room and organizing everything. His behavior last night still stumped you. Logically, the only explanation was that he was jealous. Whether it was of Namjoon or you, you weren’t sure. You were too scared to entertain the thought that he might be jealous of Namjoon, the way your heart sped up was dangerous. Even if it was the correct explanation, could you even allow yourself to hope like that?

You fell backward onto your bed in a huff, it was safer to think he was just angry at you and Namjoon for getting close because it was “mixing personal lives”. Any other reasoning was going to send you down a spiral of confusion, want, and optimism. Just as you resigned yourself to a well-deserved midday nap, your phone buzzed on the bedside table next to you. Groaning out, you reached around for your phone, eventually finding it and seeing Hoseok’s contact blaring on the screen.

You swiped to answer the call, throwing the phone down next to you on speaker, “What?”

“Geez, don’t you sound grumpy.”

“It’s because I am.”

“Well, okay then, live your life, I guess. Anyway, guess what happened,” Hoseok responded excitedly.

“What?”

“The guy my old boss recommended said yes! We’re gonna start looking at studio spaces together, I’m opening up a dance school!”

You sat up, taking the phone off speaker and bringing it to your ear, “Hobi, that’s great! I can’t believe that, I’m so excited for you!”

“I can’t believe this is finally happening! It feels like this has been in the making since college,” Hoseok exclaimed, you could hear him pacing around in his room through the phone.

“You deserve it so much, Hobi, I’m so happy for you,” you smiled, and you did mean it. You knew how hard Hoseok had worked through college, surviving on a scholarship and battling down criticisms for choosing a dance major. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he would succeed and you were happy to watch him do just that.

“Do you want to meet him? We’re having dinner together tomorrow and I wanted you and Joohee to be there.”

“Of course I will, I’ll need to see you guys to prep for going back to work next week anyway. Just text me the details and I’ll be there,” you responded, picking at the seams of your comforter at the mention of you resuming your job.

“Will do,” Hoseok responded excitedly and hung up after a quick goodbye.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your work, far from it in fact, but it was the questions that would inevitably come with your return that you dreaded. The glittering ring on your finger would fuel the rumor mill and lead to empty celebrations and congratulations, not to mention questions surrounding your mysterious husband.

Song Ha would probably be the only one not asking much about the wedding, but only because she attended. You hadn’t been able to talk with her during the reception, too overwhelmed and swept up in the flurry of high-profile guests. You certainly felt guilty for not having been able to see her but you knew she would understand, she was sweet that way.

No, Song Ha was dangerous in the fact that she had seen Yoongi, and she would be ready with a list of questions to ask you when you stepped into the office the following week. Once Song Ha started the questions about Yoongi, the others would only join in, adding to the pressure you felt to appear like a normal, happy bride.

Abruptly, you stood up. Now wasn’t the time for sulking and self-pity. Determined, you stomped towards the door, ready to fling it open and face Yoongi with your head held high. But as you reached the handle, your fingers curling around the edge, ready to rip it open, you hesitated.

Facing Yoongi sounded even more draining right now, the idea of his upturned frown staring down at you was less than appealing. His hot and cold attitude was taxing and you were tired of trying to understand his actions.

Coming up with explanations for his bizarre attitude and trying to make sense of his lingering gazes was less than appealing to your exhausted mind. But, you reminded yourself, this was technically your space too and you couldn’t just stay in your room the whole time. Besides, you wanted a snack and why should Yoongi stop you?

Shaking your head, you steeled your resolve and opened your door. You couldn’t hear anything coming from the living room or kitchen so you continued your venture down the stairs. Yoongi was nowhere in sight and you silently celebrated, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about him right now.

You reached the kitchen, rifling around for some chips before settling on a small packet you found tucked away in the cupboard. As you began making your way back to your room to enjoy your snack, the front door opened and Yoongi entered, running a hand through messy black hair.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re awake,” he said, stopping at the couch once he saw you.

You nodded curtly, “Yes, good afternoon.” You had been so close to going without dealing with him but it seemed like the universe had different plans in mind for you. It felt a little mean to be so blunt with him but seeing his stupid, perfectly shaped face ignited the remaining rage you had left in you from the previous night. Even though it was a new day, all you could think about was how he’d treated you like some child that needed to be looked after. It made your fist clench around the chips bag, the crinkling noise sounding much louder in the quiet living room.

When you continued your trek toward the stairs, Yoongi called out for you.

“Y/N,” he said, slightly louder than his normal volume, “Can we talk for a second, please?”

You turned to face him, silently waiting for him to continue. What could he possibly have to say?

“I’m sorry about last night,” he started, surprising you, “I was thinking about it when we got home and the way I’ve been acting has been unacceptable and I’m sorry that I treated you unfairly.”

You felt your eyes widen at his apology and you stuttered a response, “O-oh, it’s fine, really.” A habit of yours, to dismiss any apology that comes your way, to pretend like you were unbothered.

Yoongi shook his head, “It’s not. I was getting confused and treating this,” he gestured between you, “Like something it’s not, I’m sure that was annoying at the least for you. I’ll be sure to maintain a proper distance from hereon out, I don’t want to meddle in your life.”

You blinked back, confused by his statement, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was acting like a husband when we’d agreed to keep ourselves separate from each other. I had no right to get upset with you or to treat you like a kid, and I’m sorry.”

“Um, okay,” you stammered, “I’m just going to go up then.”

Yoongi nodded, turning away and walking into his office. You walked up the stairs in an almost trance-like state, you had no idea what to make of that conversation.

You should be happy that he apologized but why did it seem like the outcome wasn’t what you wanted? He said he’d maintain some distance between you two from now on, that isn’t what you wanted. Or wasn’t it?

Throwing the bag of chips on your bedside table, you collapsed onto your duvet, you didn’t know what you wanted! You knew you wanted Yoongi to apologize but you didn’t want him to push you further away. You wanted him to explain why he got upset, if you were reading into things too much, if he was starting to feel something for you. You wanted him to be clear, and that conversation was anything but.

I was getting confused and treating this like something it’s not.

What did that mean? What did he mean he was getting confused? You were supposed to be the confused one.

Chips now long forgotten, you flipped over in your bed and reached for your phone, opting to occupy your brain with mindless scrolling rather than try to make sense of Yoongi’s words.

Despite how much you tried to distract yourself, the conversation with Yoongi still swirled around in your mind like a rampant tornado, hitting the corners of your brain and disrupting your every thought. You hadn’t managed to figure anything else out, you’d only been able to work yourself into a frenzy and feel even more confused.

Glancing at your watch, you noted that only a few hours had passed and it was around time for dinner, but you didn’t want to risk seeing Yoongi and spiraling once more, not that you had clawed your away out of your current spiral either.

Instead, you opted to skip dinner for tonight, not feeling particularly hungry anyway, and tried to pass the time until you felt drowsiness kick in. Your method of choice was just playing a relaxing game in your bed until your eyelids felt heavy and you drifted off in a rather uncomfortable position for your neck. You didn’t even notice yourself falling asleep, much less find the energy to fix your position to avoid a sore neck.

That night you dreamt of yourself in a dark room with no visible walls and it almost felt cold but the sensation didn’t seem like it was coming from your surroundings, it felt like it was underneath your skin.

You looked around frantically, for anything, and your eyes caught on a sliver of shiny black hair with slightly pale skin underneath. The figure reached out a hand for you and you tried to run toward it but found yourself unable to move. No matter how hard you pushed your legs, flailed, and grasped for the outstretched hand, it felt like there was an invisible wall preventing you from moving forward. In your struggle, you failed to notice the hand slowly retract and only realized once the figure started to move further and further away. You felt yourself shout after it but no sound escaped your throat.

Finally, you managed to break free from the invisible barrier and began running after the figure. Your limbs felt like lead and your lungs were struggling to take in air, but you persisted, chasing after the retreating figure and uselessly shouting for it to stop. Once it seemed like you were finally closing in on it, the ground beneath you disappeared and you fell into the dark chasm below, seeing the figure watching from the edge.

It did not try to reach out a hand to grab you.

The next morning had you feeling more grateful than ever that you still had another week off from work, although it was your last. You had awoken feeling drained and anxious, unable to remember your dream from the night prior. The only thing you did recall was falling, only because it made you wake with a start in bed at around three in the morning. You were tucked in nicely into your duvet then but it had become messy once your alarm went off later. You had set your alarm for later in the day than you usually did for work since you hadn’t wanted to get up early but also not sleep in too late.

The clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen indicated Mrs. Lim’s presence and you sleepily got dressed and walked downstairs to greet her and get some tea. She neglected to comment on your haphazard appearance and instead presented you with an already-brewed cup of tea. Smiling gratefully at her, you took a seat at the counter and made quiet conversation.

“Would you like anything in particular for dinner tonight,” Mrs. Lim asked.

“No, thank you, I’ll be meeting some friends for dinner.”

“Oh, how lovely. You should really invite them here, Mr. Min wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Lim added cheerfully.

You held back a scoff, “Yes, well, I guess I’m still getting comfortable.”

Mrs. Lim smiled kindly, “Of course, dear, I’m sure all of this is difficult to get used to.”

You weren’t sure if she was just talking about Yoongi’s apartment, but you nodded in agreement nonetheless.

“Oh, Mrs. Lim, could you actually prepare some samgyeopsal for dinner tonight? I think Yoongi is in desperate need of it,” you mentioned, recalling how tired he’d looked last night.

Mrs. Lim only smiled knowingly, nodding gently before resuming her tasks.

Your phone buzzed on the countertop, drawing your attention.

To: Milf Club (est. 2014)

Joo-nie:

what’s the dress code for the restaurant tonight

do i have to break out my razor

Hoebi:

Uhhh the restaurant is kinda fancy so maybe?

Idrk tbh this dude said the place was good but it looked fancy lmao

You:

i’ll wear a dress joo, so you can too

Joo-nie:

ty queen

wear the little black one makes you look hot

Hoebi:

What should I wear to look hot

Joo-nie:

don’t show up

Hoebi:

Owie

You:

i’ll send a pic later when i get dressed

BUT it’s still minimal makeup

you guys are gonna have to see my massive eyebags

Hoebi:

They’re your most charming quality <3

You:

damn that’s a low bar

Hoebi:

See you guys tonight!! Be there at 6, don’t be late!

That was aimed at you, Joo

Joo-nie:

rude

You smiled fondly at your friends’ messages before setting your phone down and turning your attention back to Mrs. Lim, asking how her weekend went.

The rest of the day passed fairly quickly and Mrs. Lim soon went home after her responsibilities were completed. She had ended up shooing you out of her sight after you’d insisted on helping her out with the cleaning, citing boredom as the reason, but she was having none of it. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in your bed and feeling unproductive.

It was difficult to relax properly while not working because you felt as though you should be doing something else, but you didn’t have anything to do. Part of you was excited to get back to work to occupy yourself but another part of you was concerned over how easily you fell into a depressive mood. It was just another reason to start looking into therapy.

With nothing to entertain your mind with, your thoughts continuously shifted to Yoongi. You hadn’t seen him since that odd conversation where he promised to keep more distance between you, leaving you confused and lost. You still were.

He felt impossible to read. Every time you thought you were about to figure it out, he threw a curveball at you and made you stumble on your path to a logical conclusion. The more you thought about his actions leading up to and at the gala, the more they seemed to point to jealousy. The problem was, you couldn’t figure out a plausible reason he would have to be jealous. Obviously, the overarching reason would be that he has feelings for you, but he didn’t have a reason to. The man hadn’t tried to get to know you at all, you’d barely had five conversations since the wedding. How could he possibly have feelings for you?

And Yoongi didn’t seem like the type to show possessiveness over someone he had shallow feelings for, nor did Yoongi seem like the type to develop shallow feelings. In your mind, he oscillated between someone who didn’t like commitment in any form to someone who wholly devoted himself to getting to know someone before developing feelings for them. However, it was impossible for you to come to a conclusion. Just like in your own reasoning for Yoongi’s feelings, you barely knew him and there was no way for you to make these judgments.

What you would give to understand what’s going through his mind.

By the time your alarm went off at five, you were still lost in your thoughts, mindlessly playing a farming sim, mainly because your wife in there was much easier to understand than Yoongi. The alarm startled you out of your stupor and jolted you into action, scrambling things together to get ready for Hoseok’s dinner. You had showered in the morning so your hair would be dry by the time the dinner came, and you were happy you’d had the forethought.

Rifling through your closet, you pulled out the black dress that Joohee had mentioned, a form-fitting cocktail dress you’d picked up on a shopping trip with her. The square neckline complimented your decolletage and the fabric seemed to hug your curves just right, only slightly puckering around your hips. Your hair didn’t need much styling, opting to leave it natural, and your makeup was minimal, not feeling the energy to put in more effort.

You made your finishing touches, surveying your appearance in your mirror, and were satisfied. A glance at your watch told you that you were right on time, but that you didn’t have a minute to lose, so you hastened your pace to the door to head downstairs. Before you made it past your bedroom door, your eyes caught on your wedding ring, sitting on your vanity. You bit the inside of your cheek, considering whether you should put it on.

Whatever, you fumed internally, snatching it and sliding it onto your finger. It’s not like it mattered anyway but you’d grown to enjoy the feeling of the cool metal against your skin and fiddling with it when nervous.

You were somewhat surprised to see Yoongi sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of whiskey, not having expected him back from work this early. He had already changed out of his suit and into a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking like the epitome of comfort with his messy hair, likely from pulling the shirt over his head. You hated how attractive he looked and the way it made your stomach turn and your heartbeat speed up. He noticed your presence hovering at the end of the living room before looking you over, his feline eyes watching you from above the rim of his glass. His gaze made heat bloom all over your body and you could only pray that he couldn’t tell how flustered you felt.

You were supposed to be mad at him, damn it.

Although, were you allowed to now that he’d apologized? But that apology wasn’t what you’d wanted, not that you knew what you wanted.

Sighing internally, you decided to remain cold with him. He’d wanted to reemphasize the distance between you two, so he’d get that.

Settling for a curt nod, you walked past him into the foyer to slip on some simple, block heels, bending down to secure the straps. Yoongi cleared his throat behind you, causing you to turn back to face him.

“Going out?”

“Yes,” you answered, pausing for a moment, pondering if you should tell him who you were meeting, considering his reaction to Hoseok last time. Maybe it was petty of you, but part of you wanted to push his buttons as much as he was pushing yours, wanted to make him annoyed and angry, just as much as you were at him.

“I’m meeting Hobi for dinner,” you finished, confidently staring him down. His eyebrow twitched and you saw his gaze narrow, but he didn’t show much of a reaction outside of that.

“Alright, have fun,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to his phone and whiskey. You almost scoffed at his standoffish attitude, but ultimately shrugged. You didn’t have the energy in you to be bothered by him.

You did a final check of your belongings before opening the door and heading downstairs to catch a cab to the restaurant, you had a feeling you’d be drinking at some point tonight. In your haste, you missed the way Yoongi’s eyes followed your form, watching you leave without a glance in his direction.

The restaurant certainly seemed fancy, it looked like Hoseok’s business partner had quite the expensive taste. You exited the cab as gracefully as you could in a cocktail dress and entered, immediately spotting Hoseok’s bright smile and energetic wave signaling you over. The hostess smiled, letting you pass to sit at the table he was at. He stood as you approached, enveloping you in a tight hug before releasing you and letting you sit across from him. As you settled in, you took the opportunity to observe his business partner, who was sitting beside him.

He was quite pretty, with a round, angelic face and plump lips, and his hair was a soft grey, tousled atop his head. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling, making them look closed, which only made you smile widely in response.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Park Jimin,” he introduced, bowing slightly.

“Nice to meet you as well, I’m Seo Y/N,” you responded, returning the bow, “Hobi has been telling me how excited he is to be opening up a studio with you.”

Jimin’s face lit up, smiling even wider, “Yes! I’m so excited, it’s the whole reason I did my MBA. I’m just hoping we can find a good studio space.”

You nodded along to his words, noticing that he tended to become quite excited when he talked, similar to the man sitting next to him.

“By the way, I love your dress,” Jimin exclaimed, startling you with the sudden compliment.

“Oh, thank you,” you stumbled, “I love your hair and eye makeup.”

Jimin smiled, which he seemed to do quite often, also similar to Hoseok, “Thanks! I wanted to try out a fancy look since I was meeting Hoseok’s friends.”

“They’re not worth the effort,” Hoseok teased, making you gasp in fake indignation, “Where’s Joo, by the way, it’s already fifteen past.”

“She’ll probably be late,” you said, trying to soothe the worry lines appearing on Hoseok’s face, “You know how she is.”

“That’s what worries me,” he responded, only making you laugh.

“I’m here! I made it,” Joohee stumbled in, speedwalking to your table before ruffling Hoseok’s hair in greeting, “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

She slides in beside you, bowing a greeting to Jimin, “Hobi’s told us so much, he’s been really excited to work with you.”

“Thanks,” Jimin laughed, “I’m excited to work with him too. Opening up a studio has always been my dream, and Hoseok feels like the perfect partner.”

You both smile at Jimin’s words before starting to fuss over the menu and throwing question after question at Jimin to try and get him to open up. Over the course of the dinner, you learn he’s fairly high-maintenance, hence the restaurant choice, but he tends to back it up himself, which he proved when he offered to pay the tab. He tells you about his time in Hoseok’s old dance studio and how he was unsatisfied, so he decided to pursue his MBA in Seoul to eventually open up his own school.

“It was a huge decision to make, I mean, Busan was my home. But I knew opening up my own studio was what I had to do, and I left everything behind to do it, my family, my boyfriend, and my job. It was hard,” he detailed, a glass and a half of wine into the dinner, “But it’ll be worth it, I just know it.”

You smiled at him, “It definitely will be. Whatever you and Hobi do, I just know it’ll take off.”

“And don’t be afraid to let me or Y/N know if you need investors,” Joohee jumped in, “I know plenty of old men with fat pockets.”

Chuckling, you all took a sip of your drinks before Hoseok surprised you with a new line of questioning, “How’s the newly married life so far?”

“Oh, did you just get married,” Jimin asked excitedly, gesturing at the ring encasing your finger, “That’s so exciting, congratulations!”

“Thanks,” you smiled awkwardly, “I did, about a week ago. It’s been good so far, it’s nice.”

You couldn’t get into the specifics with Jimin there, someone whom you’d just met, it’d make things too awkward. Thankfully, Joohee came to your rescue.

“I meant to ask, how’s the studio space hunting going? Hobi’s been touring for that and his own apartment, he must’ve seen half of Seoul by now,” she joked, relieving some of the tension Hoseok’s question incited in you. The dinner conversation continued on pleasantly, but you felt yourself pulling away from your surroundings, your thoughts drifting to your husband.

His behavior was confounding, to say the least, and it had occupied the back of your mind for the past few months, even before you got married. It felt like a constant static itching the corner of your brain, his voice humming in a soundtrack to your thoughts.

The sound of Joohee gathering her things beside you pulled you back into the conversation and noticing they were getting ready to leave. You focused in to hear what they were talking about and learned that it was the terrible housing market in Seoul, leaving you to nod in agreement. You were lucky to score the apartment that you did, which was one of the reasons you were so reluctant to leave it, knowing that you wouldn’t have a place to go if you needed to leave Yoongi’s apartment.

You jumped in with your comments here and there as your group walked to the exit, finally feeling present again, and stopped just outside the restaurant.

“It was really great meeting you both,” Jimin said cheerfully, hugging you and Joohee, “I hope we can meet up again soon!”

“Same here,” you grinned, “We’ll make Hobi create a group chat.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes before calling a cab, “Here, Jimin, let me get one for you. Text me when you’re in your apartment.”

Jimin saluted, grinning, before entering the taxi that had stopped at the curb. He waved until he was out of your line of sight, leaving you to sigh and turn to face your two friends. They stood behind you, arms crossed, and looking at you quite sympathetically.

“What? Is this an intervention,” you joked, but they quickly shook their heads, reigniting your nerves.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear your answer earlier,” Joohee stated, “You clearly need to talk about Yoongi.” Hoseok only nodded in agreement.

You exhaled slowly, clearly, nothing was getting past your friends’ watchful eyes, “Alright, want to go back to my apartment? Hobi’s headed there anyway.”

Hobi only smiled, squeezing your shoulder before signaling for another cab.

“He’s just so confusing, I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” you sighed frustratedly.

“I agree, I think he’s playing games with you,” Joohee said, swirling her glass before taking a sip of her wine, “He’s being all hot and cold. What is he, fifteen?”

You chuckled, “It feels like I’m fifteen sometimes, the way he makes me feel.”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s just as confused as you are,” Hoseok interjects, causing you to shift your head to look at him. He was sprawled across your loveseat in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, munching on some chips.

Joohee sat up, adjusting in her seat to face him as well, “What do you mean? He’s the one being confusing.” You nodded in agreement.

“Well, guys can be different,” Hoseok started, “Maybe he just doesn’t really understand what’s going on, this situation is new for both of you.”

You leaned back on your couch once more, considering Hoseok’s words while staring at your ceiling.

“Maybe he’s just using the distance excuse as a defense mechanism because he’s confused about how he feels about you,” he continued, “I saw the way he looked at you, Y/N. He definitely cares to some degree.”

You frowned, finding his statement hard to believe, but you tried to put yourself in Yoongi’s shoes nonetheless. Was he really developing feelings for you? Is that why he put more distance between you two, because he was scared? It felt difficult to conceptualize after the months of telling yourself there was no way Yoongi would ever harbor romantic feelings toward you.

“But still,” Joohee interrupted your thoughts, “Even if that is the reason he’s acting this way, wouldn’t that still make him immature? He should have more emotional intelligence than to send mixed signals because he’s confused about his own feelings. Either way, he needs to grow up.”

Hoseok only hummed, tossing another chip in his mouth, but Joohee’s words struck you, making you sit up from your horizontal posture.

“I mean, to be fair, are any of us really grown up,” you verbalized, making Joohee look at you questioningly, “All of us are immature in some way, and he doesn’t have any experience in this kind of situation like Hobi said. He probably went into this thinking that it was going to be more like a business partnership than anything and it hasn’t exactly been like that.”

You sighed, staring into your empty wine glass, “I feel like it’s unfair to hold him accountable for everything as if he’s some kind of villain. He still apologized and he’s been respectful. Whether he has feelings for me or not, he’s still navigating a new dynamic just like me. He’s allowed to make a few mistakes along the way, right?”

Joohee shook her head and smiled at you, “Yes, he is, but he’s still clearly hurting you. I think you guys need to talk this out. Clearly, you’re not on the same page. And even if he is just figuring out new feelings for you or not, you’re not obligated to wait around and find out. You can live your life how you want in the meantime.”

You returned her smile, “Yeah, you’re right, but I kind of feel like I already am. I don’t really have anything that I want to do that I’m not already doing. Honestly, not much has changed for me other than gaining a new, handsome roommate.”

She laughed in response before poking you, “How about going out and meeting someone? You can always take them back here. Yoongi said that he was fine with it, so you should go get laid. I know it’s been a while and you deserve the fun with someone who’s clear about their intents.”

You shrugged, “I know he said he was fine with it, but it still feels like cheating to me. I don’t know, it just makes me feel icky. I’m just not interested, really, just like before I got married.”

Joohee nodded, “Well, nothing wrong with that. I just hope that you’re not doing it because you feel like it’s unfair to Yoongi, he’s been more than clear about his consent.”

You shook your head, “It’s not that. I’d feel this way with anyone, you know how much I hate cheating. I can honestly say that even if Yoongi set me up with someone and went off with someone else, I still wouldn’t. It’s just not appealing to me right now. Maybe that’ll change, who knows?”

“That’s fair,” Joohee hummed, “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I’m glad you seem good with that at least.”

You nodded, tracing the rim of your glass, “What happened to Hobi? He’s been strangely quiet.”

The both of you turned to look at the loveseat only to see Hoseok’s head hanging off the edge of the cushioned arm, mouth open letting out quiet snores.

You and Joohee giggled before standing to try and transport him to his temporary bed in your guest room. The two of you got ready for bed and soon curled up under your comforter with Joohee whispering, “I hope you get to talk to him. I want things to work out for you.”

“Thanks, Joo,” you whispered back, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Joohee only smiled and mumbled a quick, “I’m lucky to have you too. Goodnight, Y/N-ie.”

You laughed quietly, “Goodnight, Joo.”

When you awoke the next morning, Joohee had already left, having to go back to her apartment to get ready for work. She left a sweet note saying goodbye on your nightstand, making you smile.

You left Hoseok to sleep in, figuring he’d wake up when he wanted. As compensation for his stay in your guest room, you snagged another one of his large shirts since most of your comfy shirts were at Yoongi’s apartment. Rushing through a simple morning routine, you quickly gathered your things to head back to Yoongi’s apartment. You hadn’t intended to stay out during the night, and even though you had a right to, you still felt the same panic you’d felt in your childhood having to face your mom after spending time with your friends.

You scribbled out a note to Hoseok and left it out on the kitchen counter and rushed out the door, making your way to the bus station near your apartment building. It was a fairly long ride over to Yoongi’s apartment, so you settled in with some music and tried to relax your heart. You had no reason to be nervous, Yoongi likely wouldn’t have even noticed. He’d probably be at work by now, not even realizing that you hadn’t come back last night. You watched the people of Seoul through the bus window, walking to their jobs and checking their phones, likening them to what Yoongi probably looked like in the morning on his commute to work. Your fantasy was interrupted by the notion that Yoongi was probably driven to work in a sleek car and rode the elevator to the top floor.

Blinking out of your daze, you noticed only two stops were left until yours and began getting ready to get up. Once you reached, you exited swiftly, making your way inside the building and nodding at the security guard.

After taking the elevator up, you opened the front door as quietly as you could before entering and carefully closing it. You sighed as the silent house, it seemed like Mrs. Lim wasn’t here yet. Breathing a sigh of relief, you turned around to walk upstairs and were immediately startled by Yoongi sitting on the couch, calmly watching your movements.

“Oh! Yoongi-ssi, I didn’t realize you’d be home,” you breathed, practically clutching at your chest, “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” he hummed, setting his phone down to look at you, observing your frazzled state, “Late night?”

“Um, yeah, kind of,” you stuttered, “Hobi, Joohee, and I were drinking a bit.”

He only nodded, raising his eyebrow slightly, leaving you standing silently and awkwardly. You let out an awkward laugh before scooting around the couch and climbing up the stairs and to the safety of your room. Entering and closing the door behind you had you exhaling loudly and practically collapsing on your bed.

How were you supposed to talk about your relationship with him when you could barely get through a thirty-second exchange?

The rest of the week passed by peacefully with you barely interacting with Yoongi. You were almost relieved if it didn’t only put you more on edge for the weekend. You were dreading having to navigate around him being in the house for the whole day, but you were looking forward to going back to work the following week. You had had enough of lazing around and feeling unproductive, especially when all your friends were still busy so you couldn’t hang out with them. Joohee was working, of course, but Hoseok had finally settled on an apartment and was preparing to move in, leaving you quite lonely in your room.

Friday meant that Yoongi would likely be home late, if at all, because he tended to spend it with his friends as Namjoon had informed you. It left you by your lonesome in the large apartment, where you ended up lying in bed for most of it. The lack of work was really starting to take a toll on you and made you recall when Yoongi’s mother had implied that you should quit when you got married.

The idea made you laugh. If the last two weeks were anything to go by, leaving you with nothing to do during the day would only result in an extended depressive episode. A glance at the clock on your side table let you know that it had gotten late enough in the evening to grab some dinner, which you opted to order in, feeling lazy.

You ate in your room glumly watching some video or other and not really paying attention. You wondered if this weekend would be the one where you had your conversation with Yoongi. How would you even start that? What if he refused to talk to you or got defensive? If the conversation did work out, what would it mean for your relationship with Yoongi? Could you become friends?

The thoughts continued to swirl around in your brain as you gathered your dishes to deposit in the dishwasher and walked to your door. As you reached it, you noted some quiet voices on the ground floor, making your eyebrows raise. Maybe Yoongi’s friends had come?

Shrugging, you opened your door and walked downstairs, turning into the living room and almost dropping your plate in shock.

On the couch, Yoongi was on top of someone else with his hands on their face and supporting him on the couch, notably missing his ring, and kissing whoever was underneath. The sight was startling and troubling, immediately making tears fill your eyes.

You should’ve expected this so why were you so upset?

You didn’t take time to dwell on it and opted to run back to your room instead, but as you hastily turned back towards the stairs, the dishes in your hands slid against each other, making a loud noise.

The noise alerted Yoongi and whoever was underneath him to your presence, making you flinch hard.

“Y/N?”

You faced him with warm cheeks and wet eyes before steeling your expression. He didn’t need to know that you were affected, you refused to let him see you weak because of his actions. His face looked slightly shocked but his messy hair, unbuttoned dress shirt, and swollen lips made your heart hurt. The person underneath him sat up, facing you, mouth falling open in shock.

“Y/N-ssi?”

Your own eyes widened, mirroring Jimin’s equally horror-stricken expression. He scrambled off the couch, attempting to fix his rumpled top, before stumbling over to you.

“Y/N-ssi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize, I mean, I didn’t know-” he stuttered, grabbing your hands in a pleading manner, “I’m so sorry.”

You smiled as kindly as you could in that moment, he was just as much a victim in this as you were, “It’s okay, Jimin-ssi. Seriously. It’s complicated.”

His brows furrowed at your answer, but you could see the relief flood his face at your forgiveness, “Okay, but I’m still sorry. I’ll talk to you about it later though, it looks like you have some stuff to work out. I’ll text you, I promise.”

You nodded, mustering your best smile, and waved him off, finding yourself unable to speak much more. He quickly grabbed his phone off the table and whispered acidly to Yoongi before leaving quickly.

His exit left you staring at the floor while Yoongi still stood by the couch. He took a few steps forward but stopped once you flinched back against the stair banister.

“Y/N, I,” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, we agreed about this. It’s fine,” you stated, before nodding curtly and turning to head up the stairs.

You heard Yoongi call after you but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. You could feel your eyes welling up and your lip trembling, something you couldn’t let Yoongi see. Setting your eyes forward, you stiffly walked to your room, ignoring Yoongi’s call of your name.

After retreating, you shut the door behind you, immediately crumpling to the ground in quiet cries. You should’ve known this would happen, you had even mentioned it to a degree with Joohee, so why did it hurt so much?

Maybe you had let your hopes rise after what Hoseok had said the other night and let your head fill with the idea of you and Yoongi sharing feelings for each other. Clearly, that was not the case. Whatever it was, it made your chest hurt and tears roll down your cheeks as you suppressed choked sobs.

This felt like an overreaction. What right did you have to feel upset? This was the deal from the start. He had made it clear since the beginning that you were both allowed to take partners and you had prepared yourself. So why did it still hurt so much?

Feeling your sobs subside into wet hiccups, you slowly stood, tossing your dishes onto your desk and collapsing on your bed. You felt exhausted and dehydrated, and there was a headache almost certainly in your future.

The sight of Yoongi with bitten lips above Jimin was still clear in your mind and only made you want to curl up into a ball. This wasn’t feasible.

Your mind drifted to what Joohee had said before. What was really stopping you from going out and sleeping with someone too? Nothing was, and in your hurt and angry stupor, you vowed to make good on that.

Reaching for your phone, you dug through your contacts before selecting the one you were looking for.

To Lee Jaehyun:

You:

Hey, it’s been a while. Are you still in Seoul? I’d like to catch up.

With that, you sighed, shutting off your phone and closing your eyes. Exhaustion quickly overtook you, leaving you dozing quietly in only a few minutes.

The next morning had you waking with a pounding headache and a dread of leaving your room. The idea that you might face Yoongi outside was more than unappealing so you opted for staying in your room. Was it the coward’s way out? Maybe, but you felt that you deserved to be a coward for a bit.

Yoongi hadn’t attempted to talk to you since your stunted conversation, there were no new calls or knocks on your door. You supposed he didn’t have a reason to, but some part of you wanted to hear him beg for your forgiveness.

However, there was one new message on your phone, part of a conversation that you barely remembered starting and had to read through bleary eyes.

Lee Jaehyun:

Hey, Y/N! It has been a while, it’s good to hear from you. I heard through the grapevine that you got married, congrats!

I’m still in Seoul, I’m actually free tonight for dinner if you’re down to talk. We can do something casual at our usual spot.

Despite the mindset you’d been in when you sent Jaehyun a message, hearing from him still brought a smile to your face. He was always sweet when you were dating and stayed that way after you’d broken up. You knew he understood the nature of your marriage and that it was likely what you were messaging him about, which it technically was.

He had always been so understanding, you could only hope that he’d understand what you wanted to do and be willing to follow through on it with you. You quickly typed out a response before glancing at the time. You still had a while to hide in your room until you could leave to meet Jaehyun.

To Lee Jaehyun:

You:

Sounds good, I can’t wait to see you. Does 6 sound good?

Only a few minutes later, a text from Jaehyun came in confirming the time was fine. It left you to only wait until it was close enough to six to start getting ready. You occupied yourself with anything you could, trying your best not to think about Yoongi and instead, hyping yourself up for your night with Jaehyun.

You could do this.

You made sure to shower and shave properly and donned a casual, ruched dress that you knew Jaehyun loved on you. Taking the time to style your hair and put on some flattering natural makeup, you started to feel somewhat better about this. Who says you had you stop your sex life because of this? Even though it was already on hiatus long before your engagement, but that was neither here nor there.

Touching up some last few details with your look, making sure to add a necklace that dipped into your cleavage, and double checking that you were wearing the right lingerie, you felt ready. One last look in the mirror had you feeling like a woman on a mission, and you essentially were, though not a noble one.

The thought made you cringe but you tried to wipe away any guilt you felt. Clearly, Yoongi hadn’t felt any when he’d brought Jimin home. Jimin had texted you again last night but you hadn’t found the energy to text him back yet. You’d worry about that after fucking Jaehyun.

With your look finished, you exited your room, making sure to be as quiet as possible so as to not alert Yoongi. You made it out the door successfully and breathed a sigh of relief.

You quickly hailed a cab to take you to a ramen bar that you and Jaehyun frequented while you were still dating. As you reached, the memories of your relationship flooded your mind, triggered by the warm lighting on your skin and the spiced aroma filling the restaurant. You quickly spotted Jaehyun in the usual booth you’d sat in, somehow always empty for you two even on busy nights. He stood to greet you, hugging you loosely, before gesturing for you to sit.

You noticed his eyebrow raise at your attire. You knew he knew you well enough that your appearance would tip him off somewhat to your intentions, you were slightly dreading having to explain to him your stupid idea.

“Special occasion,” he questioned, nodding at your dress, eyes narrowing in on your necklace.

You smiled, “Seeing you is a special occasion, right?”

At that he stopped, his eyes meeting yours once more, “Y/N, what are you up to?”

Your smile turned sheepish, shrugging slightly, “Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

“In that dress?”

“Would be believe me if I said yes,” you joked.

He laughed, making your heart warm. His laugh was always bright and contagious, it was one of your favorite things about him.

“I’d think you have ulterior motives, Y/N. You know how I feel about that dress,” he chuckled, taking a sip of the beer next to him.

You flagged down a waiter, ordering one for yourself, before facing him once more, “I do.”

Both of Jaehyun’s eyebrows raised at that, eyes narrowing at your figure, “You know the effect you have on me, Y/N, but you’re still married.”

You held back a sigh, not looking forward to explaining your dilemma, “I am, but the rules are…loose. And you’re the only one I was interested in.”

“Y/N,” Jaehyn started, suddenly much firmer, “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

The sudden concern made you melt, remembering why you’d loved him so much before, even though you’d dated for a relatively short amount of time. Your beer arrived next to you and you took a large sip to gain some courage.

“I’m fine, promise. This is what I want.” That probably sounded believable enough.

Jaehyun hummed, taking another sip from his own glass, “Okay, then. Let’s see where this goes.”

Jaehyun’s apartment looked almost identical to the last time you’d been there, save for some new small pieces of decor. You didn’t have much time to observe it though, from the way Jaehyun was feverishly kissing you, pressing your body up against the door.

He felt familiar and safe and the way his hands traveled down your body to slip past the hem of your dress was a nostalgic sensation. His mouth was attached to yours, kissing you without leaving you room to breathe, resulting in you gasping in breaths in the rare reprieves he did give you. He hiked up your leg against his waist before trailing his mouth down your neck, sucking a mark onto your collarbone.

Your grip on his shirt tightened as his fingers approached your underwear, tantalizing your first foreign touch in a while. Your breaths were short and quick, letting yourself swim in the sensation of Jaehyun’s breath ghosting the neckline of your dress. Your head fell back against the door, your mouth slightly open, and your chest heaving at his close proximity. The cold feeling of your necklace against your chest slowly lifted, causing you to glance down to see Jaehyun catching the pendant in his teeth and dragging it up your cleavage, shooting you a lopsided grin.

“Fuck,” you breathed, grabbing the side of his face and bringing him in for another kiss, this time more sloppy as the pendant slipped from his mouth.

“Let me take you to the bed,” he whispered, tapping your thigh, and making you jump into his arms. He carried you into his bedroom, which you distantly noted hadn’t changed much either, and laid you down on his soft sheets, resuming kissing you while reaching for the zipper in the back of your dress.

You felt his fingers travel along with the zipper down your back, erecting goosebumps in their wake, and the fabric slowly fell from your body. He lifted the dress off you leaving you in the purple lingerie you knew he enjoyed decorating your skin in sheer lace.

He grinned down at you, “Fuck, you know just what to do to me.”

He dove into the valley between your breasts and kissed down your navel, dragging his teeth along your skin. As you looked down at him, the sight of his black hair similar to another’s against your stomach suddenly made you feel slightly sick, and his veined hand and long fingers encircling your nipple had a striking resemblance to another pair of hands you appreciated.

As Jaehyun’s mouth traveled towards your center, the sickly feeling grew and you couldn’t help but feel immense guilt not only toward Yoongi but Jaehyun as well.

What were you doing?

Why were you doing this? Just to prove a point? That you can also fuck other people?

The questions made your head spin and you sat up suddenly, startling Jaehyun. Burying your head in your hands, you mumbled out apologies to Jaehyun, and maybe Yoongi too.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” Jaehyun asked, settling himself in beside you, putting his arm around your shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“No,” you choked out, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can do this.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” Jaehyun soothed, rubbing circles into your shoulder, “Want to talk about it?”

“I’m so sorry, it just feels so unfair to you,” you opted to not mention the guilt you felt toward Yoongi as well, “I shouldn’t be doing this, it’s stupid.”

“Why is that,” Jaehyun prompted.

“We decided early on that our marriage would be open,” you managed to say in between quick breaths and wet heaves, “Well, he decided that. I didn’t want that, I actually like him.”

This felt pathetic.

“But I caught him yesterday, with someone else. Fuck, it shouldn’t even bother me, but it does,” you muttered angrily, “And I decided I’d sleep with someone else too, just because of that. I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

“Hey,” Jaehyun turned your chin toward him, making you face him, “I’m an adult, I agreed to this. I did this because I wanted to, I wasn’t expecting us to start dating again. It’s okay that you tried this, and that you clearly aren’t comfortable with it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s so immature though, so petty,” you cried.

“So what? You can still be immature sometimes, you’re not perfect. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. I’m glad you stopped before you did anything you would’ve regretted,” Jaehyun smiled kindly, wiping your tears.

His words made you pause, echoing what you’d said about Yoongi to Joohee earlier that week. Your sobs dried up into short breaths and a cough, making Jaehyun get up to get you water. You sat on his bed feeling rather small and your damp underwear felt uncomfortable.

Jaehyun’s comforting still didn’t get rid of the guilt you felt but his gentle smile upon returning with a glass of water eased it slightly. You sipped it, feeling yourself calm down, watching Jaehyun ruffle through his closet before pulling out a large shirt you’d often stolen from him during your relationship.

“Here,” he said, handing you the shirt, “Wear that, you can sleep here, I don’t want you out in this state. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, I couldn’t let you do that in your own home,” you protested, “Let me take the couch.”

Jaehyun raised his hand, silencing you, “I’m not hearing it. Please, just sleep here and let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you nodded, lowering your gaze to the water in your lap.

“And, Y/N,” he called, making you look up at him again, “I’m glad you reached out. We can always talk, I’m always here for you.”

You smiled, feeling emotional for a new reason now, his kindness washing over you in a soothing wave, “Thanks, Jaehyun. I’m here for you too, whenever you need it.”

He grinned before whispering a quick goodnight and shutting the door behind him.

Finally alone, you sighed. What a night. You still felt guilty, though you knew it wouldn’t do much good now, and you were honestly happy that you’d stopped things before it went too far. You were doing this for the wrong reasons, and even before you’d gotten engaged, you’d had no interest in sleeping with people. What transpired tonight was clearly just an attempt to get back at Yoongi, which was unfair to all parties involved, but especially Jaehyun.

You felt a little disgusted with yourself for using him that way when he’d been nothing but sweet to you. What had you become?

Finishing your water, you stood and peeled the lingerie off of your body and slipped on Jaehyun’s giant college t-shirt. It felt a little weird to not be wearing anything but the shirt to bed, but you didn’t have much choice with your lingerie being disgusting at this point. You quickly gathered your soiled clothing and stuffed it into a plastic bag you’d found, planning to bring it home as discreetly as possible the next morning. That left you lying in Jaehyun’s bed, head still swimming with the events of the past 48 hours.

In a way, you were glad this had happened, it had given you the confirmation that whoever your partner was, no matter the openness of the relationship, you weren’t interested in dating outside of your marriage. Even if you didn’t have any feelings for Yoongi, you still would’ve felt disgusted. You could hear Joohee chastizing you in your head about how you had a right to get even and that you deserved to have fun, but this wasn’t fun to you. It wasn’t appealing in the slightest.

Despite the nightmarish evening, you felt content with where you were in your own sexuality. Maybe at some point, you would become comfortable enough to actually sleep with other people, but that wasn’t something you wanted to worry about right now.

Right now, you weren’t near ready for that. What you needed was to have that conversation with Yoongi, and, with newfound courage, you resolved to have it by the end of the day tomorrow.

With your new mission in mind, you felt yourself drift to sleep in the distantly familiar feeling of Jaehyun’s mattress and scent.

The next morning had you feeling more embarrassed than guilty at the previous night’s events, and you quietly exited Jaehyun’s room, hoping not to wake him on the couch before leaving. Just your luck though that his door creaked loudly, making him sit up from his position on the couch.

His bleary stare and messy hair made you smile as you waved a shy hello. He waved lazily with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other, taking in the sight of you in just his shirt, your lingerie and dress sitting in the plastic bag hanging from your hand.

“Damn, I really wish you weren’t married,” he slurred, likely still quite sleepy.

You laughed, walking over to him, “If I get divorced, you’ll be my first call.”

He smiled loosely, still quite tired, “Yes, do that. Anyway, you can take one of my shorts, but please let me drive you back. I’m nervous about you going out like that.”

You nodded, “Okay, thanks. For everything, seriously.” You wanted to say more, but you weren’t sure how to phrase it. The unconditional kindness he displayed to you left you speechless and only more upset that he wasn’t the one you got to marry.

The ride back to Yoongi’s apartment was fairly quiet, with Jaehyun still quite tired, as he was never a morning person. He stopped in front of Yoongi’s building, whistling at the height of the tower. You smiled and thanked him again, squeezing his hand, before opening the door to leave.

“Hey, seriously, Y/N. Call me if you ever need anything, I’m always here to listen,” he said, watching you exit his car.

“Thanks, Jaehyun. I really can’t thank you enough,” you responded, smiling at his waving off of your answer. You shut the door before steeling your resolve for what awaited you in Yoongi’s apartment.

This was going to have to happen sooner or later, but it was time to have an honest conversation with Yoongi.

And you were going to be okay, no matter the outcome.

Probably.

Yoongi was tipsy. He hadn’t seen you since last night when you’d come downstairs in the middle of him making out with some guy he’d found at the club with Taehyung and Seokjin. You seemed to know the guy, Jimin he remembers, and that made him feel odd.

He wasn’t upset, no, he felt sick in his gut that you apparently knew the person he’d chosen to sleep with outside of your marriage.

He wasn’t sure why it was so upsetting to him, you’d both decided early on to leave your relationship open. Theoretically, there was nothing wrong with what he did. But it didn’t stop the guilt that swirled in his stomach, making him reach for more whiskey.

Something about your expression, just as you’d turned around after he’d noticed you. Your eyes were teary and you were biting your lip. Your eyebrows were knotted together and he could see the tight grip you had on the plate in your hands.

Your expression made his heart clench.

It was the most emotion he’d seen on your face, and you seemed unbelievably upset. And he had done that to you.

What was worse was the way your face returned to its usual cold exterior only moments later, the epitome of calm and collected. Was Yoongi not worth becoming emotional over for you?

No, Yoongi wasn’t upset about that. No, he was upset that you felt the need to control yourself like that. Yoongi had grown up being taught to control his every emotion, his every expression, and any aspect of his body language, and it molded him into an emotionally stunted adult with only a few close friends with whom he could loosen up with.

He had done that to you.

Yoongi resisted the urge to slam his glass down on his desk. He was a piece of shit, he felt disgusting.

You hadn’t come out of your room since last night and he wasn’t sure what to do. Did you even want to see him for him to apologize? He didn’t want to message you, the fear of being ignored was too great.

Suddenly, he heard the front door open and close, and silence afterward. So you’d gone out. Fair enough, Yoongi couldn’t blame you. He wouldn’t want to be around himself if he were you either.

He didn’t want to be around himself as it was.

Fuck.

He was getting in over his head. He remembered the feel of Jimin’s plush lips against his own and his skin under the rough pads of Yoongi’s fingertips, but he didn’t feel anything. It felt like he was forcing himself, going through the motions, desperate to find an answer to the confusion he’d felt since he’d married you.

In a way, he’d found an answer. Yoongi was undeniably attracted to you, and only you. Jimin was a last-ditch effort to prove to himself that he wasn’t developing feelings for you, and that had failed. Catastrophically.

This, however, brought a new dilemma for Yoongi, what was he supposed to do about it? It wasn’t fair to you for Yoongi to push these new feelings onto you after being caught with someone else. Yoongi knew that much. It’d only serve to be confusing and upsetting to you. So what was he supposed to do?

Yoongi bit his lip, hard. When was the last time he’d had feelings for someone? Taehyung? That would’ve been years ago, when they’d first met, and Taehyung had had a girlfriend at the time. So Yoongi had pushed his feelings down and repressed them until they were no longer there and Taehyung was nothing but a good friend.

But this was different. Yoongi was married to you, he had the opportunity to pursue his feelings. But what of the consequences? What if you didn’t want that? What if you were disgusted with him, now? Rightfully so, he mused.

A sigh escaped his mouth as he refilled his whiskey glass, his head was starting to hurt. New whiskey was poured into his glass but he did not drink it.

Despite the fact that he’d finally come to terms with his budding affection for you, he’d never felt more lost and confused.

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396 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 10 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⸻ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 5.2k

chapter summary: unlike what you thought, the rumor hasn't been dying out and with a new game plan in mind, you go to seek out Joel.

warnings: age gap, fake dating, mostly fluff, drinking, small town gossip, people talking about the age difference, another heated kiss

**dividers by @saradika

You’re a fucking idiot.

A moron.

A fool.

Fucking small towns. Of course, rumors would spread. Of course, everyone would start talking about seasoned survivor Joel Miller and his new young lover. You shudder at the thought, unable to identify if it’s a bad shudder or the kind that makes your stomach flutter. You hate the idea of Joel being right. He’d said people would talk. And newsflash, unlike what you had thought, the gossip hasn’t died out.

There are two fundamental reasons why neither you nor Joel can just shrug it off, saying it’s not true. The first reason is that both Steven and Marc saw you being shoved up against a wall, passionately locking lips with Joel. The second reason is the fact that no one would think the twins were lying.

Again, this wouldn’t be an issue if you didn’t have a past to hide. People would start digging if you told them the rumors were only that. Rumors. They would start asking questions like where the two knew each other from. And you knew for a fact that Joel doesn’t want people digging either. People knew what kind of man he was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they will turn a blind eye to him killing the last hope of human survival.

Snow crunches under your boots, your body sweating despite the cold. Tommy’s place finally comes into view. You pray he hadn’t heard any of the rumors, as impossible as that might be.

Some part of you believes that if a time ever comes when everyone finds out what Joel had done, you'll stick up for him. You’re the only person who knows the way of the firefly. How easy it was for them to kill when they thought they were the heroes. In the end, he spared you, it was hard to hate a person who allowed you to live. No matter how much he regrets it now.

On the porch, you stare at the door. It’s weathered for the most part, some parts fixed and polished but not the whole thing.

You knock loudly two times, it doesn’t take long for Tommy to open the door, his lips curling instantly when he lays his eyes on you.

“Well well well, look who it is,” he says too cheerfully, you’re already rolling your eyes. “The good old sister-in-law! Can you tell me why I had to hear about you and my brother tying the knot from Wellington?”

Jesus fucking Christ, Wellington knows? No wonder this bullshit isn’t dying out.

“We’re not married Tommy.”

“Yet.”

“Just tell me where he is, matchmaker.”

He raises an eyebrow, his smile melting, “You don’t know?”

It takes you everything for you not to take deep heavy breaths. He’s making this exceptionally hard. You had a plan. And that plan meant you and Joel wouldn’t be an item in the near future. For said plan to work, however, no one needs to know it was fake to begin with.

“I don’t have his schedule, Tommy, and I wanted to surprise him with,” You press your molars together and lift your bag, forcing a smile. “Baked goods.”

Tommy is full of glee again, “Awwww how fuckin’ sweet. Didn’t know you had it in ya Pecan.” Before you can answer, he points to the bag. “I’ll give you the information for one cinnamon roll.”

You give him a deadpan look, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You’d only gotten two and you were looking forward to it. Instinctively you pull the bag back, hiding it behind you. “No.”

“Come on, pay up, or else I ain’t tellin’ you.”

“Fuck, fine. You’re a mean one.”

“If you say Mr Grinch I’m taking two.”

“No!”

He grins widely, perfect straight teeth coming into view. As he leans forward to snatch the bag away, you get a whiff of his scent and witness how perfectly his dark locks fall forward. Fuck, what kind of super genes did the Millers possess? How are they both so effortlessly attractive? It’s sometimes easy to forget that Tommy can be classified as good-looking since the two of you tend to give each other hell most of the time. But during those short moments where you get a good look at him? It’s devastating.

Tommy holds out the bag and stuffs the cinnamon roll into his mouth, his jaw moving.

“You really not gonna share it with Maria? It’s a miracle your spine isn’t broken from sleeping on the couch.”

He takes the roll out of his mouth and takes a proper bite, “I’m a fuckin’ delight to be around and she’s not home.” You take the bag and as you do, stick out your tongue. “Brat. Your loverboy is at the tree farm cuttin’ up trees. Tell him I say hi and he should find me later.”

“I’m not his secretary.”

“It’s almost like you want me to take all your treats.”

The smell of pine fills your lungs and you’re grateful. You adore the smell. The freshness and sweetness of it mixing with the crispness of snow. You’re honestly amazed at how organized the tree farm is. Tall, lush pine trees in perfect order as you walk between them. Lights have been strung up temporarily, the wires that tie them together so thin that it almost looks like they’re hanging from the sky. They must look beautiful during the night.

It takes you a while to find Joel. He’s in the back and you approach him silently. That wasn’t your initial intention, being snuck up on is never fun. But the way he’s chopping wood makes your insides feel all runny and warm. You didn’t know he additionally chopped firewood as well. He lifts the axe and throws it down, sweat beading on his forehead. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, exposing the sinewy muscle of his forearms to your gaze. He cuts down another log, it becomes two in one swift motion. Your mouth dries and tongue rushes out to wet your lips. Your mind cruelly reminds you of the night you kissed him, how good it had felt to have him pressed against you, claiming you—

“Why don’t you bring a damn camera next time, it’ll add to the whole stalker pervert thing you have goin’ on right now.”

Okay. He’s joking. Joking is good, right? Joking means that he doesn’t think about covering your face with a pillow while you sleep. Your body tenses, the soft hairs scattered across your body rising with attention.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, the two of you standing only inches apart. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you but we need to talk.”

“I was wonderin’ when you’d come by. Sucks to be wrong doesn’t it?”

“How was I supposed to know people had nothing else better to do than talk about our non-existent relationship.”

Joel suddenly throws the axe down, impaling the sharp end into the wood, you jump, adrenaline humming in your ears. He ignores your very fair reaction and peels off his gloves, turning towards the bench, “Gee, only if someone had told you that people would talk.”

“Yeah, okay I deserve that.”

He sighs, “What do you want?”

“Like I’ve been saying since the day I realized who you are: to talk.”

“Fine. I was about to take a damn break anyway. Come on, now.”

You both sit on the ice-cold bench, he leans over and picks up a thermos. You’re surprised when he also pulls out two mugs, placing them on top of a clearly handmade bite-sized picnic table. Without a word, you quickly place your offerings as well, at least the ones Tommy had let you get away with, two cheese-stuffed bagels and one cinnamon roll. You frown when you look at it. You really wanted that roll.

“What’s this?” Joel asks, filling the mugs.

“I thought you’d be in better spirits with a full stomach.”

You almost earn a hint of laughter but the sound is quickly swallowed down. The traces of his smile still linger on the corner of his lips, “Well, at least you’re not dumb enough to come empty-handed.”

Ignoring him, you place your cold palms around the mug and take a sip. The fresh taste of lavender and honey coats your tongue. Your favorite. “Huh, weird,” you mutter.

“What? Does it taste funny?”

“No no. It’s just. . . Lavender tea is my favorite.”

“Go figure,” he takes a sip and scowls. “I’d rather have coffee.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were a tea-loving man.” He grunts and picks up one of the bagels, taking a bite. “About the whole dating situation, I have a plan.”

He doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said so you continue, “The plan is we fake it for a while, act like a couple, make everyone gush over us, then we break up, saying we wanted different things. That way no one digs into our pasts.”

“This is the weirdest way anyone has ever asked me out.”

You snort, “I’m not asking you out. The key word here is fake. Because if we just say we weren’t dating at all, people are going to wonder why you had me up against a wall. And unless you want to tell people you were threatening me. . .” you give him a look but he’s staring at the horizon, chewing thoughtfully on his bagel. You think he’s scowling but you’re not sure. “I think this is the best way.”

He swallows the last bite and glares at his mug before taking another sip of his tea, he wrinkles his nose. “How would we have to be around each other? I haven’t exactly been datin’ around that much.”

“I was six when the outbreak happened. I’m pretty sure your guess is better than mine.”

That finally catches his attention, his eyes widen, the furrow between his brows deep, “Six?” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

You’re used to people being surprised. Most like you haven’t survived. And your references to the past always made you seem older than you were, you preferred it that way. The less people could guess about you the better. Your mom and dad always paid extra attention to tell you about the world before the cordyceps, reminding you that a life like that could still be your reality once again.

“Was. . .” Joel swallows, pulling you away from your parents. You reach for the other bagel and start eating, giving him time so he can just spit it out. “Was that your first kiss?”

There is something in his voice, an emotion very similar to guilt. You swallow your bite.

“No. It wasn’t.” And that’s all you have to say about that. It seems to be enough because he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping. You change the subject. Quickly. “I’m thinking we hold hands a bit, kiss each other on the cheek, and stuff like that. We can come up with rules if you want but I think it’s pretty straightforward.”

He nods. An oddly comfortable silence stretches out. You finish your bagel and drain the rest of your tea.

“We should probably split this,” he says and pulls out a knife from his belt.

“Oh. . . you can have it.”

Joel chuckles, it isn’t quite a laugh but you still take it as a win. “I saw how you were oglin’ it. I ain’t gonna risk you biting my head off,” he cuts it into two and offers you the bigger half. A smile brushes against your lips. “Why didn’t you just get two?”

“I did!” you gasp, forgetting that the two of you aren’t lovers, not even friends. “Tommy took one as compensation for telling me where you were. By the way, he wanted me to tell you hi and that the two of you should meet up later.”

“Why ain’t he lettin’ me know his damn self. I know he ain’t doin’ shit today. You’re not my secretary.”

“That’s what I said!”

Another chuckle. You’re acing this.

“I’ll get him to pay you back, don’t worry.”

“You don’t have to,” you laugh. “It’s just a roll.”

“Well, you’re my girl now, aren’t you? It would be unboyfriend-like of me not to avenge my girl. If we’re gonna fake it, might as well do it right.”

My girl. Your cheeks grow warm. You know it’s not real, and that deep down he most likely despises your existence that threatens his peace but still, it’s good to belong. Even if it’s not real. Even if it’s a lie. Your brain tricks your body into feeling whole for a brief moment, that internal coldness you’ve been feeling since the day your parents died melting ever so lightly, the warm water that drips over the icy exterior, warming your stomach.

“Tell him he owes me two then,” you say, barely above a whisper. “The bakery rarely makes them you know, cinnamon is hard to make.”

He nods but doesn’t add anything else. The crinkles soften at the corner of his eyes, lips looking soft and pliant. You might’ve even dared enough to say that he looks at peace.

You stand and leave, taking a mental note to bring him more treats from now on.

You successfully fool yourself into believing it’s for his sake and not yours.

Joel enjoys the cold. He always knew he would but was never allowed to say it since he never lived in the cold. He hated that argument. Sure he lived in Austin his entire life but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache for a bit of chill. Even at the end of the world, when he barely had enough to cover his back, he found himself enjoying the little things. The fresh, crisp air, the snow crunching under his boots.

The silence.

Sometimes he wonders if he likes it so much because it reminds him of death and considering all the seasons, winter is the one where he is closest to it. Closest to Sarah. He does hope she’s someplace warmer now. He’s not a man of faith, but for her, he’ll believe there’s an afterlife where nothing but good and butterflies exist.

Joel also feels closest to her when he’s with Tommy. His brother is the only one who knew her, the good in her. He was the one who was there when the world was stripped away from such a kind being, and he was there when she was buried under the world she could always see the best of.

As Joel walks up to the porch the brothers' eyes meet, it’s true that uncles resemble the kids. Sometimes if the light hits him just right, Joel could see a bit of her in him.

“You owe her two rolls,” Joel huffs, sitting on the empty chair beside Tommy.

“I don’t know what she told you but we had a very fair exchange, I don’t owe your little girlfriend shit,” he grins, not noticing the way Joel frowns at the label. “Nice to see the guard dog in you hasn’t died out.”

“I ain’t a guard dog.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Just bring her two tomorrow and I’ll owe you one favor.”

Tommy’s grin only widens, “You must really want to impress her.”

Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. This whole arrangement is going to be a pain in the ass, he can sense it.

“Fine, tell pecan I’ll have her goods Friday. I doubt I’ll be able to wake up early enough to get it tomorrow but you owe me one Joel.”

“Why the hell do you call her Pecan anyway? That ain’t her name, you dumbass.”

“It’s because she has a hard shell but nice and soft on the inside.” Joel’s shoulders raise and he swallows thickly around the knot forming in his throat. He remembers the way you tasted on his tongue. How soft you were against him, no hard shell in sight. Tommy has no idea just how soft you are and can be. His cock twitches under the denim. He hates himself for it. “You should bring her to the party tonight.”

“Huh?”

“That party, Joel,” Tommy playfully smacks his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you forgot already. You promised to come.”

Oh yeah. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to go and deal with all the eyes he already knows will be on him. And you.

“Yeah, ‘course I remember. I’ll be there.”

“Just you?”

Joel sighs, “And her. We’ll be there.”

“You know, I’m truly happy for you brother. You deserve to be happy with someone who appreciates you.”

The words sting but he can’t do anything about it. He looks away, eyes staring at the snow-covered trees. “I don’t like being at the center of attention.”

“It’ll die out. The lonely bachelors are just jealous. Don’t mind them.”

Joel doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s talking about. You’re nearly half his age, six when the damn world came to an end. He knows people are wondering how the hell an old man like him got a girl like you, as if your age is the only reason to be with you. Not that he would know. None of this is real after all. You don’t appreciate him like Tommy suggested, maybe grateful for not putting a bullet between your eyes but that’s pretty much it. The same goes for him. He doesn’t know you—other than that you enjoy lavender tea with heaping amounts of honey and cinnamon rolls.

“I won’t, Tommy. No need to worry.”

When you hear a loud knock at the door, you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. Ever since the kissing mishap with Joel, you’ve been a bit more conscious of what you look like. You’ve never had a reason to care much about it before and you’re not sure you like being this aware of every little flaw now.

Walking to the door, you’re not sure who to expect. You don’t have many friends other than Tommy and Maria, you’re already on alert, grabbing a small knife from the kitchen. Old habits die hard.

What you weren’t expecting is to see a distressed Joel Miller.

“Didn’t figure you knew where I lived.”

“I’m the brother-in-law of the woman in charge, of course I know where you live. I know where everyone lives.”

You lift an eyebrow and lean against the door frame, his eyes drop to the knife but fear is the furthest thing in his features, “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“There’s a party at Tommy’s and he wanted me to invite you.”

An involuntary groan escapes your lips, Tommy knew you didn’t want to go. The fucker.

“And let me guess, I have to go because we’re a couple.”

“Don’t give me attitude it was your idea, not mine.”

He’s right, “Fine. Come in and I’ll change so we can leave.”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearin’ right now?”

You try not to hide yourself behind the door as his eyes sweep you from top to bottom. Inherently, there isn’t anything wrong with what you’re wearing. It's just your typical jeans, sweater, and a dark green flannel thrown on top. You’re warm and cozy.

“Isn’t this a party?”

“What do you think they’ll be wearin’? Suits and fancy dresses?”

“I guess you’re right, I’ll get my jacket.”

Feeling warmer than normal, you lock the door and the two of you head to Tommy’s. “So, should we. . . talk about what we’re gonna do or say?”

“Say?”

Joel shrugs, “You know, if they ask us how we met or somethin’.”

“I think half the town knows how we met, Joel.”

“A’right, so our story is that I helped you down, had a couple of drinks, and decided we like each other?”

“Sounds iron proof to me.”

“This is fuckin’ stupid.”

“I don’t see you coming up with any plans.”

“Wouldn’t even be in this mess if not for you.”

The harsh bite in his tone makes you take a step back without thinking. You’ve seen this man kill with ease. He’d admitted to regret leaving you alive. Fear is an irrational thing. It’s something that lingers and stays even when the initial threat has been evaded. You’re still afraid despite knowing you don’t have to be. You’ve been enjoying your little talks, you’ve been enjoying spending time with him. Internally you’re conflicted and confused.

Joel slows down along with you, turning and checking just how far you’ve fallen behind. He stops and turns, eyes taking in the furrow of your brows, the running of your nose. You don’t flinch when he touches your cheek, his gloved hand soft against your skin. He’s so gentle. So gentle that it almost hurts.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you. Promise,” he lets out a steady breath, fixing you with a leveled gaze. “I might not trust you or even like you, but I won’t hurt you.”

Your eyes widen, heart thudding loud enough that you’re positive he can hear it. Without a word you nod, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Joel nods back. His hand deserts your cheek and he locks your arms together, tugging you along the snow.

You believe him when he says he won’t hurt you. As foolish as that might be.

Two hours into the party and still all everyone can talk about is Joel and his new girlfriend. Even goddamn Maria had asked about it. Joel is still recovering from his sister-in-law’s interest in the matter. You were a definite natural in faking it. Unlike him, who was already exhausted from it all. It’d been a long couple of hours of holding hands, standing close, and kissing cheeks.

He’s holding a glass of the finest whiskey he’s ever had since the world ended, surrounded by familiar faces and his brother. You had scurried off somewhere. To the bathroom, he thinks. Or helping Maria with organizing. He probably should’ve asked, but he’s not used to questioning people unless it’s Ellie. But since the two of you are “dating” he suppose he should’ve.

“Yo Miller.” Joel fights the urge to groan as Wellington approaches with a raised hand. He slaps him on the shoulder, his cheeks and nose red and warm thanks to the alcohol. “You gotta tell me your secret.”

Joel sends Tommy a questioning gaze, his bother only shrugs. “‘Bout what Wellington?” he sighs.

“About catchin’ such a fine piece of ass.”

Joel’s shoulders raise, nostrils flaring as anger boils in his gut, but before he can get out a word Tommy intervenes, “Wellington.”

“What?” he slurs, turning to the younger Miller. “We’re all thinkin’ it. How old is she huh? Like half your age?”

Joel feels sick when the man grins. Wellington ain’t lying, you are half his age. Realistically, someone like you would never go for him. An old man who’s lost so much in his lifetime. But of course, he can’t say that, he can’t say anything that might out them as liars.

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Joel grunts, pushing Wellington’s hand off his shoulder. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“I’d say money but that don’t exist anymore,” Wellington continues. “So what is it?”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up—

“Joel?”

Your voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Everyone who’s in-ear shot of the conversation stills, an icy cold wind enveloping all of them, including Tommy. Joel recognizes the look of worry in his brother’s eyes. The older Miller swallows thickly as he rips his glare away from Wellington—he’s surprised that despite the amount of alcohol in his veins he looks ashamed.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

You shudder in a way only he notices. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Your body subtly going straight and then relaxing. He wonders how much you’ve heard, or rather if you heard.

“I need some help in the kitchen, could you?”

“Uh, yeah sure. Of course.”

He ignores Tommy’s snicker and follows you through the crowd, away from the sight of Wellington and others. You stop at the threshold of the kitchen, not going in. You lean against the door frame and look away. “Sorry, I don’t actually need help. It just looked like you needed saving.”

“That bad, huh?”

“If looks could kill, Wellington would be dead thrice.” You say it so nonchalantly that he smiles, Joel mimics your stance and leans against the other side of the doorframe, leaving only little distance between you two. “What did he say?”

So you didn’t hear. Good.

“Nothin’ that you need to concern yourself with. He’s just buggin’ me, that’s all.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t really look like it was just buggin’.”

The subtle accent change at the end of your sentence makes him laugh, you shake your head but he sees the way your lips quirk into a smile.

“You makin’ fun of me sweetheart?”

“. . . Maybe.”

“That’s the type of talk that’ll get you in trouble you know.”

Your smile widens into a grin, “With whom?”

“Keep it up and you’ll find out.”

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. The enjoyment of the tug and pull. Heat spreads from the small of his back and reaches all the way to his groin. You must’ve had a couple of drinks before asking for him. You lean closer, your lips deliciously curled as mischief glimmers in your eyes. He wonders if you thought about the kiss. How close your bodies were that night.

“Be careful Miller,” you say, rolling your tongue over each syllable. “Almost sounds like you want me to keep it up.”

God, that he does. He’s starting to get hard. Without even thinking he leans a bit closer as well, tilting his head as if he’s about to kiss you. Your eyes flash with something expectant—

“KISS!”

The delicate moment shatters with reality. You’re not flirting, you can’t, because technically you’re already dating. Joel hates the way you flinch at the sudden crowd shouting. His head whips towards them, only to see Tommy taking charge, he points to something above and both of your heads snap up like a cartoon.

“Mistletoe,” he says. Lowering his gaze, he gives you a quick smile. “You know what that means, right sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, “I do, jerk.”

“Brat.”

He almost laughs at the way your lips quickly wound shut. The crowd is getting restless.

“Don’t y’all have anythin’ better to do?” Joel quips.

“Nope!”

The echoes of kiss kiss kiss only get louder from there. Joel sighs, “I don’t think we can escape them.”

“If I had a penny every time we had to kiss to appease a crowd. . .” you whisper. He expects you to continue but you don’t, instead you place your hands on his cheeks, holding him gently. You come closer and as does he, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you flush against him.

You’re so soft. Softer than he deserves.

Unlike the first time, he takes the lead. He pushes you until your back is pressed against the doorframe, he claims your lips with a need he fearfully admits he doesn’t have to fake. He squeezes your hips, the sound of the crowd awing them fading into the background. It’s just his lips that move, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to feel your tongue against his. To feel the quiver of your naked body as he fills you to the brim, kissing you and telling you just how much he enjoys being inside you.

He swallows your tiny moans and whimpers, and as he breaks away, he pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth. You’re breathless when you meet his gaze, sharp eyes glazed over with a fog of arousal.

Then, as the crowd claps, he presses the side of his face against your ear, “Just a taste,” he whispers and feels your tremble underneath his palms. “Of what’ll happen if you keep it up.”

“That was one hell of a party,” you muse. You’re staring at the dark horizon, snow gently falling from the sky. Joel pushes a warm mug of tea between your hands.

“It’s still goin’ on,” he says.

“You’d die if you just let me live in my blissful bubble wouldn’t you?”

“Sure would.”

You let out a snort as he settles near you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You have to admit, it’s been a fun night—and not only because of the kiss. That was just a bonus. A very hot and steamy bonus.

It felt too real to be fake. Too real to be nothing. Years you had been alone and now you were sampling what it meant to have someone care for you, to tease you. He doesn’t even know you yet you two fit together like a glove and a hand. Makes you wonder how different this could all have been if he hadn’t been Ellie’s father, and you hadn’t been a part of the Fireflies.

“Oh good you’re still here.” The two of you turn to see Tommy, his cheeks a little flushed and his breath a little uneven. “I need to ask you two somethin’.”

“What now?” Joel groans, prompting a smile from you.

“You heard of the new family in town? The one with two kids?” You have no idea but Joel seems to know who they are. He nods. “We don’t have a house ready for them yet so I was thinkin’. . .” his eyes flicker between yours and Joel’s, your stomach going tight with worry. “You two can live together till we’re finished with the construction.”

“What?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can properly register. You turn to Joel but much to your surprise, he seems unfazed.

“Just for a while,” Tommy says. “I just figured since you two are already datin’. . .”

Joel ignores his brother completely to fave you, “Your call sweetheart.”

Seeing him so calm makes you ashamed of your initial reaction. You’re not even sure why you reacted so brashly. It was a simple request. A logical one.

“Yeah sure, that’s okay,” forcing a smile, you turn to Tommy. Joel’s touch is soothing behind you, hand rubbing small circles at the base of your spine. A welcome comfort. “Just let me grab my things and you can set them up tomorrow.”

“You’re the best, pecan,” Tommy glows, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll give Maria the good news.”

Joel’s hand deserts you almost immediately when his brother is out of sight. It makes your heartstrings tug. “You sure about this?” he asks. “It would be fine if I lived alone but Ellie is a curious one and she’ll figure it out if we ain’t convincin’ enough.”

“In all honesty, I had completely forgotten about Ellie,” you let out a deep exhale. “But I guess that’s fine. I’m sure we can pull it off. It’s not like I could say no.”

His gaze softens, “You could’ve asked to stay somewhere else.”

“No. . . It’s fine, Joel. Really,” you crack a smile. “I feel like I should be asking if you’re alright with it. You’re the one with the problem with me being around Ellie.”

“I’ll have my eye on you two,” he says a bit too quickly for comfort.

Your tongue sours, “I’m not going to tell her anything.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. Or even acknowledges that he’s heard you. He leaves you on the porch, following his brother’s footsteps, you’re left with nothing but a lukewarm mug of tea.

Then you notice it’s lavender.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfic

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joocomics · 2 months ago

Text

i don’t like you either

day 3 — hate sex w/ gaon ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 coworker!jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 1.6k

contains: office au, enemies to ??? trope, sub!reader, bratty!reader, rough/angry sex, unprotected sex, pet names, name calling (slut/whore), face slapping (f!rec), facial, dirty talk, degradation (f!rec), dacryphilia, quickies

a/n: inspired by my own ramblings in this post

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

Jiseok hates you, but he also hates himself.

Why? Because he spends a ridiculous amount of his time during the day watching you, thinking about you, talking to you (most of the time about things that he doesn’t need to discuss necessarily with you, but he does anyway). And sometimes dreaming about you; on days like that instead of going to work feeling well rested, he feels completely drained from his energy, because he finds your face infuriating even in the wet dreams he has where you actually like him.

Hating you is exhausting, but addictive like a drug he needs to keep taking to stay stable. This bad habit of his only becomes harder to break because of the same high sex drive you both have in common.

“Go through these by the end of the day and send them to me when you’re done.”

You slide the pile of papers back in his direction.

“I’ll do them tomorrow.”

“Did you hear me?” Jiseok frowns upon your calm voice and leans over your desk. “I said by the end of the day.”

You look away from your desktop screen to meet his resentful eyes.

“Or what?”

The mean smile so familiar to Jiseok - and only to Jiseok from this whole company - spreads on your lips; they sparkle distractingly from the gloss you like to wear every day. He's gotten a taste of its fruity flavour so many damn times.

He lets out a sigh. A sigh that sounds like he’s trying to figure out which route to take - should he grab the papers, give up and go to his desk to do the job himself, or, should he keep talking to you despite already knowing this won’t do anything except lead to both of you hiding in an empty room… fucking.

“If you want to make a name for yourself around here you should stop being so pathetically bitter, Jiseok,” you told him the other week after he made a fuss about the coffee stain you left on his white buttoned up shirt, because you weren’t watching where you were going. He thought you won’t dare talk to him like that ever again after the sex you had against the wall of the restroom. It was quick, but intense; his hand was over your mouth the entire time, and he felt a few tears gliding on his fingers from your urge to moan freely.

But he was wrong. No matter how hard he makes you cum each time, you keep running your mouth, just like you do now.

Your egos just keep clashing, making you fight over the most basic, ridiculous things. It was like that during your internships, and it stayed that way after you both remained working in the company.

You really tried to become friendly with Jiseok, you did. But you can’t be friends with someone who constantly wants to remind you that he’s better than you at everything, and who’s always so attractive while doing so, effortlessly making everyone fall for his charm.

“My eyes are up here.” You say before laughing at the way Jiseok’s expression evidently turns from sully to something worse as he slowly traces his dark gaze up your cleavage.

You already know where you’re going to end up in five minutes before any of you gets the chance to say it. The adrenaline rush is too strong to fight.

It thrills him immensely - the fact he brings you a kind of pleasure you never knew before just by hating you, and it thrills you just the same, although you would never admit it.

“You don’t need to try so hard,” you murmur softly while slowly losing the control over your voice, “I’m seeing Jungsu later.”

Jiseok laughs. A sharp, artificial sound that disappears quickly.

“Jungsu?”

“Yeah, mmph—“ you try to suppress an intense sound, causing the mischievous expression on your face to fade. Jiseok’s thrusts are now deeper, stretching you out faster than you’re used to.

“Did you say something?” He raises a brow amused. His smirk is turning more twisted with every passing moment.

“He’s amazing in bed.” You grasp onto his shoulders as if it will help you focus on your train of thought not only on your posture. Each rigid move of his hips causes you to dig your sharp nails deeper into his skin. “So good—“

Do you mean Jungsu or Jiseok right now? You’re not entirely sure. Both, maybe.

“Whore—“ Jiseok spews out.

He continues calling you a whore in his head, again and again, trying not to let his mind suffocate him with images of your colleague’s perfectly carved body on top of you.

The frustration in Jiseok’s tone encourages you to get even closer in his ear. Your hands caress his skin beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and you can almost feel how his body grows hotter the more you speak.

“He’s soo big…” you mewl and his furious grip instantly tightens on your skirt. “Bigger than you. He fills me up—“

You don’t get to finish your sentence from the same quick hand now gripping your face.

Jiseok peers into your eyes, they’re sparkling up at him daringly with lust. He’s done this before and you both grew to love it. Isn’t this why you’re here locked in this small dark cabinet? Hating you in public is one thing, but in private - another.

The slap lands on your cheek, harder than last time.

“Cut the bullshit,” he grunts, trying not to raise his voice. “I know you’ll gladly let every guy here have his way with you.” He sneers, then looks down where your bodies are connected; where you swallow him so nicely, dripping with arousal and squeezing more strongly with each word he says. His fist grabs onto your scrunched skirt for support again and his body starts moving slowly so he can bottom out almost completely before pushing his tip all the way in. “You’re happy to have any cock fill this little cunt, ain’t that right? But I have a question for you,” his lips curl smugly once you look him in the eye, “why do you keep coming back if they're so good?”

“I don't kiss and tell.”

You're not about to say what's really on your mind.

Jiseok laughs in your face again and stops wasting time. He speeds up, causing your figure to move back and forth onto the small table.

Your hands hold onto the surface as your head falls back from the building pleasure.

“Fuck!” A delightful whine crawls out of your throat with a note of shame. What bad thing did you do in your past life to have Kwak Jiseok of all people be the one to fuck you just right?

His hand slaps you again and the sweet pain forces your eyes on him.

“Look at me,” he rubs the stinging spot with his thumb. “You should be fuckin’ grateful that I keep giving you my cock, baby. You’re not the only slut around here.” And just like that the same hand that was caressing your face slaps it again. “Just the prettiest one.”

His eyes shift in the direction of your bouncing breasts spilling out of your bra.

When will he get bored, he wonders… From hearing your moans and seeing your face change in the middle of your orgasm. From feeling you clench around him.

“Say it.”

“Thank you,” you pout before shutting your eyes closed. “Oh, fuck! I hate you.”

Jiseok leans in, your mouths that have gotten so familiar with each other’s taste are inches apart.

“This… is the last time.” You speak out, giving a a final promise to yourself meanwhile your hand sneaks behind his neck to pull him closer. “We’re never doing this— We’re not…”

“Yeah?” He whispers intensely like he wishes to hear that one phrase again. Maybe he does.

Isn’t this why you’re really here locked in this cabinet?

“Say it again.”

“I hate you, I hate y-you so much.” Your fingers grab a handful of his hair and pull as strongly as they can while your words slip in the air more quietly each time.

You’re not mistaken. Hearing this pushes Jiseok to the edge, and his deep husky voice cusses at the crook of your neck as he pulls out in a rush.

He barely manages to tell you to get on your knees. Instead of sounding like a command, the words come out more like a weak mumbling.

“But my makeup—“

“Fuck, do as I say!” This time he speaks louder and firmer.

You kneel, barely able to contain your excitement. Your heart still races for some reason as you flutter up at him with your lashes.

Two of his fingers push through your lips and you let them glide on your tongue, pressing it down as his other hand moves speedily along his cock till he cums.

The moment the rush hits its peak Jiseok glances down to watch his thick essense landing on your pretty face. His arousal covers your features just the way he wanted - there’s ropes of cum on your mouth, nose, eyelashes and somewhere in your hair too.

You breathe in deeply after he pulls out his fingers only to use them to gather some of his fluids before forcing them back in.

Tasting him for the first time almost makes you hum as you stare at his flushed face; it’s contorted in bliss, weakness, in an unexplainable way he looks focused and out of his mind at the same time. Nonetheless, attractive.

Very, very attractive. Beauty that makes it easy to hate.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #— writing: xdinary heroes #xdinary heroes smut #xdh smut #gaon smut #gaon hard thoughts #kwak jiseok smut #jiseok hard thoughts #jiseok x reader #gaon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh x reader

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intuitionallyspiritual · 1 year ago

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ρꪖᥴ (ρ𝓲ᥴ𝘬 ꪖ ᥴꪖ𝘳ᦔ) 𝘳ꫀꪖᦔ𝓲ꪀᧁ

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ ꪖ𝘴 ꪖ ᥴꫀꪶꫀ᥇𝘳𝓲𝓽ꪗ

Description: choose the pile that you feel most drawn to. It helps if you close your eyes and let your eyes guide you.

Warning ⚠️ ‼️: This is a general reading meaning it may not fully resonate with you as their are many energies engaging in a pile

Let me know your opinions in the comments

(Shoutout to them for making me think about doing this: @bitdemonic @evangelinesbible @allmyloveandyours

ᥴꫝꪮꪮ𝘴ꫀ ꪖ ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ:

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 1 (𝘴ɀꪖ, ᦔꪮ𝓳ꪖ ᥴꪖ𝓽)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

People will view you as a very hard worker. You may also just show up on random things that isn’t in you element for example if you are a singer you’ll be seen in a movie or if your an actor/actress you’ll start a music career. By in your element I don’t mean your bad at what isn’t your element I just mean that you’ll be seen in places that wasn’t what you were known for. You like to try new things out, because of that people think you have a tendency to take on more than what you can handle and over exert yourself, however once you start something you finish it but it can lead to long breaks. They feel as though you are very creative in your way of thinking and honestly this is giving trend setter. You create your own path in what you want to deliver to the world. You don’t just stick to one genre, it goes all over the place, you have quite the duality and you fulfill each and every one. You are known for being quite the happy person, you don’t like to show what you would consider to be a weakness so people would see you as a very happy and excited about life however you also have that elegance to you where it doesn’t come off as ditzy. You give off a sexy vibe effortlessly.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Okay let me tell you, your fans are VERY passionate about you and will go to war for you at any given moment because a lot of them are going to be younger. Your most influential fans are teens to young adults. They do get confused on the genre changes and all the other projects that you do however they are standing 10 rows down for you. Your fans are hilarious and are the type to make memes out of you so be prepared. Your fans have big pride in you and they probably have your face as their profile picture. They are DEVOTED on another level. Your fans are also very confident in themselves so it makes me think that you act as a bada$$ in shows or make bada$$ music. Don’t be surprised to see edits of yourself.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪮ𝘳 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Male Gaze is very prominent here and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You just exert the physical appearance that men/masculine people love. Your male fans are very funny and witty.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Let’s just say you are going to be VERY popular in terms of the dating life. I see that people overseas even find you very attractive. You’ll get lots of dating offers from rich people, athletes, other musicians etc you have lots of options to choose from. You’ll be very happy and content within your dating life and if your significant other messes up you can just go straight to the next. I’m seeing that you’ll probably be quite famous for going on to the next because it won’t be private considering your popularity. You’ll attract all genders. Just know that rich people will always try to look for an opportunity to make you theirs.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Remember when I said you guys would like to explore different things? Yeah… you may unknowingly do a project that has some horrible undertones to it that you may have not even knew about. Like working with/being friends with someone problematic or acting in something that would be considered problematic and things to that nature but I don’t feel like it would completely end your career.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 2 (ᧁ𝓲𝘳ꪶ 𝘳ꪖ𝓲𝘴𝓲ꪀᧁ ᠻ𝓲ꪀᧁꫀ𝘳)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

I don’t know why this is giving me politician vibes but I feel they would view you as someone who speaks on their views like everyone and their mom will know how you feel about certain views you’ll be very vocal about it. (If you are a woman you may be the oldest girl in your family idk just kind of got that feeling to it) they feel as though you have a concept and you like to stick to it, it’s not that you don’t have duality you just prefer to stick to what you KNOW will be a success. You also give out a lot of content so your fans will be spoiled with pictures and videos of you. They view you as very creative and imaginative I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you had your own sound and genre. You know what your fans want and you articulate that into your music/acting or any type of celebrity you want to be. You give off big sister/brother energy tbh just very reliable and people come to you with their problems. (You may have Pisces in your chart or a Neptune based chart) you only like when people see you succeed so a lot of the time your fans never see you in a bad light because you only give out positive energy. Very hardworking as well.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Your fans are… questionably intense they do not play about you whatsoever this is giving very much die hard fans however I’m getting that your fans have a reputation for saying and doing toxic stuff so your fans do give you a bad reputation in a sense. HUGE fan base however i feel like your art really touches the soul for most of these people. It’s giving heavy Aries energy and Leo actually just fire signs in general. Your fans are very independent people and you may preach individuality in your artistry. There is a good side to your fan base however is that they really can make change happen it’s honestly giving BTS Army and their popularity that is what is reminds me of. They are very territorial of you. Also a lot of your fans may be physically blessed look wise.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪮ𝘳 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Both. You have the great ability to attract both gazes with your individuality and that is an extremely great attribute to have in the entertainment industry. You probably thought you would be the male gaze however your fan base is just strong and powerful and the power it has also consist of feminine power.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Emotionally unavailable is what this is giving. I don’t think you’ll be too wrapped up in the dating scene I feel like your artistry is much more important to you than dating or risking what you have. It’s not that you won’t have any options in fact you’ll have PLENTY but I feel like your just not interested in them because you have you walls up in terms of dating idk if you have been hurt in the past or you really just don’t care about relationships but yeah you want be wrapped up in the dating scene you’ll be the type to marry a fan and call it a day. I doubt you’ll have any relationships within the industry.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Your fans lmao. Like I said your fans are pretty ruthless like they might have a reputation of doxing people. You would probably have to control them or find a way to sub stain them because they will be your downfall if not. Every fan group has its bad eggs but your bad eggs are 60% of the fan base.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 3 (𝘴ꫝꪖᦔꪮ᭙ ᭙ꪮꪑꪖꪀ)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

They view you as very introverted or just keep to yourself. You don’t really let other people in and you move in silence really well like you might randomly drop an album or something you’re included in on a random Tuesday afternoon with no pre warning. You’re perceived as more dark not in a bad way but like in a you might literally like to wear dark clothing or like to wear black. Your style in artistry may be on the more unique side. You probably won’t be very active on social media just very secretive. People view you as someone who can take a lot of shit. They actually believe you went through some hard stuff and tbh you might have. They feel as though you have a lot of disappointments within your artistry like you may like something one day and may not the other day kind of indecisive. They feel as though you are underrated and under appreciated. Your artistry is truly like no other and people don’t understand why you are not getting the attention you deserve.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

I don’t feel like your fan base will be that big and tbh that can be a good thing especially when that entails paparazzi and stalkers. Although small it will be mighty. Your fans are very passionate about getting you and your art more recognition. They may reply or watch your art constantly to make you more money. They are very consistent but you may need to work on making your fans happy because they may feel like at times you don’t appreciate them because you don’t post regularly or you may forget that you are famous and just kind of neglect them so be careful with that. Unlike you these people are happy I feel like your fan base mostly consist of people who have that “I can fix them” mentality.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪜ𝘴 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

Both however the female gaze is a little more prominent here. About 30% male and 60% female gaze. There is something about you that entices feminine audiences. You may have a lot of people in the LGBT+ community or you yourself may be of the community but regardless both will be there.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Your dating life won’t be open to the public you keep that very private. However what’s interesting is I feel as though you might get into a relationship with another artist from the industry. You’ll just keep it very private and hidden and nobody will know about it. There is very few people that you are willing to open yourself up to and I feel as though it probably won’t go public until marriage. Very private can’t get much info.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

Pissing people off within the industry. I feel like you don’t really like “fake” people and the industry is filled with them so you may have to resting bitch face and people won’t like it because they will feel as though you are disrespectful when in reality you just aren’t gonna fake smile for anyone if you don’t feel happy your not going to smile.

ρ𝓲ꪶꫀ 4 (ꪀꫀᥴ𝘬ꪶ𝓲ꪀꫀ)

ꫝꪮ᭙ ρꫀꪮρꪶꫀ ᭙𝓲ꪶꪶ ꪜ𝓲ꫀ᭙ ꪗꪮꪊ

People view you as someone who had a bad past however you fixed yourself and your mentality. By bad past I mean like things relating to trauma so you may be open to telling your past or people just have that belief of you. Like to could concur anything if you tried. Very multi-talented. You don’t like sticking with one thing you like to experiment like pile 1 however unlike pile 1 you guys like to dabble in things but you will never go out of your comfort zone. You’re not impulsive and you always have a plan. You like things to go accordingly and you may have Virgo placements in your chart. They view you as someone who is very self aware and you know your limits and what you are good at. They feel your very empathic and considerate. You will always try to do your best to make life enjoyable for the next person. You will definitely spoil your fans with content. There will always be something new about you to watch. You also may think quick to responses which make you witty. However be careful not to seem too “fake” just be real and be you I feel like you want to known as perfect. You make people feel safe and protected especially your fans. It’s giving MOTHER.

ꪗꪮꪊ𝘳 ᠻꪖꪀ𝘴

Your fans will feel very connected and personal to you. It’s giving mother and child relationship like they take your advice with the most consideration out of everyone. Your fans are not a mess you have very coordinated fans like the type to organize a concert or organize a meet and greet for you. I feel like your fans will be majority of adults because there is a sense of maturity here and appreciation unlike any of the piles they really admire you but you need to be careful not to let this go to far because I’m seeing that it may go too far with a very small percentage they may try to imitate you. But for the most part your fans represent a part of you and you will NOT let them embarrass you. Neutral level of fame not too big and not too small.

ꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ ꪜ𝘴 ᠻꫀꪑꪖꪶꫀ ᧁꪖɀꫀ?

You manage to not only capture both gazes but other gazes as well, literally everybody. Well not literally but your fan base is very diverse. A bit more on the male gaze about 55% while female is 45% very close nonetheless. You’re very physically attractive and your personality is very likable. You have the ability to adapt well to each personality.

ᦔꪖ𝓽𝓲ꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ᠻꫀ

Let’s just say there is never a dull moment in your romantic life that’s for sure. You will have many powerful suitors millionaires, Athletes, singers, just people who have lots of influence you catch their eyes. I’m seeing you’ll mostly date within the industry and you’ll probably go through consistent breakups as you want to find “the one” but you will find them eventually. They will be an artist like you or in that field.

᭙ꫝꪖ𝓽 ꪗꪮꪊ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ᥇ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀᥴꫀꪶꪶꫀᦔ ᠻꪮ𝘳

You would probably cause drama due to relationships. Like you may have broken up with someone powerful and dated another powerful person and now they have beef and etc. just drama out of love and you’ll somehow get involved in the mix.

Thank you for reading let me know what you think in the comments, follow for more 💜

#pac reading #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a card #tarotblr #pick a picture #celebrity #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick an image

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jeonqkooks · 1 year ago

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backstage | kth (m.)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genre/warnings: implies that he's in a band - not necessarily idol au, established relationship; smut, it's just a short pwp drabble lol, or*l s*x (f. receiving), f*nger*ng, tae's got a dangerous mouth, c*m eating, that's it ig word count: 653 note: yeah i have no idea how this happened either. i'm just gonna leave it here and dip 😭

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

“Keep going… keep going, please… Holy fucking shit.”

You’re practically grinding against Taehyung’s face as you cry out his name. His long fingers thrust into you, rubbing your g-spot on every stroke like they’re on a mission, which you suppose they are. He loves it when you’re a mess just for him. Instant ego boost.

He loves it when you make a mess for him too.

And it’s always especially good after he wraps up a show, pumped with so much adrenaline that he has to release some of that energy and you’re the perfect person to help him out. That’s what happened tonight, just fifteen minutes ago or so. You couldn’t even make it through a simple Hey before he was taking you by the hand and dragging you to his dressing room, the one-syllable word dying in your throat while the rest of the boys groaned exasperatedly behind you. They’re used to it at this point, but that doesn’t mean they’ll ever stop teasing you.

Taehyung glances up at you, smirking proudly when he finds your features contorted in pure pleasure. His tongue joins in on the fun, finding your clit instantly as it teases the bud. The pleasure spiking makes a desperate moan fall out of your mouth, one of your hands tugging on his mop of fluffy dark hair while the other grips a nearby cushion on the couch.

Your boyfriend has a bit of an oral fixation.

“Like it?” he asks, slender fingers never relenting. He takes pride in the way the room is filled with your needy voice and the audible wetness that’s like music to his ears as he scissors you open.

“Love it,” you answer breathlessly, even though you didn’t really have to answer. He knows it all too well, knows your body better than the palm of his hand. “Don’t stop, Tae, please… I’m close…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, then relishes in the subsequent groan as you buck your hips into his face, sounding like you’re actually about to break down in tears from how good it feels. Taehyung presses his fingers harder against the spot that makes you see stars, curling the digit repeatedly all the while his lips kiss your pussy sloppily. He hears someone knock on the door exasperatedly, but it’s quickly drowned out by your moans, getting higher-pitched by the second. Almost there.

You start to clench around him as he fucks you faster and with determination. Your walls suck his fingers in, so warm and wet that the glide is smooth, absolutely no resistance at all. He hums in approval, already thinking of all the ways he’d like to ruin you when he takes you home later.

“Tae,” you pant heavily, your brain effectively turned into mush by how his talented mouth, “I- ah, fuck, I’m gonna come, fuck-”

On either side of his head, your thighs shake as you gush into his mouth, coming with a sharp cry that makes his cock harden almost painfully in his tight leather pants. Your velvet walls convulse around his fingers as he helps you ride out your high. Taehyung happily laps up your juices, licking you until you have to push him away when you feel the onset of oversensitivity.

He crawls his way up your body, grinning like the Cheshire cat. His face is messy, lips glistening with traces of your orgasm, looking so irresistible. When you kiss him, you can taste yourself on the tip of his tongue. You love it, every single time.

“Let’s go home,” Taehyung says. “Wanna do all kinds of bad things to you.”

You nod eagerly, a teasing comment about to be whispered into his ear before you’re interrupted by Jimin on the other side of the door, talking to someone whose voice you can’t decipher.

“I don’t want to share a dressing room with him anymore.”

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lowkeychenle · 1 year ago

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모래성 [LMH] (M)

Description: You and Mark have had a friends with benefits relationship for almost a year now. He's in love with you, addicted to you, but you don't feel the same. You're his poison.

Genre: Smut

(This new song is SO good I had to write this literally immediately it has been on my mind all day)

Content Warnings: Explicit unprotected sex (Don't Do This LOL), rough Mark, kind of uncaring Mark?, bad bitch mark what else can I say

Word Count: 1,327

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Juliet's Masterlist

When you and Mark first agreed to your arrangement, neither of you expected it to come this far. He certainly didn’t expect for you to stay with him, not that he was complaining. After almost a year of it, the only thing that changed for him was his feelings.

He’s in love with you, and even though you don’t feel the same way, it sure as hell seems like you do sometimes.

Like the way you’re lying in his bed right now, clothed only with his comforter. Your head rests on his shoulder as you trace shapes on his arm. Friends with benefits isn’t ever supposed to go past the friend stage, but for Mark, he had always known it was only a matter of time.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, staring at you. With his back against his headboard, all sorts of things swirl through his mind when you look up at him.

“Do you ever…” You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just feel like I could do this for a long time.”

His heart stutters in his chest. The moon is the only thing lighting you up, shining against your skin in a way that has him craving you all over again.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on.” You nudge him. “Don’t make me say it. You’re saying you don’t want to stay in this bed with me forever?”

But it’s different this time. He dreams about you. Craves you. Loves you. Even then, he can’t do it anymore. Your embrace no longer provides him comfort. If anything, it spreads poison deep into his heart, where it pulses and spreads throughout his body with every beat. You’re killing him slowly. Destroying him and breaking him apart with no remorse.

“Mark?” You sit up, tilting your head. “Are you alright?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He knows he shouldn’t. That he needs to put a stop to this before anything else happens. No matter how much you hurt him—knowingly—he could never do the same to you. He’s addicted to you in the worst ways. Every time he gets his hopes up in those tiny moments of dreaming that you love him too, he falls and crashes harder into the ground than the last time.

At that moment, he decides it’ll only be one more time. He’ll have you one more time, and then he has to be done.

The thought of leaving you tears him to pieces, but he has to stop letting you walk all over him. He needs love—real love, the kind that lasts longer than the duration of time you’re in his bed.

“I can’t fucking breathe around you,” he groans out, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging you closer to him.

His lips find yours, mouths, teeth, and tongues clashing messily. You’re taken by surprise, but find your body molding into his anyway.

He wastes no time in sliding his fingers inside you, finding you wet and ready for him. Pumping his hand, he swallows your moans, letting out a few of his own at the way you feel around him.

Fucking addicting. Dangerous. Terrifying.

You wonder what’s gotten into him, but you don’t question it. His thumb presses against your clit, sending a jolt through your body. You cling onto his shoulders for dear life, not used to this side of Mark. He wasn’t necessarily gentle by any means, but he’d never been so blatantly rough with you before.

“Mark,” you whimper, grinding down on his hand.

“What?” he hisses, speeding up.

You reach down and find him hard and aching, ready to be buried inside you. His pace stutters a bit as you jerk him off slowly.

“Fuck me,” you demand, resting your forehead on his. “Give it to me.”

But you both know he’s already given you everything he could.

“God, all you fucking do is take.” He pulls his fingers out of you, finding his place between your legs and lining up with your entrance.

When he slams inside of you, you dig your nails into him and scream, the stretch taking a moment to adjust to.

“You’re so good at taking things from me,” he mutters, nipping down your neck. “So good at taking my cock.”

Your entire body flutters at his words and you arch into him, pulling him back down to your lips. The heat between you two is undeniable, the sweat already dampening his skin. You can barely catch your breath with how fast he’s thrusting inside you. Lifting your hips, you try your best to aid him, but your body can’t keep up with his.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he growls lowly, slamming into you. “Who fucks you ‘til you drool?”

“Mark,” you call out his name, scratching down his back.

As soon as his finger comes in contact with your clit, you shatter around him, not holding back any of your sounds as you spasm below him. He curses loudly, the lewd sounds of his skin slapping yours making you dizzy.

You wrap your legs around his waist. The new angle has your head spinning, and he’s able to get a little deeper than before. Everything about him is intoxicating, down to the way he fucks you through your orgasm.

His voice cracks when he moans and spills deep inside you, dropping his head on your neck. He only gives himself a moment there, one last second to breathe you in and remember what it feels like to be inside you.

He won’t do it again. He can’t.

“Holy shit, Mark.” You run your fingers through his hair, chuckling. “Where the hell did that come from?”

The last thing he wants to do is separate himself from you. He’s in love with you. He’d stay buried inside you all day if only you loved him, too.

He curses, pulling out of you and getting up from the bed to grab some clothes.

“Mark?” You frown, but he doesn’t look at you.

He knows if he gives you a chance to convince him, he’ll fall back into your trap. If he looks at you, he’ll remember he’s in love with you. It costs too much to keep you around—physically and emotionally fucking taxing.

“I’m gonna shower.” He stops in the door frame of the bathroom, clenching his jaw to stop it from quivering. “You shouldn’t be here when I get out.”

“What the hell?” You recoil in surprise, throwing the sheets off of you and standing up. Grabbing his T-shirt from the ground, you slide it over your head and approach him.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Keep the shirt as a parting gift.”

He hears you yelling at him through the door, but he masks the sound with the stream of water. Stepping under it, he’s determined to wash the last traces of you from him. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, but it’s no use.

You’ll forever be ingrained in him, no matter how hard he tries to get rid of you.

By the time he gets out of the shower, all traces of you are gone. You even made his bed, for fuck’s sake. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, sitting on the edge of the mattress and contemplating what the hell he’ll do next.

You’re poison. Everything about you is deadly, and he’s better off without you.

His heart pounds in his chest at the thought. He knows he is. That’s absolutely the truth, yet the tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s making a huge mistake. That he’ll never find someone like you again.

Good, he thinks to himself. I don’t want anyone else like her.

And for a while, he does well. But just like every other time before this one, he’s too weak to escape you.

He calls you before the fucking week is through.

#mark lee #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #mark lee smut #mark lee scenario #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagine #poison

538 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

a certain romance ✴︎ cs55

genre: fluff!, humor

word count: 4.5k

A love affair is never an easy thing to keep under wraps. Or, the four times your two brothers almost catch you and Carlos together, and the one time they finally do.

notes... reader is a leclerc, one sexual allusion but it’s not bad, french that is basically translatable thru context clues

auds here... req’d, sort of twice! was gonna make this a full fledged fic but i went with the short route to keep it brief. i hope u like this anon/s :) title from a song of the same name by the arctic monkeys. also there is use of y/n which i generally don’t like using in fics bec i feel it disrupts the flow, but it wouldn’t have fit any other way so. must b all... enjoy!

If you told Carlos Sainz that he—a full grown, mature, twenty-eight-year-old man—would be tiptoeing on the balcony of a hotel in Monaco (shirtless and fully terrified, no less) eight months from now, he would laugh at you. But he’d be doing so anyway, fearing something in the room behind him rather than the alarmingly high distance he’d be possessing over the road below. He’d inhale, exhale, recites a few proverbs to keep himself calm. But now, if you told him, he would mumble something along the lines of estúpido, because really, how the hell would he get himself into that situation?

Don’t worry. He’s going to find out.

“I’m not really looking to date,” he says wisely, taking another swig of his beer. “I think racing is the number one thing on my mind. And it’s difficult to maintain a balance of both.”

Lando clears his throat, tipsy from having exhausted his drinks and then some. “Mate, quit being a pessimist. You Spaniards, I swear. That’s not necessarily true. I made it work.” He presents two thumbs, pointing them toward his beaming, dopey face.

Carlos stares. “Luisa broke up with you.”

“Right then, you arse, twist the knife,” Lando mutters exasperatedly, his thumbs drooping down and his smile dropping. Carlos can’t help but throw his head back in amusement, eking out apologies in between bouts of laughter. The younger just mocks the laugh, finishing the beer he’d been drinking.

The two are on the balcony of Lando’s flat, overlooking the expanse of Chelsea. The subject of girlfriends and looking for love had been between them for a while now, seeing as they were both single; they’d often greet each other with a Got a girlfriend yet, cabrón? And, while the conversation was generally harmless, it did tend to push Carlos into a state of introspection regarding his own love life.

“But honestly, really.” Carlos says. “I just don’t know if a girl is what I need right now. Unless somebody perfect drops on my lap.”

“I’m going to ignore how pervy that sounds—but I get it. I guess the career thing’s just the priority, huh, mate? And speaking of career”—Lando rifles through his jacket pocket and fishes his phone out—“we’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t leave in the next fifteen.”

Ah, dinner: the only reason Carlos had chartered a jet to London earlier today in the first place. Proposed out of sheer fun and then carrying on because it actually seemed like a doable idea, Lando had texted a few drivers and invited them and however-many-pluses they wished to bring to an upscale restaurant in the city as a way to get in touch.

It didn’t seem ideal, until they realized that 1. Lando, George, and Alex were already in London, and 2. Charles was with family and had a meeting there, too, and—well, at that point Carlos had basically succumbed to peer pressure and gotten on a jet straight to the UK. Lando always had a penchant for making these plans and spending the entire time making dirty jokes and/or getting tipsy and/or using his camera to take pictures of any and everyone, which really just made the dinners all the more fun.

They clean up the bottles of beer they’d drank from, and Carlos pulls his coat on by the door, still unused to the overcast British weather. “Who’s there later?”

“The boys, Arthur… Lily, Carmen. I think. I mean nobody brought their mums or whatever. That’s all of ‘em, I suppose.” Lando inspects his outfit in the mirror by the entryway and swaps out his jacket for a different one, ushering Carlos out the door and into the waiting car. Something about I’d rather be driven around than drive a pretentious sports car around the city looking like a daft prick.

They’re halfway to the restaurant, both on their phones, when Lando suddenly gasps softly and goes, “Right, and Charles’ sister is going too.”

Carlos looks up, interest piqued. He hadn’t heard much of Charles’ sister before—you’d dropped by a few races, and had always been present for the entirety of the Monaco weekend, but you weren’t engaged in racing as much as Charles’ other siblings. He’d shaken hands with you and made the polite, necessary, albeit totally rushed small talk. “Y/N,” he recounts. “Right?”

“Yessir,” Lando says, letting Drake filter through the AUX of the car. “The one in law school.”

He nods, trying to pick out specific memories. None really come to mind—it’s all introductions that repeat themselves. Hi, Carlos Sainz, Charles’ teammate. Oh, hi, I’m Charles’ sister. He faintly recounts finding you pretty, but having not seen you at the paddock for quite a while, he considers his memories dubious at best. He leans back and listens to Lando rap Rich Flex with an obnoxiously posh accent instead, and figures if he dies now, at least he wouldn’t have to keep hearing this.

The restaurant is nearer than they anticipate, so the Drake rap-along session is cut blissfully short, the pair being ushered into the private seating area, coats taken and wine served. They join George, who, at his insistence, had made the reservation in the first place even if Lando had suggested the restaurant, and Carmen.

“Charles and Albon?” Carlos asks when he takes a seat, greeting the couple.

“Charles and Arthur are on their way, but Alex is stuck in Harrods with Lily and Y/N. They got busy looking for shoes or something. Poor guy,” George says, half-laughing.

“I so wish I met up with the girls beforehand,” Carmen mopes, “the sale at Harrods is amazing.”

The conversation descends into a multitude of different topics, as they always do when Lando and George lead the way—racing (obviously), Carmen, Daniel Ricciardo even, dogs, any plans of adopting dogs, and then, because George Russell is a little shit, he says: “Feels nice being the only guy with a girlfriend at the table right now, innit?”

Carmen pinches his arm but he persists with a smile. “No, but really. You two are just about the most eligible bachelors ever and still single. What gives?”

“I for one am not into monogamy at the moment,” Lando says matter-of-factly. “I’m twenty-three, mate. I’m trying to have fun. But Mr. Almost Thirty here is a different case.”

“Ay,” Carlos gripes. “It’s not an involuntary thing. Just want to focus on racing.”

He prays then for this topic to come to a close so he won’t have to explain himself all over again, and reprieve comes in the form of Charles and Arthur entering the room. Already Charles is talking, before he even takes a seat, and Arthur is nodding along—something about how London traffic sucks, how are your streets so small, mate, oh my God Harrods is so full, Lily and Y/N have been at it for hours, poor Alex, he volunteered to stay. The guy spouts words quickly and easily, in an accent that sounds both English and French.

The rest of the wait time happens fast—Lily and Alex rush through the entrance, apologizing for being late. The lines are so long, Lily explains, taking a seat and leaving the other side empty. When her boyfriend tries to sit there, she swats him away, goes, babe, no, that’s for Y/N. So her boyfriend sits woefully across her and beside Carlos instead.

“Where is Y/N?” Charles asks. Carlos is also curious, albeit inwardly. He didn’t even know you were arriving until late, and still he hasn’t seen your face.

“Sorry, I had to check something with the valet,” a voice goes, and then you’re sliding into the seat across him.

The thing is, Carlos has been stunned before.

It’s sort of a non-negotiable when you go into such a demanding, high-risk sport. If he’s careening into another car, or the side of a circuit—obviously, it stuns him. Everything spins into slow motion for a few nerve-wracking seconds. But he’s also been stunned in all the good ways: when he can tell he’s in the lead, when he overtakes the car in front of him, when he bounds past the flag and realizes it’s a podium finish. So, yes—Carlos is fully familiar with the gut churning, belly spinning delirium of being stunned. So familiar, in fact, that he’s grown familiar with it, developed a second skin for it, welcomed it with open arms.

Which also explains the way he sees you laughing quietly at something Lily says and subsequently realizes, with apprehension and dread, that he is stunned.

—

The first time it happens is after the dinner—not just the dinner, but the drinks and the London walk that followed, accompanied by three noisy and drunk tour guides (read: Lando, George, Alex). Charles and Arthur, almost as drunk, follow the tour with loud jabs of their own, and Lily and Carmen are filming everything on their phones. You’ve been on your phone checking an email, and Carlos takes a call from his cousin, which naturally leads both you and him to trail behind the group.

So, when you’re both done taking calls and checking emails, it’s the two of you left to your own devices. You swing within the awkward few moments of deciding whether to rejoin the group or just keep trailing behind, your shoes clicking softly against the cobblestone pavement, accompaniments to Lando’s loud singing of Piano Man.

“What’d you think of the wine?” You ask, your accent sliding easy into the syllables but not losing its distinctiveness.

He pretends to ponder, even if he’d given Lando a full-scale review when they first left the restaurant, and turns back to you. “It was okay. A bit too sweet for my taste.”

“Exactly! That’s what I told Arthur, but he found it perfect. I guess kids these days just don’t have taste.”

You both laugh at your sarcastic use of “kids”, knowing you’re just two years older than your younger brother. Carlos opens his mouth to speak, trying to find footing, the perfect suave thing to say to possibly land himself in a position to flirt.

Right then, Lando reaches the crescendo of Somebody to Love (he can’t ever finish a song), and then Charles is turning around to find you and Carlos engaged in conversation. His lips stretch into a mischievous smile.

“Aye, Carlos! Back off the baby sister, mate!” He slurs, clapping Arthur on the back to catch his attention.

Arthur’s eyes narrow playfully, darting in between you both. Carlos just raises a middle finger in response, sending the brothers into unnecessarily extensive bouts of laughter. You roll your eyes, blowing a raspberry. “Putain. These fucking shitheads never leave me alone.”

George is in the middle of teaching Charles to say sod off instead of back off when Carlos purses his lips and, on a whim, turns and goes: “Is there a rule against dating drivers?”

You try and fail to hide a smile. “Hmm. None, I don’t think.”

Silence. Then you speak again, coy. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Carlos says. London is suddenly a place of magic. “No reason at all.”

—

It’s at an afterparty, the second time it happens—and technically the first where you and Carlos actually connect properly. In hindsight, it might’ve been stupid to flirt with him in the middle of the dance floor—something he thankfully realized in the moment, taking your hand and guiding you through the throng of people into the back exit.

Nobody said first kisses had to be remarkable in the romantic sense. Sometimes they’re in seedy European alleyways, with a fist bunched into his polo and a hand on your hip. It had to happen this way, because how else would two months of beating around the bush culminate? Because even if you’re drunk, you can’t stop thinking about how much you want to kiss him again. Tomorrow morning. And the next.

You pull away, but he speaks first, voice rushed and semi-sobered. “Let’s not.”

Humming, you try to swallow the lump of distress in your throat. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, nervous now, gulping. “Because—of the bro code.”

You stare. “Is that a Spanish thing?”

“B-ro c-ode,” he says again, enunciating the syllables; the Spanish accent doesn’t go away, and neither do his hands, hot and big on your hip and waist.

You move your hand from where it’s fisted into his shirt, cupping his neck. Then you burst out laughing, much to Carlos’ confusion. “That is so not a thing,” you press, unconvinced.

“It is. Bro code. I just crossed that line, dios mio,” he says, clearly way more stressed than you are.

“Bro code isn’t upheld for boys over twenty-one,” you say haughtily. Right then, you hear Arthur’s voice through the door and it swings open a few seconds later. In the span of those moments, you shove Carlos away nervously and attempt to look like you weren’t doing anything.

Arthur’s on the phone, speaking in quick French when he sees you and Carlos at a respectable distance. He tilts the phone away, mouths What’s up?, pointing at the both of you.

“I felt like vomiting and he was nearby,” you reply, nodding. He’s out of view, exiting the alleyway within seconds and back on the phone.

You exhale, and turn back to him. “Okay, so maybe the bro code is a thing.”

He looks at you as if to say no shit. “I don’t think we should do this,” he says, but his tone betrays himself.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Right, yes.”

A beat. “Can you kiss me again?”

—

Against all odds, you and Carlos had managed to successfully start dating under your brothers’—ergo the majority of your mutual circle’s—noses. You’d only let it slip to a few close friends and family, and in Carlos’ case, Lando, because Lord knows the guy could not keep his mouth shut for the life of him. And even if it was stressful, and it often felt like any moment would be interrupted by somebody catching the both of you on the phone, or even together, neither of you could deny how good it was.

It’s five months later—five months of pure bliss, for the most part. Save for multiple close calls, you and Carlos had enjoyed each other’s company. You’d tried to navigate how everything would work once you realized you both wanted something more out of the relationship, but neither of you wanted to deal with the hassle of your overprotective siblings yet. You’d resorted to hours of FaceTime, everyday texts, and if the world was on your side, the occasional date.

The last method is easily your favorite, you both—and when the drivers get three weeks off and Carlos spends it in Las Vegas, that’s how it happens, the third time. Carlos visits you at your hotel, relishing in the eleven-thirty emptiness of the communal area, swimming in the jacuzzi and giggling about something into Carlos’ neck. You barely remember the joke; you’re honestly just welling up with enthusiasm and an endless supply of laughs that your boyfriend is finally with you.

Your head is still dug into Carlos’ neck, laughing about something else now, when you hear faraway footsteps. Having grown used to being a pseudo-patrolman, your eyes dart up immediately, and your stomach drops when you see, seriously, of all fucking people—Charles and Arthur.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dumbfounded. A hand wet with jacuzzi water taps frantically on your phone; sure enough, you’d gotten texts from the both of them about dropping by your hotel for drinks. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

You disembark from your position on your boyfriend’s lap, hoping the hickey he sucked onto your neck won’t be visible from meters away. Your eyes shoot up again, and they still haven’t spotted you. Holding your breath and bracing yourself, you turn to Carlos, place two hands on his shoulders, and shove him underneath the water.

They spot you then, waving enthusiastically. “Drinks!” Arthur shouts, mimicking a beer bottle with his hand. You chew your lip nervously, raising one hand and waving back.

“Don’t wait up and I’ll just meet you at the bar!” You holler, watching as they pass through the entrance at a truly leisurely pace.

Once they’re in, you haul your boyfriend up and he breathes deeply, anxious. “Puta madre.”

“I think we should tell them soon. I don’t want you literally dying just for the sake of keeping us a secret,” you say, maintaining a safe distance and constantly turning toward the entrance just in case. You reach for his hand underwater.

“It’s thrilling, actually,” he winks.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bother.” You say woefully, guilt eating at you a little bit. But he takes your hand, squeezes it among the jacuzzi bubbles.

“Nothing’s a bother with you.”

—

Charles knocks on your Monza hotel room door when it happens the fourth time, opening it once he finds it unlocked—and then freezing when he finds you buried in your duvet ’til your shoulders. You’re in your silk pajama top, arms and mouth outstretched into a yawn when your eyes meet, hair disheveled. You blink.

“Charles.” You say confusedly, letting your arms drop. “Tu vas bien?”

“Mmm, ça va.” He pauses. “Et toi?”

“Moi aussi,” you say casually. “Any reason you came into my room without waiting for me to answer the damn door?”

He smiles, as if remembering why he invaded your privacy. “Right, I came in here to ask if you’ve seen Arthur.”

“I’m clearly by myself in bed, so no,” you respond cuttingly. “Last I checked he was walking around with Lando.” The two had become fast friends after the London dinner.

Your elder brother hums, then moves to take a seat on your bed, to which you quickly reach over, grab a complimentary soap bar (on the bedside table and not the shower, which you’d found weird), and toss it square at his face. “Ah—ay! What the fuck?”

“Don’t come near me,” you say. “I’m sick.”

“Sick? What rubbish. You were literally at the paddock hours ago totally fine.”

“Don’t be daft. Not that kind of sick, you arse—”

“Not that kind of sick,” he mocks, exaggerating his accent and raising his voice a few octaves to sound like a silly version of you. He raises an accusatory finger. “You lie, you lie!”

“I am not lying,” you insist irritably, sitting up a little and cocking your brow. “Tu es insupportable!”

You slide into a flurry of angry French and Italian in your valiant efforts to defend your innocence, and Charles is infected into doing the same. Eventually the room is just filled with indistinguishable insults and scoffed phrases of merde, ah bon?, and immensely accented What thuh helliz your problem?s. You even chuck another hotel soap at him for extra measure, but he manages to catch it this time. It’s childish, like many of your petty fights born out of irritance.

“I’m on my period, you prick,” you say as a last resort, once the insults have run their sufficient course. “I couldn’t be arsed to find Arthur.” His eyes narrow, doubting you, but ultimately he admits defeat, walking back to the door to exit your room. The door’s out of view of your bed, so you brace yourself, waiting for it to open and click closed.

“You better not be harboring a fugitive in here!” He says, but only half of here is heard before the door clicks shut and drowns him out. The tension leaves your body and you heave a deep sigh, relaxing backwards and biting your lip.

The thick silk duvet flips upward and Carlos surfaces, face flushed from being in hiding for so long.

One arm is still curled around your thigh, the inner part of which is rubbed raw from his facial hair being against it. You stare at one another with dopey smiles on your faces, relieved that you’d managed to act fast and flip the huge blanket over Carlos—although he had conveniently been in that position to begin with.

“Do either of you ever shut up?”

“One more word and I’m kicking you,” you say, reaching an arm out to stroke his jaw. You smile, laughing a little. “I’m not bluffing.”

“Scary, princesa,” he teases, hauling himself up to press a lasting kiss onto your lips. You smile into it, out of relief that your nosy elder brother didn’t catch you, but also out of the way your heart swells when Carlos smiles.

—

“You’re absolutely sure it’s the right room number?”

“100% positive. 613, Y/N Leclerc.”

“And not any other Leclerc.”

“Mate, I just said Y/N. Get a grip,” Lando scoffs. “My investigative skills pay off. Still don’t understand why you couldn’t have just asked her yourself, seeing as though you two are, I dunno, dating.”

“It’s a surprise, man,” Carlos says cuttingly, facing the lobby of the Hôtel de Paris. “Alright, thanks, cábron. I’ll see you soon.”

“Get some!” The Brit whoops, and then Carlos is taking the elevator to your room.

He didn’t think of himself as much of a surprises guy, but then again—he didn’t think of himself as much as a flowers and teddy bear guy, but he’d gotten you those every month since you became official; he didn’t think of himself as much of a physical touch guy, but he was always the one initiating hugs and cuddle sessions. The list goes on.

He knocks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

Much to his relief, it really is you who answers, with the face of surprise he wanted out of this. Before you utter a word, he’s dipping down to kiss you, and you find yourself returning the kiss, knowing you’d lost your boyfriend’s presence for so long. It quickens fast, and Carlos wedges himself in, kicking the door closed behind him.

You pull away. “Wait, I—”

He kisses you again, and you can’t resist, laughing at his persistence. He pulls away to tug his shirt off, and that’s when you crash back to reality. “Mmmm—Carlos, this isn’t my room!”

Everything happens fast after that.

The door starts opening and Carlos hears Charles on the other side of it, talking about there was a room mix-up, Y/N, this is mine and 615 is yours—he misses the rest of the sentence, clutching his singlet to his bare chest and allowing himself to be pushed by his girlfriend out the door of the balcony. Thinking he’s safe if just for a moment, he turns, but finds he still sees the room—the curtains don't cover him enough.

And if he can see the room, he figures, the room can see him. And if the room can see him, Charles will see him when he’s fully inside.

You’re gesticulating wildly with your hands, trying to find a way to distract your brother, turning away from Carlos briefly to maybe just accept your fate. Charles shuts the door, facing you and, consequently, the balcony doors. Your heart seizes. Surely, Carlos must be there—there’s no other place left for him to hide, unless he miraculously fit his blocky, broad frame behind a random potted plant.

“Something wrong?” Charles says, and you whip around. The balcony’s blissfully empty.

“N…othing.” You say. “Nothing.”

“D’accord,” he says promptly. “So. Dinner?”

Your head spins, unable to formulate a reply. Where could Carlos have hidden?

The balcony is a bit wide, but the entirety of it is visible, and, well—Carlos is clearly not. There’s one lawn sofa, and one plant, neither of which seem to harbor your favorite Spaniard, so where the fuck is he? Because of course, he’s not stupid. Surely. He’s twenty-eight, you think.

What kind of guy would climb onto the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother?

Carlos cannot believe he’s on the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother.

In the scurry of it, he hadn’t even gotten properly dressed. So here he is, braving the frigid sixth-floor air and the harrowing height at which he stands, brandishing his shirt like it’s a flag and standing like he’s on a podium. He feels like he’s about to die for love. Like some Shakespearean hero.

But when he digs deep he figures he doesn’t actually mind at all. Sure, he feels like he’s on the brink of death, but he realizes it’s for you in the end, and that comforts him. He never thought he’d do this, ever, not even if he was paid, or bet on, or for a Real Madrid win. He leans back and ignores the asphalt below. He’ll stay here as long as he needs to.

“Mate, get down from there.” Carlos looks up to see Charles and Arthur going absolutely mental, even taking a few photos for good measure. Relieved, scared, and just glad his stint on the banister is over, he climbs off and pulls his shirt back on, crossing his arms. He spots you inside, smiling but also insisting they delete the incriminating evidence.

In the end, seriously? This is the reaction you and he hid from for eight months? You walk over to place yourself beside Carlos, watching your brothers. Two fools laughing at everything, each other, their sister, and her boyfriend. “Jig is up,” Charles says. “But we’ve known since you two kissed outside that club.”

You roll your eyes; clearly, you’ve already been told this information. But Carlos is slack-jawed with shock—they did all that on purpose. How fucking cheeky, really. He figures they gave Lando the wrong room number through the grapevine, too.

“But,” Charles says, wiping real tears from his eyes, “I know you love my sister, mate, so I’ll be the first to say I approve. Arthur will be the second.”

“I approve,” says Arthur dumbly.

“We approve,” they say in unison, then they’re laughing all over again. You swat both of their arms in retaliation, which causes the teasing to subside.

“Now, cábron,” Charles says gleefully, “we do have a couple of questions for you…”

You squeeze his hand. Even if he prefers the banister, your presence is comforting all the same, and he’d answer any totally unnecessary, pointless, silly question from your brothers if it means he gets to hug you again later. If you told him eight months ago he’d be this in love, he would’ve laughed in your face. But here he is anyway.

It’s comforting.

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